Today. .

Today I am thankful for life anew, a quick smooth transition, big cheeks, sibling love, JOY in the hard, life change, and being able to look at all of it and think. . only Jesus, only Jesus!

I continue with our trip, day 2. .

"Day 2:

I wake up early.  It’s hard to sleep when your body is out of whack!  I make my way downstairs to the guest house computer.  Thankfully, the Lord has blessed me with such wonderful friends.  I message a few and ‘spill my guts’ about the first day, the broad range of emotions.  And, they pray me through the hard. . they stand in the gap for me. . they go to the Throne of Grace and plead on our behalf.  They LOVE.  They encourage.  A piece of advice from one - to look at M today like you are looking into the eyes of Jesus.

We get to spend a lot of time with M today.  I hold him and play with him.  He loves Lee.  A big smile from him every time Lee holds him.  I start to warm up to him and him to me.  I look in his eyes, and today, I CAN see the eyes of my Savior.  The eyes that took me out of a hopeless situation and gave me life anew.  The eyes that rescued me when I was alone.  I am reminded to LOVE BIG.  The Lord is stretching me and growing me and I physically feel the stretching and the growing.  And, I can either choose to stop it. . or embrace it!  I brace myself to embrace it.

We get to meet the ‘big kids’ today.  There are six of them.  Six lives, six souls, six broken stories.  I don’t know the specific circumstances that brought each of them here, but I feel gratitude that they can all be at HH.  The one that melts my heart is J, the oldest of the group.  He has seen children come into this place of hope.  He has seen adoptive parents unite with their little ones over and over and over again.  He has been the big brother, the care taker, the reader of stories, the leader of the pack.  They are family.  And not once, not once has someone walked up to him with a photo book of his new family.  With every friend that passes through quickly, he has to know his chances are slim.  But, J is just happy to be here.  While all of the other children are looking at their new families in photo books, J is walking around pointing, “this is your new house, this is your new brother, this is your new sister,” guiding each of his playmates through their books.  He is not sitting in a corner pouting because he does not have a family yet.  His joy inspired me, their joy inspired me.  They don’t have big toys, a Wii, a Nintendo DS.  No Legos, baby dolls, or tricycles.  They have some crayons, a few balls, and JOY.  They run around outside and they play.  I take pictures with my digital camera and turn to show them time and time again.  They love that.  They help with the babies, they pick up the bottles, they get diapers for the caregivers, they are happy to help.  I teach them a song.  Lee teaches them a card trick.  But, they taught us WAY more that we taught them."

Love BIG,

Jenni

Introducing. .

Our sweet M is home forever!  Thank you so much for all of your support and prayers!  I have learned so much on this journey so far and I have a feeling the Lord wants to teach me much more!  I share below my journal on Day 1 of our trip to Ethiopia.

"Day 1:

The perspective one gains when flying over an ocean, nine time zones and two continents is limitless.  Day changes to night and night to day, quickly.  Arrival at the airport in Addis Ababa is scheduled for 7:45 am Ethiopian time.  It will be 10:45 pm in Mississippi.  My body wants to sleep but my mind and heart want adventure.  I look around, and I see chaos. . . .  pure chaos.  There are no escalators, no electronic walkways, no Starbucks and under NO circumstances are there ANY single.file.lines.  Just stairs, smiles, and chaos.  All of a sudden, I am an extreme minority.  I have light skin and everyone around me has dark skin, AND . . a different language.

Dan picks us up.  Two kids try to help with luggage because they think we will give them money.  If we are Americans, we are rich. . . monetarily anyway.  Dan shews them away.  Dan. . his gentle, kind eyes, sincere voice.  My first impression of an Ethiopian is good, really good.  I will eventually surmise that Dan embodies the epitome of the general Ethiopian spirit . . . what a kind, loving, loyal people, these Ethiopians.  Dan is able to confirm M’s Ethiopian name.  Kidane, pronounced Ki DAH neh.  It means promise, vow, covenant.  My heart smiles.

We are on our way to H’s Hope in a Toyota van, the most common of Ethiopian transportation.  I find out why. . . 1)Toyotas last forever and 2)it’s most economical,  because one must pay 200% tax in customs to own a vehicle.  In a country where the median income per month is approximately 180 US dollars, it costs more to own a Toyota Camry here than in the U.S.  I try to keep listening to Dan, but I can’t help but get distracted by the lack of traffic lights and street signs . . . in a city the size of Chicago and whose population is almost 4 MILLION, there are VERY FEW traffic lights.  

We arrive at H’s Hope.  HH is the transition home for children who are ready to be adopted, or nearly ready.  That means that major brokenness, major all-out-sad has happened in order for these children to wear that nametag,  . . . . orphan.  Some scenarios . . . .  mom and dad are both dying, probably of AIDS or some other disease . . a baby or child has been abandoned, left some place where a baby should never be left, maybe because mom is too embarrassed to terminate parental rights or that it is just to much effort, money, and pain to do so.  Mom is dying and dad can’t do life, so in order to make things better for his child, he relinquishes.  Every child here has a story.  It’s complicated, it’s in-your-face. . you want to look away, but you can’t.

We ask if we can meet our son.  Dan said yes.  The last two plus years plays in my mind like a movie reel.  All the paperwork, the time, the wait, the wrestle with the Lord, the ‘easier not to do this’ thought, the pain of an orphan’s story, the joy of redemption,  the ugly-beautiful. . . I am about to witness it up close and personal. . . see a face, touch a hand, hear a voice. . it is time.  

We walk through a door, and above it . . one word: HOPE.  There is no other word for this place.  A haven of Hope in the middle of a lot of sad.  We walk up the stairs and into M’s room.  We spot him.  And there he sits, and there sits already so much of God’s grace and faithfulness in this little person.  He doesn’t even look like the same baby from his two month old picture that would make anyone with half a heart cry.  His two month old six pound undernourished frame has been transformed.  In just four short months at HH, he is now rolling over, almost sitting up, babbling, gripping, switching toys from hand to hand, and now weighs twenty-one pounds.  A pure picture and testimony of HOPE.  I have been here a total of thirty minutes and am already witnessing beauty from ashes.  It is right in front of me.

Eating lunch on the back porch at an Ethiopian restaurant with new American friends who are also meeting their son this week is nice.  Sitting in the sun with little humidity makes it hard to believe we left snow on the ground in Mississippi.  That Mississippi, she never knows if she wants to be cold or hot, wet or dry.  But not Ethiopia, she is as constant and moderate as the setting of the sun. . . 55-65 degrees in the morning and evening, and 75-80 degrees during the day.  Every day.  All year.

I am tired.  Over 24 hours with no sleep.  Irrationality and a pathway for the enemy opens up.  Even though I will end up loving so many things about M’s birth country, I am not feeling this way tonight.  I cry. . I cry because of what I have seen, I cry because I am tired.  I miss my kids.  I miss America.  I really just want to go home.  Everything is worse when you are tired. . and it’s dark.   I worry and doubt . . will we bond with M, will he be sick a lot . . his upper respiratory history is awful and there are very limited resources here.  My upset stomach and the assault on my senses has gotten the best of me.  Will I be able to parent this child who looks so different from me.  Will M hate me for doing this.  Will my kids at home hate me for doing this.  Will this ruin their lives.  Will M have asthma, will he like me, will he feel different.  There will no longer be just the 4 of us.  My “American Dream” of my family with blonde headed brown-eyed kids is being interrupted at this very moment, and honestly, I am scared.  And now, I feel guilty for being scared.  This journey has been so long and a chapter of it is finally about to close and I feel. . . . .scared?  Deep down I know that the Lord has asked me to do this without a doubt, but it is so hard in this moment, and I just have to pray, Help Me Lord, and I Trust You Jesus.  I pray because I have stopped looking up for a few moments.  I pray because I know the answer to some of my questions may be the opposite of what I want to hear.  But, I pray because I know that no matter what the answers are to these questions, worries, doubts . . I DID sign up for this and the Lord IS NOT GOING TO LEAVE ME now.  Praise the Lord His mercies are new every morning.  I hold on tight, keep looking up, and the blessings come!"

Jenni

Day 2, next post!