A Reflection on Orphan Sunday

Both Orphan Sunday and National Adoption Day have passed this week.  These days have had my heart tangled up.  Happy, devastatingly sad, grateful, motivated, discouraged; and the list goes on. In an effort to make sense of it all I'm reviving the blog!

 This time last year I felt as if I couldn't get any lower.  We were matched with our son in May, but experienced delay after delay.  Trials came as we tried to make sure we had enough to cover travel expenses and additional fees.  Some fees we didn't even know to plan for, but that tends to happen when your adoption process approaches the three year mark...

Next came setbacks in our son's health.  He was "failing to thrive" all the while his family was also "failing to thrive" as we ached for him to come home.  We were told he was hospitalized and then released two weeks later. However, while in Ethiopia we learned he was actually hospitalized for three month.  Three months.  I thought he needed me, that I was the answer.  If only they would let me travel he would be okay.  But, that wasn't the case; he needed his father.  His heavenly father was there all the time.  Before the hospital, before we were matched, before his birth mother's belly swelled with new life; God had been there. And we got to see it; but not yet.

As so, if this wasn't enough to make a mother crazy, our case was delayed over an incorrect phone number.  Two little numbers had been transposed and so our case was unable to move forward with preliminary hearings, the last step before we could receive a court date and go meet our son.  This is where I found myself last Orphan Sunday.

My social media feeds filled to the brim advocating for children.  Posts of thanksgiving, calls to action, and beautiful pictures filled my spare moments. And as I scrolled and read I started to crack.  Slowly the pain would fill my chest and then one of my girls would need me and I'd shove the hurt down and move on.  Tears would well up as I absentmindedly folded laundry and wondered, "When, oh Lord, will you let this end.  What if he never comes home?  How will my family recover if this all falls apart?  God you have to give this little boy a family.  He deserves a family!"  By the end of the day I was so drained.  I cried hot, ugly tears.  My stomach churned as my chest heaved.  No breath left to breath.  The only thing to do was sit with God in the darkness and repeat, "Joy comes in the morning."

Those weeks right before we finally received our court date, were some of the darkest I've experienced.  And yet, here I am.  God and I have another faith story in our book.  He showed up.  My mind always knew He would, but my heart wavered (alot!).  It is so sweet when God allows us to look at our valley from the mountain top.

Because of last Orphan Sunday, I can face this one.  I have my tangible, living, breathing, running, playing testament that my God is faithful.  He sees me and every orphan.  He knows just what we need and what it takes to draw us near.  I may get frustrated that not everyone has a passion for orphan care. I'm angry that the statistics on Christians and foster children don't add up, but I know my God is faithful. I want to start ministries and adopt all the children, but I know my God is sovereign.  Past memories may make me sad, but if I follow the story to the end I have so many more reasons to be glad.

The brokenness of this world is enough to send you to your bed, paralyzed by the enormity of the work that needs to be done.  But through Christ we are all equipped to do every good work that He predestined for us before the beginning of time.  Don't be afraid of the pain. We can survive pain.  Be afraid of missing out on God's calling for your life.