Nausea

I haven't talked much about leaving Judah and Addise behind, but every time I have talked about it, I've cried. It was one of THE. MOST. PAINFUL. THINGS. I. HAVE. EVER. DONE.

I've said a few times that I feel like a terrible mother. What parent gets on a plane and leaves her children in Africa!??! I know, I know. But that's just ONE example of how crazy this process is.

When it was time to leave Tikuret and our children, I started a slow meltdown that lasted hours. The nurse had to pry Addise out of my arms and put her in her crib. Seriously, how could they expect me to willingly lay down my daughter, leave that orphanage, get on a plane, and leave her in "strangers" care for undisclosed weeks upon weeks????

The only way I could do it is grace that God cares for them and knowledge that we WERE coming back.

After I laid Addise down in her crib, I snuggled her in the pink blanket we brought her, kissed her lips and forehead one more time, and dragged myself out of her room. Brian was holding Judah and got to kiss her goodbye, too.

We wanted to say goodbye to Judah last. He's older. He's the most aware of what's going on, and yet we have no idea how much he's really processing. He's the one we are most concerned about with his loss, grieving, transitions, and his overall healing.

We walked into Judah's playroom with a bunch of other toddlers, and knelt down next to him. His big brown eyes soaking in everything. He held Brian's hand and I rubbed his head and back. The moment is frozen in time for me. Tears even now remembering that moment. It was time to say goodbye to our son. We silently prayed over his little soul, kissed his cheeks, and pointed him toward playing with his friends. Brian and I walked out of the room and closed the door. I immediately started weeping. Brian held me for a while, and I had a flashback to February 15th, 2009. The day we found our our last fertility treatment failed. And in that moment, like only God can, he spoke.

This is the last painful moment in this tremendously painful journey toward becoming a family. I've formed your family.

While it was so hard to walk out of the orphanage, I left with gratitude and hope that this is the end. My friend Kelly used to say frequently after disappointing infertility results, "this is not the end". She was right. The end is right around the corner.

We flew out of Ethiopia a few hours later on a red eye, and I experienced one of the weirdest things of my life. I was trying to fall asleep so I could get a few hours of sleep before we hit the ground running in Germany. I was drifting asleep as we started taking off, and then something took over my body. I started feeling the WORST nausea that I've ever experienced. The blood drained from my face, I broke into a cold sweat, and weakly whispered Brian's name for help. He grabbed the plane's puke bag [awesome], and for about 5 minutes I sat convincing myself not to hurl everywhere. Brian couldn't figure out where this came from, but I knew. I was leaving my babies in Ethiopia. The nausea was an emotional response from the physical separation we were experiencing. I will never forget that feeling or flight from Ethiopia.

Watching this uncut video will give you a window into "why" I nearly threw up all over Lufthansa's plan...Judah and Addise are 2 amazing kids and I miss them entirely.

Hair on Fire to Be Still

Since we got back from Ethiopia 3 weeks ago, I feel like we've been running around with our hair on fire! It's been nearly non-stop since we landed at LAX and began final preparations for becoming parents and taking time off from work. Our days and nights have been filled with work, constant errands to Target and Babies R Us, late night email checks, meeting up with friends, long small group dinners, last minute dates with my babies' daddy, kids' room makeover, maternity leave arrangements, turkey day celebration, Christmas decorating and shopping, and 2 baby showers. You have noticed, I've done very little blogging. Now maybe you know why! :)

And even in the midst of all this, I am so energized. All this frantic activity is for our kids, preparing them to come home to be with us forever. I am filled with delight, joy, gratitude, and bursting with hope these days. Very few things discourage me, get me annoyed, or truly aggravate me. It is well with my soul.

Last week, I was able to slow down for a day of solitude at my favorite place to be silent and be with God, The Montage. For the past 5+ years, I've walked to this place almost every month to see this waiting for me....gorgeous, I know!

For the past 3+ years I've processed and grieved so very much the death of a dream [pregnancy], longing [to have a family], and waded through waiting [through our infertility and adoption]. Seeing the ocean when I've walked up to these stairs has been my refuge and now is my Ebenezer.

Walking down these stairs toward the beach every month, I often walked in on the verge of tears and sadness. But I also walked in expectant to see, hear, touch, and experience God in a new way.

Isaiah 40 became a battle cry for my soul. The end of the chapter summarized my prayer:

"But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength.
They will soar high on wings like eagles.
They will run and not grow weary.
They will walk and not faint."

Walking up these stairs at the end of my days, I sensed God's closeness and presence in ways I know I would not have had I not taken the time to STOP and BE WITH him. I walked away hopeful, renewed, and connected to Jesus.

It really was from this bench, with this view that the most amount of soul renovation took place. I read. I wept. I sat. I slept. I listened. I journalled. I talked with my spiritual director. I questioned. I waited.

Also, nearly EVERY time that I sat on this bench I saw dolphins swimming by - jumping, playing, making cute dolphin noises. After a few consecutive months, I started sensing that those dolphins symbolized God's great love for me and his desire for me to swim in his grace. I cried every time I saw them.

Last week, when I sat on this bench again I saw something different. I'm not entirely sure what I saw, but for about 20 minutes I saw at least a couple hundred seals swimming about 100 yards off the coast. A multitude of seals! For 20 minutes! I'm not a prophet, but I sensed in my spirit the Spirit saying something new...

Isaiah 43:18-19 has been a repetitive passage for me over the years:

"But forget all that—
it is nothing compared to what I am going to do.
For I am about to do something new.
See, I have already begun! Do you not see it?
I will make a pathway through the wilderness.
I will create rivers in the dry wasteland."

I don't know when I'll be able to go to The Montage again. I'm guessing it'll be a little while. But on this silence and solitude day, there was space to reflect on all God's done and a deep sense of one chapter closing and another beginning. I didn't see a dozen dolphins on that day, like I have for years. I saw hundreds of what appeared to be seals. Something new...

Transitions

Think about the last big move you had [for every member of my family of origin, this is a recent reality]. Stressful? Exhausting? Emotionally draining? Nerve wracking? Time consuming? Yes, I'm sure to most of those feelings and probably a few more.

Now think about being 2 or 3 years old and feeling all of those feelings, but not being able to rationalize it, put it into perspective, articulate your feelings, verbalize your loss and processing, and truly understand what's happening in your world.

That is the reality for kids facing adoption. That is Judah's reality as a nearly 2 1/2 year old little guy who can't speak English, hasn't had parents in a long time, and lives in a very different world that our zip code. That is Addise's reality who's spent the vast majority of her life in an orphanage.

For both of our kids, they are facing their 4th transition in their short lives!! Have you had to move homes 4 times in 1 year? Probably not. Then, throw in the fact that you now how different care takers, nutrition, bed, and surroundings and you'll get a snapshot into the kind of grieving, loss, and transition that our little ones are experiencing. It's unfathomable to me.

As I've been grieving alongside my kids for their transitions and loss, I've wondered how they felt with Brian and I coming to their 3rd home, loving on them for 3 days, then leaving them. Do they understand what's happening? Do they know we are their parents, or do they just think that we're another set of hands to hold them?
I was sharing my questions with another adoptive mom at Newsong whose adopted daughter is an adult and she said something that seared into my heart: there's something different about a mother's and father's touch - they know the difference. I don't know if research and developmental experts would confirm her words of comfort, but I have to believe that there IS something different about the way we held, kissed, and played with Judah and Addise. It seems like a supernatural thing God would do to remind them that we have not left them as orphans [John 14:18].

All I know is that since we've been back from Ethiopia [2 weeks ago today!], I've been praying for their souls to be healed and prepared for another transition AND that we'd get that December 14th Embassy date!!!