Happy Birthday, little one!

Got this picture of Tamagn just yesterday. He is one year old today. He's got his curly hair back and two teeth!

I sat studying his smiling face yesterday for too long and for the first time thought of our 17 hour plane ride home with the boys in a positive light. Not just something we have to do, but a big chunk of time with nothing else to do but get to know my babies. And my sweet little brother, who will be making the trip with me.

Happy birthday, Tamagn!
(pronounced TA-mine for all you non-Ethiopians)

they'll call him daddy...

Seems fitting on the day our nation celebrates our paternal heritage for me to use this space to write a few words to the father of my children, thoughts I’ve been mulling over since we spent that first sleepless night 30,000 feet above the Atlantic just a few weeks ago.

Sitting in the aisle seat, next to my 8-inches-taller-than-me husband in the middle seat, I let my thoughts stray back two and a half years, to December of 2008, when we were busy getting ready to host my family—with the seven cousins born in 3 years—for Christmas. We had just left the doctor’s office and stopped by Starbucks to grab some warmth for the drive home. We were both still processing what we’d been told.

Josiah was a miracle baby. Chances of a second miracle are pretty slim. There are some options to pursue. Think about it and call when we want the prescription.

I think I was just relieved to have a diagnosis and the ramifications of that diagnosis hadn’t sunk in. But for Casey, they had. Walking hand in hand in the bitter cold, he turned to me choking back the tears.

"We might never have any more children."

I got to be the strong one that time. That one time. I assured him God could do what He wanted. We had Josiah. Before we even knew there was a problem. He could give us more children if He wanted to.

In the months that followed, my husband was always the strong one. The bliss of having a diagnosis wore off quickly as month after month I kept hoping. Naively. Foolishly? Was he sorry he’d chosen me? I’m broken. I’m the problem that he’s stuck with.

I shed many tears, wiped my nose many times across his shoulder, and he was strong. Refuted the lies I was so ready to believe, refused to let me carry my burden alone. Knew I ached for more babies and forged the way ahead to bring them to me.

We decided before the 25-minute car ride home was over that infertility treatments were not for us. Perhaps we’d adopt sooner than we’d anticipated? Casey had an agency and country chosen and was ready to move forward just 3 months later. Took me 2 months more to get my mind wrapped around the thought of raising black children in our very white town. And then we started this adoption journey.

He has worked so, so diligently, tirelessly, to make this happen. And I am darn proud of him. So many weeks, after working a 45 hour week in the clinic, he’d hop on a plane and fly to you-name-it to teach all day Saturday and Sunday and then fly home, crawl into bed next to me just before 1 AM and then be up and back in the clinic by 7:30 that morning.

We believe in adoption on many fronts. We laugh at Josiah’s quirky play habits and joke that he needs a brother, and in all seriousness we want him to grow up with siblings. We have the room in our hearts and home, the resources, to care for more kids than we have. We believe adoption is very close to the heart of God and we want to participate in it with Him. We think adoption is right for our family for many different reasons. But at 30, 000 feet, with nothing below us but a vast, dark ocean, it hit me: he did this for me. My husband has worked his tail off these past 2 years for me. To put a baby in my arms again because he knows I ache for one.

And on this day we remember fathers, I just want to say thank you to the father of my children. Thank you for all your hard work, for never letting me carry this burden alone, for never, ever making me feel like this was my problem. Thank you for traveling more than 7000 miles around the world to get me two stinkin’ cute, curly headed babies. I can’t wait for them to know you as their daddy.

This Father’s Day I would have loved to give you another son, but instead you have given me two. Thank you. I love you. 

In Addis, after our court appointment, at the Sheraton.

The last of the paperwork...

Our desk is littered again with papers as I work to fill out an I-600 and I-864W for each of the boys, in preparation for our embassy appointment. Spent a decent chunk of my morning tediously going over paperwork, making sure every word is spelled correctly, reminding myself that our legal wedding date is a few days before the day we actually celebrated it and publicly took our vows, making sure there are no errors or discrepancies.

It has been exactly three weeks since we said goodbye to Bereket and Tamagn. Seems longer. Seems very far away. I have struggled throughout this whole 2 year process for it to seem real. In the middle of the long waiting, it was very hard to keep wanting. I don't like loose ends and this felt like a big one. One that had too much of my heart wrapped up in it.

But then, not enough of my heart because sometimes I'd forget. Go days without thinking about my children out there somewhere. And I'd struggle with wondering if I really wanted this at all.

I have walked long enough with the Lord, and read enough C.S. Lewis, to understand the vacillations of our fickle human hearts. And to not be scared stiff because of them. These three weeks since we said goodbye have been full. I have days when I really miss my little Bereket and I dream of Josiah and him sitting in our sandbox, digging together. I'll open the drawers, ready with his little clothes, and dream of dressing him. I wonder if he'll love books as much as we do. And then I remember how good it felt to hold a sleeping baby. My baby. And I'll just stand and stare at the empty crib that is set up again, after two years in storage. So thankful to have a reason to put it up.

Social and psychological assessments on the boys came to us via email earlier this week and the words in the subject line made it all come rushing back, reminding me that while so often it feels very surreal, in actuality it is very real.

Tamagn Unverzagt.

Bereket Unverzagt.

They have been given a new name. Our name. They are part of our family, even though they are not here yet.

I got to write their new names on those forms I filled out. Liked it a lot. As much as I like telling people now that I have three boys.

October 2009: Our completed dossier

February 14, 2011: We got our referral and an Ethiopian flag Texas sheet cake from Liz

We'll take 'em!

April 20, 2011: We have a court date!

May 26, 2011: Meeting our boys

June 3, 2011: We pass court and they are legally ours.

Shared breakfast with my boy next to Niagara Falls and this brilliant reminder of our faithful God.

Josiah following in his mama's footsteps and writing down his thanks.

"Now Bereket and Tamagn are ours. Praise the Lord."

Missed opportunity

It hit 97 degrees this past Wednesday and I thought that was very good reason to plan to be near water. We recruited fellow bathers and made the trek north a little ways—through farm country, green and hazy with heat—to Stoneboro and its hidden little lake that evidently isn’t so hidden, as everyone within a 20 mile radius seemed to be there.

Our kids were digging a hole, deep, to catch water and make their own little lake on the shores of the Sandy Lake. They worked diligently, and patiently, as a little girl—about 2—from the blanket behind them found their work more interesting and appealing than her loud mama.

She’d run her fat baby legs down into their excavation sight, take their tools, get right up in their faces and then her mama would follow—yelling and stomping—retrieve her and threaten with a spanking.

And then it’d happen again.

And again.

And again.

And now the mama’s fuse is a little shorter and she’s on her phone and threatening to leave and “it’s all your fault!”

The child wasn’t fazed. At all. Seems she learned awhile ago to tune out that voice.

I stood nearby, observing the scene created by this mother and child, ready to step in on behalf of my child, if need be. And I judged.

I, who knows the hope of salvation, who walks in the Light, looked upon this lost woman and judged her in her darkness.

I judged her empty threats, her impatience, her lack of control over her child. I judged her too-small-suit that was not covering her too-large-rolls. I even judged the marks all over her skin and recoiled at her child’s close proximity to my own, ‘cause ya know, looks an awful lot like scabies…

Who am I? Could I have looked more less like Christ if I was trying?

“As much as you’ve done it unto the least of these…”

Took me three days to recognize the opportunity I passed up. To show Jesus to this least woman.

It wouldn’t have taken much at all to kneel down in the sand with a shovel next to her child, next to my child, who I tell about Jesus daily, and show him how to show His love to a lost mama and her love-hungry baby.

I am humbled and pray for eyes to see the opportunities I’ll have today to show Jesus to people who need to see Him. 

The high dive at Sandy Lake

Resourcefulness

I asked Josiah to go wash his hands before lunch today and then followed him to the bathroom. He was struggling with the soap pumper. It's the foamy-soap-type and has been refilled one too many times so that it sticks pretty good. He readily accepted my help with the stubborn thing and then as he was washing away told me,

"Yeah, sometimes it's too hard to push so I put it on the floor and stomp it with my foot."

Sure enough, there was a good pump of foamy soap on our baseboard and seeping under the baseboard where we never did get to caulking it. I think I'll replace the soap dispenser soon.

My baby

The pictures we got from our agency of us with our boys are not wonderful. We look pretty tired in most of them. Hmm. But, thought I'd share these two of me with Tamagn. Does anyone else see why I questioned whether they'd brought me the right baby? He looks so different without that curly hair! I think I might need to let it grow back...

A good day

Writing from Niagara Falls, NY this lovely evening. We drove up last night as Casey has a teaching engagement. It was a quick turnaround from our last trip-- we were home a whopping 49 hours.

As Josiah and I were driving around this morning, trying to navigate the detours downtown and get our car over to Goat Island, I got a call from Patricia, our case manager, congratulating me on being the mother of two more boys. The letter came and we officially passed court. We are now the legal guardians and parents of Bereket and Tamagn.

I have so much more to say, thoughts that will come out better when my neurons are firing a little faster, but for now just wanted to let you know. And let you see their sweet faces. These are just two of my “they smile!” pictures that we got the week before we traveled. Aren't they precious? 

Bereket, 2

Tamagn, 11 months

Safely home... and so thankful!

I am writing from home just now. Getting ready to take my dad and Ali to the airport.

We pulled into our driveway yesterday, just before 4 in the afternoon, after 29 hours of traveling. Had to stop by the Mac store on our way home because Casey's laptop died in the DC airport. Bummer. We lost all the pictures from my first upload as well as about 8 hours of work he did for a class he is teaching. But... I am so thankful it didn't die in the DC airport last Tuesday or in the middle of our trip. 'Cause then we wouldn't have been able to have you all along with us, via this blog.

Just wanted to say thanks again for following our adventure. I'd love to keep you in the loop until we get these little fellas home, so while I don't promise as frequent posts as this past week, check back every so often and see where we are.

And a little bait... as soon as these kids are legally ours (as soon as we get a favorable letter from MoWA), I can post pictures of their sweet little faces.