Noonday

...and if you spend yourself on the behalf of the hungry 

and satisfy the needs of the oppressed,

then your light will rise in the darkness,

and your night will become like the Noonday.

Isaiah 58:10

This past weekend my sweet friend, Nikki, hosted a Noonday trunk show to support our adoption.  I've known about Noonday for awhile, it's pretty well known in international adoption circles.  In sharing in  my journey (and our mutual love of all things Jen Hatmaker) Nikki recently came across it too.  We'd both been drooling over their catalog for several weeks when Nikki decided that she wanted to host a trunk show.  When she learned that Noonday parties are often used to support adoptions (It's founder is an adoptive mother), she generously changed the focus of the party so that a portion of the proceeds support the Kirk Family adoption.  Nikki is my best friend from high school.  Ever the Lucy to my Ethel, we've found ourselves in a ridiculous number of very silly escapades.  Our husbands regularly eye roll at the things we cook up.  She is uniquely and unapologetically  "Nikki", there is no one like her, and I love her for that.  She is a champion of forgiveness, and a lover of the light.  I am better for knowing her.  

Holly, myself, & Nikki

The party itself was a lot of fun.  I was humbled by all the people who took time to support us by coming to the party or by ordering online. During the trunk show we heard about Noonday and their mission to partner with artisans in impoverished countries to provide a pathway out of poverty.  We met Holly, our Noonday Ambassador, and heard how she got involved with this company because of a desire to "do something" about extreme poverty and the orphan crisis.  (See that "Stuck" bracelet on her right hand in the photo?  It's the same one I wear everyday on my right hand.  It turns out we were at the same showing!  I love that she's still wearing it in support of families like us!)  We heard the stories of some of the lives that have been changed because of Noonday.  Obviously, I have an interest in Ethiopia.  I looked up the story of the Ethiopian artisans early on and instantly fell in love.  I had been telling this story to everyone I knew before the party, and it was this story that Holly chose to tell during the party.  For those who weren't there, or who haven't seen me lately, let me paraphrase it:

There is a mountain range in Ethiopia outside of the capital of Addis Ababa, called the Entoto Mountains.  There are streams that flow through these mountains that have long been thought to have healing properties.  Individuals with HIV/AIDS have, in desperation, flocked to these streams, outcast from family and friends, in a last ditch effort to achieve restoration and health.  A small group of people, recognizing the overwhelming need, created an outreach program in the Entoto mountains.  They created social programs to improve access to medications.  Through Noonday, they also created a way for these people to have a sustainable income.  Now here is the part of the story that I love.  They collect artillery shells from the local farmers scattered from old wars and conflicts.  They take these shells and melt them down to create beads for beautiful jewelry.  Just. Amazing.  From the ugliness of war to the beauty of a new life.  From the purpose of ending lives to the purpose of extending them through life giving HIV medication.  From destruction to salvation.  Redemption.  Beauty from Ashes.

I purchased a couple of these Ethiopian pieces for myself.  They will remind me of the beauty from ashes in my own life, of the miracle of God's redemption, and of the way he's taking this world and making beautiful things out of dust.

You can find out more about Noonday here. 


p.s.
On the adoption front, there isn't a lot to report.  We are still waiting for our local MOWA letter before we can move forward.  Our son is one of many waiting to have MOWA letters released from this area.  It is likely that our new infant referral will come from this group of children in the same orphanage in Awassa waiting for their paperwork.  So our new referral will probably come at the same time that we hear of progress on our older boy.  They continue to say any day now.  We've been hearing that for awhile.  Friends have been asking me how they can pray more specifically.  This week we've been praying that the local MOWA officials' hearts would be burdened with the task of releasing this group of children.  That they would feel intensely that it needs to be done.  That they would be haunted with urgency until the task is completed.  But until then...we continue to wait.

Harvest

It's harvest time in Kansas.  Usually we think of harvest and it's metaphors in the fall.  But Kansas is wheat country, and around here the big harvest is usually in June.  We live what I like to call "country adjacent."  Though we live in a suburban neighborhood, the wheat fields are all around us, and I've been trapped behind a slow moving combine plodding down the street in front of me on numerous occasions.  It is a part of the culture here.  When I worked in a medical clinic in a nearby rural Kansas town,our clinic appointments would come to a stand still during harvest.  We'd keep suture kits out and ready, because we'd see plenty of harvest injuries, but not much else.  Our local newspaper ran this  as the front page story this week.  They took photo submissions for collections titled "Wheat Harvests" and "Wheat Harvest Memories".  Harvest excitement is palpable.

photo credit: Kansas Ag Network

In the midst of this massive harvest going on around us, these two non-farmers are fumbling around trying desperately to plant some seed. Many of you know that about a month ago we moved two 18 year old young ladies (identical twin sisters) into our home.  They had been in foster care and had aged out.  Because of a complicated number of issues, they had become homeless, and the place that they had been temporarily staying was no longer appropriate.  So we heard their story one day, met them two days later, and they moved in two days after that.  Just like that.
How is it going, you ask?  Well...

Some days it looks like this:

I feel like I want to be John Stamos in this scenario. Just...don't ask.  It might have something to do with that feathered and fabulous hair.  :)

(As a side note, you should know that I can sing that entire theme song.  Actually, I can sing the theme song to most sitcoms.   I am somewhat of a sitcom theme song savant.  For real.  It's a gift.  Want some WKRP in Cinncinati?  BOOM...got it.  Want some Family Ties?  Sang it to my husband yesterday.  Want the theme song to the original Bob Newhart show?  Well, there aren't words to that, but I can hum it to you.  But I digress...)  :)




Some days recently it has felt more like this:

I'm obviously Tom Cruise in this scenario.  You know...the one hanging on by "a very thin thread."




And in rare but frustrating instances it has looked more like this:

Not sure which one of the nameless fighters I am in the scenario.  But I know I'm not Chuck Norris.  There's only one Chuck Norris.  Chuck Norris doesn't wear a watch.  HE decides what time it is.  And Chuck Norris died 20 years ago; death just hasn't had the courage to tell him yet.  Chuck Norris counted to infinity...twice.  Chuck Norris took out two stones with one bird.   :)  Ok, enough with the Chuck Norris jokes.  :)



My point is that the girls aren't perfect.  And neither am I.  So we fumble through together some times.  If I'm not careful, I'm tempted to compare who I was at 18, and the decisions I made at 18, to the girls and their choices. But this is incredibly unfair.  Our life experiences to that point were night and day different.  A more fair comparison would be to imagine what I would have been like at 18 had I been through what they have.  I'm quite sure I would not have fared so well.

On those occasions where they make progress, I'm crazy proud of them.  And they ARE making progress.  Bonds of trust and friendship are slow to form, but we are finding our way.  I try to make a point of telling them that I believe in them, on good days as well as tough days.  Because I DO believe in them.  And it's important that they know someone does.  Every day.  No matter what their actions and attitudes are.  Before you give me too much credit here, you should also know that my attitude isn't always what it should be.  I get frustrated, and anxious, and angry more than I should.  But we're all working through it together.

I once read a quote that said,
"You come to find love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly."

We are all sadly imperfect, but working hard to see each other through the eyes of grace.    


Farmers will tell you that a wet and messy spring brings about a fruitful summer.  Well, my spring was certainly wet and messy, as we lost the referral for a child that we'd spent 7 months thinking was going be ours.  But now,  as we work to plant our metaphorical seed the best way we know how, we look ahead with excitement to the promise of harvest.




p.s.  If you are looking for an adoption update...so are we.  Sadly no movement in our case.  We are perpetually told "next week".  It's going to be done "next week".  Always, "next week."  Eventually one of these "next weeks" it has to happen, right?  I sure hope so.  

The hard one to write

I've sat down to write this blog at least four times in the past week.  Each time, I've closed it out and walked away.  Not for the reasons you might think.  This is a sad segment of our adoption journey, and we have a lot of complicated feelings about it.  But being overcome with emotion was not the reason.  Sometimes you just get worn out by your own drama.  Sometimes you get tired of telling the story of one more way things fell apart.  The truth is that among the many things I'm feeling right now, the one thing inside my head that's shouting at me the loudest is this:  I'm exhausted.  Emotionally, mentally, spiritually, even physically, just beat.  But since this is an effort to document the good, the bad, the exasperating, of our true story, here it is:  The story of how we lost our referral for our infant boy.

We were on our way last week to our first Wichita Ethiopia Families get-together when we stopped to grab some food.  I checked my email from my phone as we waited in the drive-through line.  (If you've been around me in the past 6 months, you know that I am obsessive about checking my email.  This is because updates can come at any time, day or night, and I'm always so anxious for updates.)  In my inbox I found an email that said "Updates".  When I opened it I was shocked to find an email from our local coordinator, and also the director of the agency letting us know that we had now lost the referral for the younger boy.  He was no longer adoptable.  (The reasons he is no longer adoptable are another sad story.  One we are praying will eventually have a happy ending.  I'm not sure if it's appropriate to share those details here.)  In my shock I blurted it out to Wes in the seat next to me, not even thinking about the 6 year old little girl behind me in the car, who heard the statement as well.   And as Wes and I sat there open-mouthed in a state of shock, it was Jena's heart that immediately began to grieve.  The tears came quickly.

And then we didn't know what to do.  Do we continue on to this adoption get-together?  Meet all these new people for the first time with red eyes and tear stains?  Do we bring Jena along in this, or go home and try to re-group?  In the end we decided that if there was anyone in the world that would understand our complicated feelings, it was this group of Ethiopia adoption families.  There were to be quite a few other kids there, and nothing cheers the heart of an only-child faster than a big group of children.  So we continued on, having learned this new information just 10 minutes before we arrived at a party to celebrate Ethiopian adoption.  And it was a good decision.  Women I barely knew, and some that I had just met, held me and hugged me when I broke down trying to relay the story.  There was an understanding that existed there that we wouldn't have gotten anywhere else.  And Jena did have a wonderful time.  She made many new friends, and was quickly cheered by all the company.

We revisited the subject, briefly, again at bedtime prayers.  The tears began to flow once again.  She asked us not to take down any of the pictures of him that we have around our house.  "I want to be able to remember him", she told us.  I'm thankful for her sensitive heart that can so furiously grieve the loss of a brother half a world away, who doesn't look like her, or know she exists, and who, in fact, she's never even met.   There will be a time for acceptance, and that time hasn't come yet for her.  But grief is a process, and I know it will take her some time.

For Wes and I, I can tell you that the emotion of the ordeal is a lot like the emotion of a miscarriage.  It's grieving that unrealized potential.  It's being so close to having something, dreaming about it, planning for it, and then watching it all slip right through your fingers.  Except that I don't have the closure of a change in my body.  With one email, that's it, he's gone.

Our agency plans to eventually provide us with a new infant referral.  I think we want that, but it is really hard to wrap our minds around right now.  We've spent the past 6 months falling in love with this little boy.  He feels irreplaceable.  He IS irreplaceable.

Further complicating our feelings is the fact that we don't feel great about the way in which we lost the referral.   We know that this child's future is uncertain, and he is a little boy that the three of us will wonder about for the rest of our lives.  I've made attempts through a couple of different avenues to see if there is any way that we can help to improve his situation as he remains in Ethiopia, so far with little success.  The increased scrutiny on International Adoptions makes any contact on our part with him or his family grey area at best.

So this is where the self-doubt could set in.  This entire process has been an uphill battle for us.  Nothing so far has fallen perfectly into place.  If we aren't careful, we start to wonder if we've misunderstood the calling.  Is this what you want from us, God?  Why is it so hard?  So painful?

In these times of questions, when answers seem scarce the thing that I'm learning will heal me, the thing that seems vital, is to give thanks.  Because "Eucharisteo always, always, precedes the miracle." (Thanks Ann.)  So in that spirit, here are some things we are thankful for:

First:  Because of our ultimately failed attempt to adopt him, this child has spent a good part of his early life in one of the best facilities for orphans in Ethiopia, our agency's foster care.  (Seriously, I keep hearing how quality it is, and how amazing the nannies are.)  Away from parents, he wouldn't have gotten that kind of care anywhere else.  

Next:  I'm thankful that this child now has a group of people in America who will be praying for him and thinking about him for years to come.  This is a child that Wes, Jena and I will wonder about, think about, and pray for the rest of our lives.  In fact, the Kirk/Randels/Eddleman families will continue to think about and pray for this child.

Next: I'm thankful that God can redeem the sad and uncertain parts of this child's future.  I'm believing for him that this will happen. 

Next: I'm thankful that my daughter has the capacity for a giant kind of love that stretches across continents, and cultures, and colors of skin.  I'm thankful that she was so capable of this big love, that she now grieves his loss, as we all do.

Next: I'm thankful for an amazing support system of family, old friends, and new friends.  I'm thankful for a well-timed visit from one of my closest friends, the one who understands failed adoptions, and the longing for motherhood...because she's lived it too.  I'm thankful for a new friend who is forging this messy uncharted territory of international adoption with me, and the ways that feeling like you aren't doing it alone seems to make such a difference.    

Lastly: I'm thankful for the peace that's washing over us.  That when friends ask us how we're coping, I can say: "We are processing, but (emphatically) we are ok."


And so giving thanks for these many blessings, we press on.

Watch your back, Spielberg

We had a great time hosting the showing of the documentary "Stuck" this weekend.  Some great friends and family came out and gave up their Friday night to watch it.  We are well aware that most who came were there as a sign of support and solidarity to us personally, and we just can't tell you how much that means to us.  Before the showing of the film, we played this little mini-movie about us which we made this week.  It tells a little of our story.  My public, (i.e. my grandma) has been asking to see it, so here it is.  :)

No new updates on the boys.  It's been about 10 weeks since we've seen anything on the baby.  We were supposed to have some movement last week on the older boy, but haven't heard yet if that happened or not. Since no news has generally meant bad news, I'm guessing not.  Praying for good news and updates for both this week...

She Decided for Art

I am one of those weird people who will frame words.  And I mean this in the literal sense.  If you look closely, scattered around my house are framed bits of poetry, song lyrics, and prose.  I purchased a print of a painting I love for my husband at Valentines Day and, of course, couldn’t resist copying poetry up and down the back of it before it was placed lovingly into it’s frame.  Because I believe that if a picture is worth a thousand words, the right words, put together in a thoughtful way are worth at least a thousand pictures. 

I recently came across this piece by Ann Voskamp.  She is the author of One Thousand Gifts, and writes a wonderful blog, www.aholyexperience.com.  Her work is poetry, really.  Poetry in the modern disguise of a 21 century blog.  If you aren’t following her already…you should be.  This piece so resonated with me that I placed it here, next to my bed. 

It's a reminder for me to decide for art.  To make my life art.  To seek out the beautiful.  Because when you're really looking for it, you'll find that He's placed little reminders all around you.  It felt right to repost it here in this week leading up to Mother’s Day.  It's a piece she titled "How to make a Home".  Enjoy.

How to Make a Home

Sometimes in the middle of the night, her hip would graze his and his arm would find her waist and she would lay awake in the middle of their life.

She didn’t know what would come next and how it all would unfold, but that new mercies always would.

He made it simple. Raising, teaching, the children, wasn’t.

And the meals she always had to keep figuring out, and the laundry that toppled over, and the floors that kept growing mess. The way her mind and heart would wander, crumble at the edges, and she would reach for steadying in her Maker. The way she’d get lost– and remember to breathe. But this, this making of a family, it was not a calling to dismiss but a calling to make disciples.

A calling, that which keeps calling you and you never stop listening for, that is what a calling is, the way He keeps speaking: “This is the way, walk in it.”

So she made soup and matched socks. She scrubbed out the tub. She awoke: One always gets to decide what is mindless work and what is soulful work.

She would decide.

She decided for art, to make her life art. She would make it all art — it all would be art, worship, a gift back. It all would preach Gospel.

And he, he too had these simple ways that steadied her, there in the dark, always in her dark. The way that he talked and moved his hands and worked and held her: he knew how to keep it simple.

Just keep the focus simply on Christ — Walk Forward. Keep company with Christ. Love always. Bend low.

In the midst of everything that went wrong, that was all. They would see everything as the ugly beautiful –  because Christ is redeeming everything.

Together, they would make a life of doing hard but holy things.

She would light candles. She would murmur thanks.

She would touch him often and gently.

And there would be that:

The best place to make a home is in the state of amazing grace.

~Ann Voskamp 

Front Row Seats

So this week...yowza...hard...just hard.  It was this week that we really sensed there were some major problems with our cases, and it was this week that we got all that confirmed.  At one point during this week we thought neither of our adoptions were going to happen.  Then we found out some of the things we thought were terrible might not be as bad as we thought.  And that some things we thought were probably fine, were more complicated than we had guessed.  But the short of it is that, sadly, both of our referrals have major complications.

So the gut reaction that springs from me immediately is "why?"  Why does it feel like we have to fight every step of the way?  Couldn't there be one thing in this process, just one thing, that goes easier than planned?  (Maybe God is saving those things for end of the process.  One can hope, right?)  And so we've had our moments of grief, and anger, and second guessing, and questions.

And then we remember to breathe.  And to pray.  To look out, and around at the "beautiful things".  (Thanks Erica)  To give thanks for what we have.  To give thanks for the hope that these sweet boys will eventually make their way home.  Then friends and family come out of the woodwork ready and willing to let us lean on them.  Strangers tell us beautiful stories of redemption.  Our adoption community embraces us, gives us much needed understanding, and reminds us we're not alone.  And we regain focus.  We regain our resolve.  


To speak to some of the specifics:  Our older boy is from a region in Ethiopia known as the SNNPR.  (Southern Nations, Nationalities, and People's Republic)  This is a Southern region in Ethiopia.  There have been some big issues with this region over the past 2 years, because of new local regulations.  I've seen the word "unadoptable" thrown around online as applied to children from this region.  The good news we learned is that a change in personnel of the local government has improved the outlook for prospective adopted children from this region.  Our agency is hopeful that movement on his case will take place soon.  ("Soon" is such a subjective word, isn't it?  But I digress.)  We're still dreadfully behind, and there are MANY hurdles yet to be jumped, but we'll take any forward movement at this point.

Our younger boy's case looks to be the more difficult one at this point.  Wes and I have discussed what parts of this we should make public, and it's tough.  The stories of the boys' birth families are their stories, not ours.  While we're ok sharing OUR story publicly, we feel like we should allow the boys to decide how what is known of their birth families should be shared.  We try not to say too much about them publicly.  So to that end, I'll say this:  Issues with his birth family have caused a change in the way his case is categorized.  It means re-doing most of his paperwork.  He's likely still adoptable, it hasn't changed the fact that he's currently sitting in an orphanage, but it will take many more steps to accomplish this.  I'll also say this:  his biological family, specifically his biological mother, could use your prayers.  She's often in my thoughts these days.  I've been painfully aware from the beginning of this process that her deep pain and my great joy will coexist in a single event.   I believe with all my heart that adoption is a beautiful example of God's redemption in difficult situations.  And my heart breaks for her.

Our agency has offered to put our cases through the courts separately so that if one boy moves through the legal system more quickly, we could get him home sooner.  We agreed to this.  It means four (at least) trips to Ethiopia instead of two, but we don't want to wait a day longer for either one than we have to.

They've also offered us new referrals which we, of course, declined.  We've seen their faces.  How could we go on knowing we didn't do everything in our power to see them into loving homes?  (Our adoption coordinator actually told us "I know you won't want to do this, but I am supposed to offer it."  :)  Can I just say we love her?  She's been publicly and privately praying for us over these past few weeks, doing everything she can to annoy people into giving us information.  So thankful we have her advocating for us.)

The boys' room is officially complete, ready and waiting for them to come home.   Wes and I often wander in there from time to time during the day.  It stays very neat right now.  I think of how much I wish there were little boys here to mess it up.  I find myself in there most nights before bed, praying over them.  Because their days are our nights, I'm likely catching them just as they start their day.  That's how I like to think of it, anyway.  I hope that when they look back on this blog later in life they will see the ways they were loved before we were officially in their lives to show them.

A friend, and fellow Ethiopia adoption mom recently told me this of her adoption journey:

"I almost miss the tension of that season of waiting.  It made us so aware of the beauty of God--It almost felt like we had a front row seat to what God was doing."  

It's a way of living we are working hard to embrace.  To see every challenge as an opportunity for God to work.  To live each day on the verge of a miracle.
And so we sit.  Here on the edge of our front row seats.  Desperate and excited to see what God is doing.  

Both Ends Burning

Last weekend we were able to get away for a quick trip up to Kansas City.  We went to see the STUCK documentary created by Both Ends Burning.  Here is the trailer for the movie:

We were deeply moved and challenged by the film.  It was a pretty emotional experience for everyone who was there.  There were many scenes from orphanages in Ethiopia.  It's hard for most people see children struggling to survive in institutional settings.   But knowing your own children are there right now, at this very moment.  Well, it's almost unbearable.

The film sheds light on problems with the American government, particularly the State Department, for what it calls political apathy towards international adoption.  

The film is making it's way across the country, collecting signatures to present to Congress and the President at the Step Forward for Orphans March in Washington D.C. in May.  The petition simply asks our leaders to remove barriers to International Adoption, and support international adoption as an important option for those children worldwide living outside of parental care.  Your average American is not aware of the precarious position that international adoption finds itself in, or the sharp decline that we've seen in recent years.  We bought a copy of the film and would like to show it here in Wichita.  More details on that soon.  

And now for my two cents and a soapbox.  :)  Here's why I believe you should care about international adoption.  The number of orphans worldwide is sitting somewhere between 10 million and 147 million depending on how you're counting.  That's a wide range, but either way a very, very big number.  At the height of international adoption, which was around 2007, only about 19,000 children were adopted into the United States.  Drop.  in.  the. bucket.  (The number of children adopted into the United States has decreased by more than 50% in the past 5 years.)  This is barely a dent in the millions of children living outside of parental care.  Obviously, international adoption is not THE solution to our orphan crisis.  But here's why I believe it is a critical component.  It's because I believe that adopting these children into the United States will help to improve the lives of those orphans left behind.

Melissa Faye Greene in her book There's No Me Without You, says it like this:

Adoption rescues few. Adoption illuminates by example: these few once-loved children…have been offered a second chance…like young ambassadors, they instruct us. From them, we gain impressions about what their age-mates must be like, the ones living and dying by the millions, without parents… For every orphan turning up in a northern-hemisphere household—winning the spelling bee, winning the cross country race, joining the Boy Scouts, learning to rollerblade, playing the trumpet of the violin----ten thousand children remain behind alone.

These adopted children become little "ambassadors".  Caring for our children, knowing them, seeing the beauty of their lives, will help us to actively care about the ones still orphaned in Africa and elsewhere in the world.  

Now let me lay some scripture on you:

Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you.

James 1:27

Not everyone is called to adoption.  And that's ok.  But, as believers, every one of us is called to care for orphans.  (You can find a list of the many ways you can care for orphans here.)  

So there's my not-all-that-articulate two cents on why the preservation of international adoption matters so much.   :)  (**Steps down from soapbox.)

Also while in Kansas City we got the chance to eat at the Blue Nile Cafe.  This is an Ethiopian restaurant in City Market. We'd had Ethiopian food before, but we'd never been to the Blue Nile.

The food was delish!  We loved it.  We brought home some injera (the spongy Ethiopian bread that serves as your utensil) so that we can make our own Ethiopian feast soon.  Stay tuned...

Lastly, we got a sad update on our case yesterday.  We DO NOT have our MOWA letters for either boy.  (These are recommendation letters from a government agency in Ethiopia that are required to obtain a court date.)  We were previously told that we did have them, but that was apparently a misunderstanding in the long game of "telephone" that we play to get information relayed from Ethiopia.   We are pretty badly delayed at this point.  We've been told that there is no problem, but for whatever reason, things are moving very slowly.  It's disappointing and very discouraging, but we aren't giving up on our boys.  

We got these bracelets at the Stuck viewing.  

You'll be seeing a lot of these over the next few months since Wes and I decided we will continue to wear them as a reminder of the determination and tenacity of the families featured in the film.  And we will keep them on until our boys, our family, gets unstuck.  But for now we wait...