Lord, how do I leave the judgements behind...

This quote is posted here.

"For I was hungry, while you had all you needed. I was thirsty, but you drank BOTTLED water. I was a stranger, and you wanted me DEPORTED. I needed clothes, but you needed MORE clothes. I was sick, and you pointed out the BEHAVIORS that led to my sickness. I was in prison, and you said I was getting what I DESERVED."
-Richard Stearns, The Hole in Our Gospel


Okay, so I'm struggling with being content. And with leaving the judgements of others to God. Here is the struggle. I've now seen real poverty. Smelt it, felt it, and ached in the midst of it. Held the child that is too thin, saw the despair in a babies eyes, and felt the hopelessness that surrounds those who have no hope of it being different.


And I'm wishing for new couches because my hand me downs are falling apart. Then I think of how much hope you can give with $1000 of food. I'm frustrated by the dripping faucet, to remember that in Haiti clean water is a luxury for most. I wish for a fun vacation at that expensive resort, and then think about the good one person can do in Haiti in a couple weeks. I go out to eat, and feel the weight of a meal that cost as much as a week of food for an orphan.

It's hard to be content when you would really like a new couch. Or when your tired and just want to sit in a restaurant and have someone serve you a hot meal. It's hard not to spend a $1.50 on a bottle of water, when your thirsty. It's hard to live without the finer things in life, when your surrounded by it. It's hard not to compare what I have to others and not feel like it's lacking.

'IT'S not FAIR' I want to scream. It's not fair that babies die, because a Christian decides it's more important to buy a new car. It's not fair that children are slaves, because Christians think that name brand clothes that matter more than sending their own children on mission trips. It's not fair that people drink unclean water, but we have to have water that is filtered, doctored up and labeled.

And you know what is even harder - not judging others for what they have. To not think, for the cost of that trip you could have gone on a mission trip and changed a life. Or that the cost of new couch could have helped build an orphanage, and that their old one was much nicer than mine. Or wonder why a couple isn't willing to consider adoption, who can obviously afford more children and are wonderful parents.

And here's the kicker. I get feeling self-righteous. Yeah, I'm living it right. I got this Jesus thing figured out. I've chosen the right path. I've given up things of this world to make eternal difference. I'm living without the 'finer' things in life, to give orphans a home. Oh yeah- I can spin it so I'm practically a saint. And those other people, they really have it wrong.

Living in tension is a sign of maturity. I just read that truth. And cringed. Because I haven't been living in the tension. I've been wanting to have all the people who love Jesus, to love him in action the same way I do. I don't want to go without, to adopt, and have them getting new furniture, going out to eat, and living the 'nice' life. It's selfish, immature, and ugly. And I'm constantly laying it down, confessing it, and then the thought creeps in when someone brags about their new car, new furniture, new clothes, and anything else I deem judgement worthy.

So the tension is being happy for them, enjoying the blessings they are enjoying. And still being content with God's direction for my life. And knowing he doesn't desire a life of despair, because others live there. And leaving the judgement of peoples intentions and actions to him.

Because IF I'm doing all this to look good, to be a 'good' christian -well then I've missed the point too. Clashing symbols come to mind. (I Cor. 13).

Yeah....

Okay, summer is half over. One part says, "YEAH! Have a drink to celebrate. We've made it halfway and no one has been hurt and I have my sanity still"
The other part says, "What! How could it be half over. I feel like I've hardly began to spend time with my kids. We have so much left to do."
These two parts like to argue with each other.
"Don't be silly, you've had more than enough time with them. Won't it be nice to have your afternoons quiet again."
"But we were gone one week, they are gone next week. You'll be spending two weeks apart, we haven't made up for it."
"Heck, most parents only have a few hours a day with their kids. You have 12 a day, if they go to bed on time"
"But they share me, it's not the same."

Then there is the part of me saying, "Dang, laundry must reproduce itself." and "Who ate all the chips? Seriously, I just opened the bag." and "Oh my, where is the volume control. How long can I stand the noise." and "Wouldn't it be nice to go to a quiet office to work with adults" and "why is the kitchen floor sticky? Seriously, it wasn't when I left the house. Did the cleaning fairies miss the point."

We are getting a portrait of Re and Er painted. By a Haitian artist. It's part of a fundraiser for GLA. They sent 4 possible pictures to have the artist paint from. Help... How am I suppose to choose.

1. Look how cute Er is snuggled up against her big brother. Re looks handsome, and this one is really cute.

2.But then there is this one. They both are so animated. Alive. Happy.

3. But this one. It feels like Re is looking right at me, and I can see his heart. Er, on the other hand looks like she has a limp noodle for a right hand.

4.And this one is just freakin sweet. They are truly beautiful children.

So which one would you choose? Am I being too picky about it. I mean, it's only a painting we plan on keeping forever. A piece of their birth country.

Here is the picture we are having painted on C and P. I love this photo, it was taken on our beach vacation during Spring Break. They actually look like they like each other. And us, the parents. I have it in my bedroom, and so I'm reminded of how precious they really are. Because some days it's easy to forget that in the loads of laundry, breaking up fights, and trying to get them to put their shoes away.

So help a poor gal out. Which one is the one to have made into a painting? Which one goes best with C and P's picture? Does it really matter?

An adventure at the Embassy

Okay, so I'm in a better place than the last post. Thank God!
So I wanted to share about our appointment at the embassy. Let's just say it was a God thing.
We found out the week before we were suppose to leave that the embassy didn't have a file on us. It seems that the Yakima office didn't forward it to them. So began a series of calls to USCIS - also known as phone tree hell and "let me transfer you to the next level of customer service". It's goes something like this...
USCIS - blah, blah, blah, can I have your service number.
Me - I don't have a service number. It's for a I-600A.
USCIS- Have you submitted an application?
Me - Yes
USCIS -Do you have an approval or denial?
Me - It's been approved.
USCIS - Can I get the service number?
Me - Ummm....there isn't one of the approval letter
USCIS - Ma'am I can't help you without a service number. Let me transfer you to the next level of customer service.
Me - oh, oka....hold music
USCIS - blah, blah, blah ... can I have your service number
Me - AAAGGGHHHHH


We were able to put in a expedited service request. R had to call back and check on the progress. He went through 30 minutes of phone tree, being passed on, being told to go to an office that doesn't see appointments, he finally had a officer who seemed to be able to answer the questions. He was at work, and had to help customers as he held for someone who knew what we were talking about. In the middle of their conservation, he had a customer walk up and need to be helped. He told her to hang on a minute, and she told him he could call back when he wasn't busy. My dear, sweet, unassuming husband told her she could just wait for him to be done, he wasn't going through that again. I was so proud.

They wired our file on Thursday. As in the Thursday before we were to leave. And we had no way of knowing if it was received. On Monday, we received an appointment - so our file had made it. After all the time on the phone with USCIS - that was a God thing.

Once there, we all pile in the car to go to the embassy. R and I, the other couple who were filing, their darling little girl, and Eric. Eric is the social worker, who would be helping us with the process. On the way there we found out he had done this once before. Therefore making him an expert in Haiti. We get there, and go through security. Where they speak Creole and French. And some English. There seemed to be a problem, but we had no idea what. The security officer kept trying to call the lady who our appointment was with, and hanging up before it could have rang more than twice. The only evidence we had we should be there was a copy of an email with our appointments on it. Pretty soon, we figure it out. As they are sending us through without Eric.
Eric didn't have id. Pretty important to those security people at the embassy.
So it was the 5 of us. They pointed us in the right direction, and we knew we were to wait by window 28.
We went through security again. They called the lady again. They waited exactly 2 seconds before slamming the phone down and pointing us down the hall.
The hall opened into a large room. The was a wall of windows, and the rest was seating. Every window had a little P.A. box. Like at the bank drive up window. It was so quiet. We figured out why. They call your name through the little P.A. box into a room with 100+ people. We were told to sit as close to window 28 - so we would hear them call our names. Except that there was no open seats. The open seats were 4 rows away. But window 22. Not going to helpful. We found a place to stand, for about 10 seconds. Because that is how long it too the security guard to direct us sit in those seats 4 rows of chairs away from our window.
Every time we'd hear something come from that window- it sounded like Charlie Brown's teacher, trying to disguise her voice, speaking in French. So one of us would jump up to check if they were calling us. And every eye in the room would follow us.
We had a little backpack of treats and toys for the little girl with us. There were lots of children waiting with parents there. And there was no toys, no books, no treats, no nothing for them to do. They just sat there. No playing, no talking, no whining, just sitting. And their mama's weren't to pleased that we kept pulling out things to keep our little one entertained.
Every time someone would get called up to the window, and a chair opened up - everyone moved. There seemed to be a line they all knew to follow. Except us, we couldn't figure who moved when to where so we stayed put. So they looked at us funny every time they moved, and we stayed.
The fifth time we got up to check, the security guard began to wonder about us. She came over and asked in french something. We handed her our email. And she left with it. And we looked at each other with a slight panic. She took the only evidence that we should be there. She came back with it, and told us to wait. So we waited, and waited. We ate starburst and shared them with some of the kids setting near us. We had stopped getting up every time.
The call came out of the P.A. and sounded like french spoken through a wet towel, and everyone in the room turned and looked at us. The security guard scurried over, and waved to us that it was our turn. She kept saying, "Adoption". I guess it was obvious who they wanted.
We gathered our stuff up, and went to the window. They took our paperwork, and told us to wait. So we did for another 45 minutes. Eric showed up. He told us he didn't bring his ID to work, because he didn't know he'd need it. They called us back up, and we signed some papers, verified information, and were told to wait to be sworn in and sign the I-600. So we waited again. And finally they called us to the beloved window 28. And the guy, in all seriousness, says "Hey, I think I've seen you before." Oh, you mean the five times I came to your window thinking you were calling us. No, not me. Must have been the other white people that are here, oh - I guess that is us.
So we took an oath. To treat Re and Er as our own biological children. By then the room had cleared out. It felt a little anti-climatic. We couldn't take pictures. We didn't have proof other than a letter with an appointment for the birth parent interview. But it was done. Despite all the road blocks that popped up. Go God!!
The last funny thing about the embassy visit - about noon they turned on a soap opera. In English. I think they might have done it for our benefit. No wonder Haitians think all American's are filthy rich and give money away. The do on Days of our Lives.

Missing them...

Okay, so I've kept my stiff upper lip. I've said all the right things, to myself and those who ask. I sometimes even convince myself. But gosh, darn it - I miss my kids. Actually it's more like, **mn it - I want my kids.
Just keeping it real, folks. It's hard. Harder than I thought it would be. As if one can imagine this, without the experience. If one could, one would NOT do it. Seriously - you wouldn't subject yourself to it.

I think I wrote at one point about the waiting. If I knew how-I'd provide a link. But I don't, so you can just go back to last fall. Anyways I related it to clothing. Something about every month being another layer. A little more uncomfortable every month.

Yeah, well - it's starting to feel like a freakin down snowsuit that is a size too small. Like we came back and it was waiting for us to return. And now we can't figure out how to go back to a few layers. The first couple weeks, it wasn't too bad. But I swear this week, someone zipped it up- in the back. And then sucked the air out of it. Like those stupid space saving bags.

Maybe it was going on vacation without them. Maybe it was all the time spent telling about the trip and showing off pictures to family and friends. Maybe it was just too much time on my hands to think about it. Maybe I've just allowed myself the space and freedom to go to that place of how I really feel about it in the bad moments. I don't know really, and maybe it doesn't matter. But I miss them. I want them here. I want to be a mom to them, and not it a long distance kinda way. Yeah, long distance parenting works about as well as a long distance relationship - it sucks!

Anyways, on a funny note. We were at R's grandma's house. She gets those Claire Wright catalogs. The kind they only send out to the over 55 age. And you won't believe what they sell in them. Seriously. Sex aids. Sex toys. Lube. Male enhancement products. Full pictures and everything. Next to the upside down tomato pots, the microwave bacon cooker, and moo-moo's. I was so unprepared, and when my sister in law showed me - well, it was a much needed laugh.

Another random thought - because I am just that random lately. There is a great country song. The main line is "God is great, Beer is good, and People are crazy". I'm thinking putting it up in my kitchen. Is that too redneck? If it was wine is good- is that classier? Maybe I shouldn't make any major decisions right now. Like what to attach permanently to walls. I seem to be a little on the irrational side right now.

More trip details...

Okay, so we've recovered. We're finally processing food correctly. We're sleeping again. We're following traffic laws again. We've processed. Here is what we know for sure after our trip.
-We miss our kids. A LOT. Every day. Every hour. Sometimes it's enough to make a deep breath painful. Sometimes it's just lingering in the background of everyday life. But it's always there. It's different now - our arms know how their bodies feel. And now they ache for them. Our ears know their voices, and long to hear them call for us. Our hearts are committed to parenting them, but they aren't here. Our souls are committed to love them, but from afar for now.
-We felt alive in Haiti. In a completely different way then we ever have before. We really don't know what that means. A part of me says to pack up and move our bums to Haiti to live. To have our family together. To serve God in a place that so glaringly needs Jesus's hands and feet to be present. To hold babies, to teach preschools, to love on those Jesus loves. And yet, there is no calling for us to do that now.
-We see America, it's excess, it's wealth and prosperity differently. There was a moment in the Miami airport. We had went to a buffet restaurant for dinner. I ordered a fish dinner. They gave me 10 pieces of fish. I couldn't finish it and wasn't going to take it on the plane for 6 hours. So I went to throw it away, and I looked in the garbage can. And there was enough food for a family for a week in that one can alone. And I paused and was repulsed. I was holding a plate of food, and it was going to be wasted. Two hours earlier I had been in a place of true poverty. The differences were startling. I can't help but judge myself harshly - I over consume, I over indulge, I think I'm entitled. But I'm not.
-It's hard to come to terms with the unfairness of it. I know I don't deserve to have more than the Haitian mother who gives her child up. But I have so much more. It's not fair that we have money for vacations, fancy homes, new cars, dinners out, etc. I know we all say we work hard and 'earn' it. And while it's unAmerican to say it -I didn't earn this lifestyle I'm blessed with. The people of Haiti didn't do anything to 'earn' a life of poverty and I think they must work hard just to survive. Harder than I do for sure. It's kinda like survivor's guilt. Why them and not me.
-We have a lot of people who prayed us through our trip, through our adoption, and over us. It is an amazing experience to be the center of such energy.
-No matter what people say about racial relations in the good ol' USA, it's discerning to the only one of your color in a room. Regardless of how you feel about race, when you are the only one who is different, you know it and so does everyone else in the room. I think we are more accepting and less likely to make unfair judgements based on some one's color. However, it's still noticed. By both sides. It was a good experience to be on the other side of that coin. It humbled me and gave me a much needed perspective.
-We can't go by ourselves next time. We need another person, to carry bags, hold kids, help with whatever that needs done. It was crazy with just us, carry on's and the Haitian airport.

A friend just called and is stopping by. LOVE IT! Nothing better than a friend dropping by.