Hopeful Friday #3

I hope our family is full of lots of differences, lots of skin colors, lots of shapes and sizes, and talents and gifts.

The world needs more people who aren't like me.

And maybe a little of me nurtured into them... Maybe?

Hopeful Friday #2

Soooooo glad this was not part of the process.
I kill everything.
Plants.
Fish.
Scott's attempts to get me to go camping.

Everything.

Happy Friday!

Hopeful Friday #1

This journey towards adoption can be a little long.

A little scary.

And a little overwhelming.

(And when I say "a little" I mean "a lot.")

So, in order to keep my eyes on the beauty adoption, I've instigated "Hopeful Fridays." (It's not catchy. There's no alliteration. It doesn't rhyme. But it makes perfect sense. So I kept it.)

Every Friday (when I remember) I will post something light and refreshing. A reminder of what we're waiting and working for. Nothing too heavy. Nothing intense.

Just a little hope.

For Friday.

This is where I'm living. Just inside of scared... praying for God's grace.

Of Political Rants and the Heavenly Kingdom

I am disgusted.

Totally and completely disgusted.

My generation of young evangelicals sometimes make me want to bash their heads together and stamp my foot in childlike anger.

A complete lack of involvement in, or attention to politics is a mindset embraced by many young evangelicals. Instead of rolling up their sleeves, registering to vote, and holding a sign at a rally, they shrug their holy shoulders and sigh...

"You know, this world is not our home. God will advance His Kingdom. I'm choosing to focus on more eternal things at this time..."

That. Is. Complete. CRAP.

(No, really, Courtney, tell us how you really feel.)

I understand the gospel is of paramount importance. I understand His will "will be done on earth as it is in heaven." I don't think I would argue with anyone who, at the end of the day, says, "God is sovereign. Won't heaven be nice?"

But that's not the point. The point is that we have been given the gift of marvelous freedom. Freedom in which we can share that gospel, preach that gospel, live that gospel. When that freedom is gone, what will you do? Of course, you can argue that you'll still share, still preach, and still live, but let me ask you: will the same number of people still be able to hear it?

Freedom is a conduit to the gospel. It is not the gospel, but it enables the free spreading of this gospel.

Attacks on freedom begin to attack the laws and commands of God: abortion, homosexuality, evangelizing, child-rearing.

When my country begins to make my obedience to God difficult, then I have lost a precious gift.

So, no, I don't sit around watching the news every day. I don't bemoan eco-friendly bills or liberal pundits getting into office. What I do  decry is a lack of willingness to address our culture, to be engaged, to protect liberty--not for liberty's sake, not as something that I'm owed--but rather because protecting this liberty will enable the free spread of the gospel for both me and my children.

So stop sounding so holy.

Call your senator.

Stay informed.

Please.


**phew!** 
 

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Some things you might want to know:

President Obama issued yet another executive order. Titled “Assignment of National Security and Emergency Preparedness Communications Functions,” it would appear that the implementation of emergency communications by Obama, using all forms of wired and wireless communication systems, is redirected through the executive branch and could expand such takeover abilities beyond the limits of an actual act of war. 

"The Rights of the Child" is currently trying to take decisions for special needs children out of the hands of their parents and making it a government responsibility. More info: http://www.unicef.org/crc/

Of Agencies, Group Counseling, and Elephants

After twenty-two months of pregnancy, mommy elephants give birth to a 250 pound baby.

I feel like a mommy elephant.

I don't know how long the wait will be (maybe as much as 22 months!), and I feel like I've been carrying around at least 250 pounds of paperwork. Adoption saves babies while it simultaneously kills trees.

In the interest of keeping all of our loved ones in the loop, I'll try to use this post to give you a little more information about the process. Careful! I just saw your head nod... About to doze off, are you? Well, so be it. Other women blog about their morning sickness. I'm going to blog about my paper cuts.

Here's our process (decry it, modify it, bemoan it, praise it... whatevs. God is big enough to use us inspite of us.)
 


1. We found an agency we liked.

This was actually a massive hurdle to overcome. We made it one of our family goals for 2012 that we would research and begin to pursue adoption. There are a crap load of adoption agencies. Seriously. Tons. We were supposed to have an agency chosen by the end of March (per our 2012 strategic plan).

The end of March rolled around. No agency.

The end of April rolled around. Still no agency.

We had contacted multiple agencies. We had even gone to meet with one (unnamed) Christian organization in Indy. The conversation still makes me chuckle...

We were escorted into a dim office, complete with pictures of children from multiple nationalities and large comfy chairs. The woman who turned to greet us was in her early 60's. In a perfectly modulated voice she welcomed us, and began to go through the process of the adoption with their agency.

All the fluff-Christian catchphrases rolled right out of her mouth. I'm pretty gosh-darn sure that she is probably the person who created said phrases... "We're all God's children." "Love is all that matters." "You must never discipline your adopted child. They may develop abandonment issues."

Watching Scott's skin crawl was positively delightful. I, meanwhile, pretended to eat it all up, and I even asked her to repeat some horrible child-psych book that recommends hugging your child instead of disciplining. But the part where we knew this was not our adoption "home" was when she started talking about their guidelines for adoption.

Their application required a "faith summary" to let them know about our stance on religion. Scott asked a seemingly benign question:

"So, all the people who adopt through you are some branch of Christianity?"
The woman looked surprised, "Oh, no... We are helping a Muslim family adopt from Pakistan right now."
We nodded smilingly.
"After all," she continued, "They pray to Allah for this adoption and we pray to God, so we're all really just praying to the same person, you know. Isn't that lovely?"

I almost choked. Scott's face looked like cast-iron. While I have absolutely no problem with adoption occurring to people with other beliefs, the blatant pandering and fluffy nonsense this woman was spinning made me want to hurl.

So end of April. Still no agency.

Then, one Sunday morning, as I was waiting for Scott to finish cleaning up, I stumbled across the Adoption Support Center (ASC) in Indianapolis. The very first thing that gripped me was their emphasis on caring for the birth mothers of these babies. They very firmly believe that they are a service first to these women, and that we, as adoptive families, are also to serve these brave girls who make such large sacrifices for their babies. More opportunities to share the gospel!

Our introductory seminar to ASC was four hours of information, and while there was fluff, (they played "The Circle of Life" during a baby-slide show) we agreed that their way of approaching adoption seemed healthy.

Agency found: middle of May.


2. Paperwork. Paperwork. Paperwork.

All said and done, we probably completed close to 100 pages of paperwork. Multiple background checks. Medical exams. Biographical information. 150 pictures. Financial data. Pay stubs. Extensive mapping of family trees (this was a separate 90 minute interview... I now know all my uncles' birthdays...).

And we completed it all QUICKLY. The agency has more birth mothers looking than they had families available. They expedited everything we did.


3. Group Counseling.

They called it a homestudy class. It wasn't. It was group counseling with the subtle theme being, "Please don't be a selfish idiot with this poor birth mother."

8 full hours.

Judging by the blonde, perfectly manicured woman to my left's questions about how the baby would look... I don't think it sunk in with everyone...




And now we're done.

Just waiting.

For our baby elephant...

Holding Loosely, Clinging Tightly

Plan. Don't plan. Think of the future. Don't do that. Wish for something. Stop wishing. Live in the moment. What about tomorrow?

Hello, conundrum:
\kə-ˈnən-drəm\

a) a question or problem having only a conjectural answer  

b) an intricate and difficult problem 

 

This is where I live. And it's where I've always lived, but this adoption process has just made that all the more evident.

  

As a human, (and a person with slight OCD tendencies!) I like to have a plan. I like to map out my future. And I often deviate from my map, but at least I made it and I'm typically somewhat in control of the deviations. When I was about 6 (i.e. could independently hold a pencil) I started goal setting every January 1st with my dad. Some people laugh at the proverbial "New Years' Resolutions," but for me they're an excellent re-orientation towards what I should be striving to be: more like Christ.

 

So, the adoption...

 

The thing is, there's no plan.

 

Oh, we filled out all the paperwork. We've paid our first chunk of change (goodbye, $$$$$), and we've completed the homestudy, the classes, and the interviews.

 

But now there is no plan.

 

 With everything that is in my heart, I want to hold a baby. I want to cuddle it, and soothe it. For years I've babysat screaming babies who quieted at the sound of their mom's voices. I'm ready to be the mom. 

Adoption isn't like a nine-month gestation period. While it may not have the swollen ankles (yay!), it does not have the degree of certainty. While I understand that literally anything  can happen at any birth, we're facing an additional hurdle. 

We may be chosen by a birth mom. I may go with her to all her appointments. I may stand in labor and delivery holding her hand. I may get to hold the screaming, brand-new baby. I may cuddle it, feed it, love it...

And then we may leave the hospital without a baby.

Until the birth mom signs the papers, that is still her baby. As it should be.

So I can't plan. I can't nest. I can't buy baby clothes. I can't have a shower. Because we may go through an entire 12 months and never get a baby. And then we have to decide if we'll pay another chunk of change, go through another home study, and complete more paperwork in order to try for another 12 months.

Because I may not have a baby.

To me it is  important that I not accumulate baby things, plan my baby schedule, and dream of baby-baby-baby.

Because then I will make an idol out of motherhood.

I want it dearly. I want it desperately.

But it may not be my plan. And if that is the case, I want to drift into that knowledge with a heart free of bitterness towards my God. I want my satisfaction to rest wholly with Him, and I know that "at an acceptable time, [He], in the abundance of [His] steadfast love [will] answer me in [His] saving faithfulness."(Ps. 69:13)

So I'm standing (perhaps) on the brink of motherhood. Trying not to get excited, but still trying to delight in this process. Trying to hold it loosely, while simultaneously passionately pursue it. Trying to rejoice in this opportunity, and rejoice if it is taken away.

For the only way I will be truly joyful, is if I believe that God alone can satisfy, and I must cling to Him. As Psalm 63 says over and over, "My soul thirsts for you....because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you... My soul will be satisfied... for you have been my help. In the shadow of your wings I will sing for joy. My soul clings to you." God's hand will not let me fall. His plans are better than mine.

My baby (if they're out there!), and all babies, rest in the same hands that I do... For my God is a big and loving God.

Same lesson as always... I just had to fill out tons of paperwork to arrive there this time...

Ginger-Ale and Communication

I get sick a lot.

A combination of a weak stomach (hello, ulcerative colitis!) and absolutely no bravado, means that about once a week, all I want to do is curl up on the couch and say "Goodbye, world!"

When we first got married, Scott knew about these episodes. He had been present when one landed me in the hospital, so he was no stranger to my suffering. As such, I thought he was privvy to the private code of the patient.

"I'm not feeling well" = the hubby should come home early, first stopping to pick up chicken noodle soup, a chick-flick with Katherine Heigl, and a big, huge bottle of Ginger-Ale.

But he didn't pick up on the code.

After the first few dozen disapointments, I realized that I was expecting my husband to read my mind. So, being the loving wife that I am, I decided to spell it out a little more clearly...

"Honey, I'm not feeling well... Ginger-Ale would be nice."

He still didn't get it. Granted, it was one text in the sea of 100-or-so that I send him that day, but he didn't grab my desperate need for Ginger-Ale even when I spelled it out.

Well, I'm an understanding, long-suffering lil' wifey. My desire is to help my husband. So I mobilized an ad-campaign via text messaging during the next sick day:

"My tummy hurts. Ginger-Ale is yummy."
"When we were sick, my mom would let us have Ginger-Ale as a treat."
"I love Ginger-Ale."
"Have you ever noticed how soothing Ginger-Ale is when you have a sick tummy?"
"Don't you just think Ginger-Ale is amazing?"
"My goodness, Ginger-Ale would sure taste refreshing."
"My poor tummy needs Ginger-Ale."

Yes. I probably over-did it. But, after all, it was loving of me, because I wanted my husband to succeed!

That night, he walks through the door. Empty handed.

"Honey, where's the Ginger-Ale?"
He looks nonplussed: "Ginger-Ale?"
"Yes, please... my tummy has been hurting."
"Oh Courtney, I'm sorry. I didn't know you wanted me to pick up Ginger-Ale."

At which point, I'm ashamed to say, I lost it:

"How could you not know that I wanted to you get Ginger-Ale!?!"
"Sweetie, you never texted me asking me!"
"What!?! I think I probably referenced Ginger-Ale FIFTY TIMES today!" (A lack of Ginger-Ale makes me a smidge dramatic.)

He pulls out his phone, "Oh, these texts? Yes, I understood you like Ginger-Ale, but you never asked me to get you any."

I bury my head in my pillow, "How on earth could you miss the fact that I wanted Ginger-Ale?"

"Well, you never asked for it... Next time, just send me a text telling me exactly what you want, and I'll put it in my iPod and make sure that it gets added to my to-do list."

Tears welled up in my eyes, "I don't want to be another item on your to-do list! I want you to just know what I need and to just remember and do it!"

"Courtney, honey, I'm not going to remember it unless I write it down on my to-do list."

"But you should! You should just know! You should just do! It shouldn't be so much work! Is it so hard  to anticipate my needs and love me?!"

At which point in time, the poor man could have legitimately said that, "Yes" it was hard! My goodness... pain makes me emotional!

You see, it's a common misconception among women, I along with the rest, that loving service should just spring up like a burbling brook, elicited by my most obtuse references. I have been blessed with the world's most loving, intuitive husband. Because of this, I took it for granted that he would understand every single, most hidden agenda in every single moment of our communication.

It's not fair to expect communication to flow they way it does in movies or chick-lit. Women interpret true love as spontaneous acts of love and service without much direction being needed. Men should just know what we want.

My wonderful hubby was very anxious to serve me, but the thought of being another item on his to-do list, made me feel un-loved (largely because I didn't like acknowledging that sick-me was so much work, and that our intuitive love didn't span all modalities of communication). My interpretation of anticipatory love was very inappropriately constructed. Love is sacrificial. The fact that my husband writes notes to himself in order to remember to be sacrificial, in no way decreases the wonder of his service. If anything, it heightens it--showing me that it is that important to him.

 True love is not a Katherine Heigl movie where the hero interprets her needs correctly during that first, candle-lit dinner. True love is writing notes to remember that a sick wife wants ginger-ale...and a chick-flick... and pj's... and a cuddle while watching said chick-flick in said pjs. It may seem less romantic, but the love that it springs from is consciouly serving the other person and striving to be a loving leader. Buying into romantic, intuitive nonsense is crazy. Clear communication and a willingness to serve (from both husband and wife!) is worth a thousand candlelight dinners.

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Addendum: Several months after the initial Ginger-Ale conversation, I became deathly ill while working--yucky flu! My wonderful hubby (without my asking!) showed up to drive me home from work. As I climbed into the car, he placed a cold towel over my eyes, presented a giant teddy-bear for me to snuggle, and said, "Honey, there's ginger-ale cooling in the fridge at home."


Now, that's true love.