journey update 05/03/2012
An update on where we are in our adoption journey …. We’re in the process of filling out our dossier – official paperwork for our government and the country in North Africa we’re trying to adopt from. Needless to say, we have a lot of new papers to be notarized! So, while we work on that new project, we continue on with our fundraising. Here’s what’s coming up this summer … June 2 – there will be two garage sales going on simultaneously that will benefit our adoption. One here in Wichita Falls and one, hosted by Beth’s parents, in Rincon, GA. While we're eager for help and donation here, we're especially eager for help for Beth's folks. June 15th (Friday) and July 17th (Tuesday) – Painting Class in Wichita Falls (email Beth if you want more details) Beth is working on new t-shirt designs for the Fourth of July. Stay tuned for that! Finally, we have some friends in Birmingham, AL who are raising support in order to bring their child home from China. This week they’re hosting an online auction with some great stuff (lots of perfect ideas for gifts)! The auction ends Saturday so be sure to bid soon! We’d love for you to check it out for a couple of reasons. 1. It helps supports another family that’s adopting. 2. You can get a preview of a fundraiser we are planning on doing in November (for early Christmas shopping). Check out their adoption website here. - Ben a fort and a village 04/13/2012
A couple of months ago, I gathered up blankets and quilts and sheets and carried them downstairs. I went to work transforming our dining room table into a magical fort for a fun filled day. Tuck and Libby were so excited. Libby followed her brother around, both of them scooping up toys and carrying load after load of books, puzzles, and stuffed animals to their little hideout. Once they had their space set up adequately with pillows and flashlights and all their earthly treasures, they played underneath for a few minutes. And then they were done. But Tuck was so excited to show his daddy. He begged me not to take down the fort so we ate our lunch as a picnic on the living room floor and left our monument of 20 minutes of work and 5 minutes of play up until the end of the day. By 5 p.m., Tuck could hardly stand it any longer. He sat on the couch, looking out the window for his fellow dragon slayer to walk through the door. Waiting. So many people around me are waiting. Waiting to finish school. Waiting to sell a house. Waiting to move. Waiting for a baby. Waiting for a baby to start sleeping through the night. Waiting for healing. Waiting for Mr. Right to come along. Waiting to be back under the same roof as loved ones. Waiting for answers. Waiting for relief. Waiting for their child to be well. Waiting for financial stability. Waiting for time to heal wounds. Waiting for reconciliation. Waiting for a promotion. Waiting to feel loved. Waiting for support. Waiting for peace. Waiting for summer. Waiting for life not to seem so hard. February marked one year since Ben and I decided we were pursuing adoption. When we passed that date I have to admit I was discouraged. We were discouraged. We thought we’d be further along in the process by then. In my discouragement, I pulled out my journals from the past year and there in my notes were the themes that My Redeemer had been writing across my heart for the past 12 months…. trust, dependence, sacrifice, patience. I could see the whole picture in those pages … verse after verse, quotes and scribbled prayers all pointing to His faithfulness … even in the waiting. In the waiting, we’ve been reminded about the importance of community. We need it. Others around us desperately need it. The fellowship of His church is part of HIS carefully woven plan. And we have been overwhelmed by the community that we have been shown. We’ve smiled over emails and blog comments, notes, and Facebook messages of encouragement. We’ve received kind words from strangers, donations from people we don’t even know. We’ve been standing in the hall in church when someone slipped cash in our hand and left us grappling for words. We’ve sat stunned in our living room as we’ve opened checks inside envelopes. Friends have cared for our kids while we’ve had a homestudy, a yard sale, attended an adoption seminar, and even while I’ve sewn. Sweet sisters have sat at my dining room table cutting out appliqués, organizing and folding what feels like a million t-shirts, cutting tags, and making me smile through my exhaustion. Our college students have amazed us by their thoughtfulness and generosity. People have bought shirts, attended painting classes, donated to and helped with our yard sale, plastered our cause all over Facebook. My own sweet little four-year-old has written two “checks” for us “to help with the adoption” (pretty sure those are frame-worthy). We’ve laughed and cried from astonishment and joy of how He is using people to minister to us, to walk beside us, to remind us of His faithfulness, to water our mustard seeds, to encourage us while we wait. And bit by bit, month by month, He is sowing His Peace in our hearts. We’ve felt the “village” surrounding us and through the “village” we’ve felt HIM. We have one year behind us and still several years to go. And in the last two months, on hard days, I’ve had to pull out my journals again to trace my finger over His promises. And I am sure I will have to read them many times again. But His promises are there, always in His Word for me to see, for me to cling to. Our waiting is not in vain because even it is part of His intricate plan. We trudge on together and we fill ourselves up with HIS promises and remind ourselves daily that sometimes the long way is God’s best. And we pray that our little family will know how to be the village for others who are in the waiting too. Ben came home that afternoon and four little arms tackled him at the door and led him to their fort. And being the dad that he is, he immediately disappeared under the table into an imaginary world where colorful fabrics make the best castle. Three people went under but all I could see were one pair of feet sticking out. And it was a reminder to me. My prayer: that while we wait, we will be transformed more and more into Our Father’s image, that in the end … people will see a whole lot less us of us and a whole lot more of Our Savior. It’s sitting at HIS feet while we wait that we find our Peace. And we are privileged to be sitting at His feet with so many beside us.
Sorting through a box in my closet, I found it. A white piece of paper folded in half and printed in blue ink: a letter from the summer of 2002. I had been hastily looking for something but knowing instantly what was in my hand, I sat on the edge of my bed to read it. “How is it going out in Glorietta? I hope everything is going great…Katie and I are excited that y’all want us to be in the wedding. I can’t wait… We hope to hear from you soon. Well I got to go. I will talk to you later. Bye” Signed: “Soon to be brother-in-law, Jacob Edfeldt”. And sitting there in my bedroom all by myself, I laughed out loud. Then carefully folded it back up and tucked it safely into my box of treasured cards. Three years ago, Jacob came to visit. It was spring break of his junior year in college, and he had a few days free. He came to see Ben and me, but mainly he came to spoil Tucker rotten. We had a friend who had recently been deployed and had left his Wii with us. This was not the best thing for Ben and me as we were quickly reminded why we don’t have gaming systems of our own--Mario Cart is addictive and we are-- just a little bit-- competitive with each other. One evening, Ben had a meeting at the BSM, and I wondered what Jacob and I would do in his absence. We knew each other, of course, but neither of us had ever quite figured out what to talk about for very long in each other’s presence. I had a bad headache and after putting Tucker to bed, I planned to chat with Jacob for a little bit and then go to bed early. But then I returned to the living room. And Jacob was playing Mario Cart. For a few minutes I sat and watched until I succumbed to the music and Princess Peach’s annoying “yippee”. We road around on raceways, a railroad, and a ridiculous rainbow until I called it quits and went to find Excedrin. I came back in to say good night when I heard the Nintendo music from my childhood. Jacob had found a game for the “older” Mario Brothers versions that hooked up to the Wii and there was Luigi hitting his head on bricks, jumping on flowers that made him grow, and fighting dragons for his princess. When Ben arrived home after 11, Jacob and I were sitting side by side in the living room clutching controllers and intently talking strategy as we tried to remember the secret tunnels and tricks. We had bonded over Mario. The next morning was Jacob’s 21st birthday. We hung up the birthday banner and put streamers over his door. I made pancakes, and we gave him his birthday present and then drove him to the airport. Ben, Tucker, and I hugged him good-bye. And that was the last time. We have a house full of things that remind us of Jacob: Christmas ornaments, photos, a blanket, T-shirts, a pillow in Libby’s crib that was Jacob’s as a baby, a set of Mickey Mouse ears with Tucker’s name on them that we found in Jacob’s things after he died. And every now and then we find something we have forgotten about-- like a white piece of paper typed up by a 14-year-old boy and sent to me for encouragement while I worked at a camp. And he is still making us smile. *Telling Tuck and Libby all about their Uncle Jacob today on his 24th birthday, and I have to admit I’m humming a little bit of the Mario Brother’s tune. 2 Comments a prayer and a praise 03/09/2012
Four weeks ago (Feb.16th) I sat in the warmth of a sunbeam on our living room floor. I told My Father how sorry I was for my lack of faith and my lack of prayer. I had been trudging around in uncertainty of how the next set of funds were going to come, striving away with fundraisers, forgetting the most important thing… to daily ask HIM to be a part of them, for HIM to show HIS power, for HIS provision and glory to be made known. I committed to be intentional daily in my prayers about our fundraising efforts and in my journal I wrote “forgive me for not asking more frequently, for not believing in Your power and provision. I ask now… I ask that we raise the money for our next payment by the end of March. Help me to trust. Help me to believe. Please Lord, You get the glory”. As of Monday night (March 5), we have all of the money (and then some… a good start on our next payment) in our adoption account to start our dossier. Overwhelmed. Humbled. Grateful. There is more to say, more gratitude to give but for right now I’m going to keep it short and sweet because I can’t find any other words that seem adequate enough. Thank you for being a part of the journey. “The one who calls you is faithful and He will do it.” 1 Thes. 5:24 a cross and a fear 02/17/2012
Sunday morning, Ben and Tucker stood outside our church, on one of the coldest mornings we have had this winter, looking at the cross. Earlier in the week, during our family Bible time, we read the story of the 12 men being sent by Moses to explore the land (the land of milk and honey) the Lord promised to be theirs. The men found the majestic land and all of its bounty, but when they returned their perspective was jaded by the fortified walls and the giants that lived there. Caleb and Joshua tried to persuade the Israelites that God would be faithful and would give them what He had promised. But the people were overcome with fear, and no one listened. So instead, the Israelites missed out on their promised land and spent 40 years wondering without direction in the desert. Afterwards, we discussed the story, and I asked Tucker, “What places are scary to you?” With all seriousness in his eyes, and no hesitation in his voice, his answer was simply “church”. Wanting desperately to get to the root of this fear that we had known about for a while, I prodded him gently until I got more. “The building is big, and I am afraid of the cross”. Oh, how often I am afraid of things that seem too BIG — too BIG, I believe, for God to accomplish, too BIG a trial for Him to carry me through. Like the Israelites, I wander aimlessly missing God’s best because I’m afraid to trust. And oh, I wish I didn’t have to admit it, didn’t need to write it but I am often afraid of the cross. Afraid to die to it. Afraid to pick it up. Afraid of what it might cost me. Recently, my fears have been threatening to drown me. I have fear of the unknown, fear that we will keep hearing the word “longer” for our adoption (like we did on Friday), and that in a few years it will be “a few more”. Fear that we won’t be able to raise this $5,000 (let alone the remaining $16,000). Fear that the country will close its doors on adoption halfway through our process. I fear writing a blog ... I am afraid of criticism, afraid of putting our family’s life open for other people’s opinions. I have fear about the long flight back with a little one who doesn’t know us, doesn’t know we won’t abandon him/her, doesn’t know we’ve loved him/her for a long time. Fear about the transition for our family. Fear about raising a little one struggling with the scars of a broken past. Fear of people’s response to our bi-racial family. Fear of how I will respond to people’s response. Fear that He will lead us to the hard places. And if I were to recite all of my fears involving our adoption I could fill up the book my mom’s been wanting me to write with just a list of them. Sunday morning, Ben took Tucker to get close to what he feared and to even reach out and touch it. And as they walked back, hand in hand, Daddy asked son “See that didn’t hurt, did it?” And somehow Ben managed not to laugh when our 4-year- old responded, “Yes, it did! It pinched me!” That’s what I must do. I must reach out and take hold of the cross and all of the pain that goes with it. Sometimes, the small things I’m afraid of happen and sometimes the BIG … and they hurt so much it’s hard to breathe. And sometimes I’m simply drowning in my fears of “what if”. But as I tread water and wait until the very last minute (as I so often do) to throw my hand up and grope blindly in the darkness for His, the Prince of Peace pulls me up gasping for air. Then we carry the heavy, painful cross together and Jesus reminds me that I was never meant to carry it alone. And in just the tiniest way, I get to share in His suffering. And then I get to share in His glory (Romans 8:17). And there is nothing better. *We covet your prayers right now as we are facing some “speed bumps” in our process and have some hard decisions to make. Will you pray with us? a book and a want 02/01/2012
I’ve been walking around in a fog for the last few weeks: my perspective greatly impacted by the book Kisses from Katie. I have wanted to tell everyone that has come into my house, everyone I’ve talked to on the phone, shared an email with, seen at church, the lady in the checkout line. But in my fog the only words I can think to string together into a coherent sentence sound a little ridiculous even to me “Do you know that there are millions of poor, starving, dying, hurting people in our world?!” Of course you do, and so do I. We’ve seen them on our TV’s, on our computer screens, at our schools, under our bridges, and even down the street from us. We’ve served them on trips or places we volunteer; we talk about helping them in our churches. I could share a lot of statistics with you. But maybe you’re like me. I’ve heard all the statistics, and my heart hurts, and my hands feel compelled to act -- until a few minutes later I go to Target and find something cool on clearance. And I forget. But I don’t want to forget anymore. I want to keep living in this uncomfortable place that I’ve been for the last few weeks of crying for starving, dying people I don’t know. I want to keep wrestling over what things I should buy and which things I shouldn’t because I don’t want to live in excess while millions of people live in need. I want to keep praying with my family about how we should simplify our lives so that we can give more sacrificially, more generously, and I want us to do it. I want to keep feeling this keen awareness as I sit down to eat that there are people in my own town wondering if they will be able to feed their children tomorrow. I want to remember as I go to the pharmacy to pick up our prescriptions that there are people in Africa who lie dying in hospitals because they can’t pay for medical care. I want to ache as I tuck my kids in at night because there were thousands of children who were sold into slavery today. I want to remember as I lay down in my bed (that has more pillows than the number of people that are in my family) that there are people sleeping on park benches and in cardboard boxes and entire families living in one room huts. And as our little ones tackle Ben and me as we share a hug, I want to remember that there are lonely people in need of someone to wrap their arms around. And my Father’s plan is to set the lonely in families (Psalm 68:6). And as we move forward on our road to give an orphan a family tree, I want to trust in His plan and provision and power. I want to find peace and hope in that as we do this tiny little thing in the scheme of the world’s overwhelming orphan crisis, that we are doing a big thing in the world of one orphan. I want to wake up each day on this road and take small steps with shaking feet and trembling hands and embrace this new level of trust that He is calling us to. And while we wait, I want to stay on my knees and be willing to stay there and get dirty as I serve. I want us to keep asking Him about what we can do, how we can give, who we can love TODAY. And Jesus, help me to remember that You spent most of Your time on earth with the least of these. So today, let me draw near to Your people and all the while draw near to You. a question and a goal 01/21/2012
“Are there a lot of boys and girls without Mommies or Daddies in Africa?” he asked me. “Yes,” I replied, “lots and lots of boys and girls without Mommies or Daddies in Africa.” Tuck sat up from under his covers and pulled my face close to his, “Then bring them all home from Africa when you go.” I laughed, and my heart skipped a beat with pride in his compassion and sadness at the plight of orphans. “We can’t” I said. And he looked at me with his piercing eyes, pulled me closer, and demanded simply, “Why not?” And as I cuddled him close and explained that we couldn’t care for millions of children by ourselves, I remembered how often God had whispered that very question to us this past year. He whispered it when we asked how we (a minister and a stay-at-home mom) could afford to bring home a child from North Africa, when we thought a major tax error couldn’t be fixed for the good of our adoption process, when we doubted that we could raise more than $1,000 at a yard sale, when we thought we couldn’t go from renting to owning a home without spending our adoption savings … HE was there responding to our answers based on human logic and reason with His question of “I am GOD and WHY NOT?” Recently, we have gotten lots of questions from others about where we are in our adoption progress. I hesitate to even write this because I don’t want people to stop asking questions. We LOVE questions about our adoption -- how things are going, how much longer, how we are feeling (most of the time -- a little overwhelmed about the money, rather sad about the length of time, joyful to be experiencing both of those emotions if it’s part of the journey of bringing our child home), etc. Questions show us you care, that you want to know us, that you are invested (even if it’s a tiny bit) in our story. Sometimes, it feels a little lonely taking this course. It is definitely not the “typical” way of bringing home a baby (I laugh at myself at how hard I thought it was not knowing EXACTLY when our first two kids were going to come into our world … nine months or less seems a lot less broad now). So, in our desire to share the journey (and we are so grateful that you want to) … here is the “predicted” path (the red is what we have finished, the underlined blue part is where we are currently) … though as we are learning, not much is predictable in adoption. *Submit application 1 *Submit application 2 *Complete homestudy *Work on government paperwork (Dossier) and raise $5,000 so we can submit it *Wait and wait and wait for a referral (information and pictures) of our child (the wait is anywhere between 6-14 months) And in the meantime work on saving and raising lots of money! *Receive referral (after accepting the referral we wait 3-6 months before we go) *1st trip- Meet child and go to court to finalize adoption (about a week long trip) *Leave our child there (return home and wait about 6-8 LONG weeks before going back) *2nd trip- complete an Embassy appointment and receive child's visa (1-2 week trip). *Bring our child home with us!!! As you can see, we are currently in a holding place. We can’t move forward until we have the next installment of $5,000. We have debated over and prayed about how to raise this next payment, and we finally have a few ideas. So here are our current fundraisers: PARENT’S Pre-Valentine’s NIGHT OUT! The details: Ben and Beth Edfeldt are hosting Parents’ Night Out. The children (3 months to 5th grade) will enjoy a Valentine craft, pizza dinner, and more fun! Space is limited. Sign up soon! ALL PROFITS will go to our adoption fund! When: Saturday, February11th, 2012 from 6-9 p.m. Where: TBD Cost: by donation Click here to register (be sure to put how many kids and ages)
As you can also see we still have a rather lengthy road ahead. But it would mean so much to us if you would stick with us, consider supporting our fundraising efforts, encourage us, pray with us, and keep asking us questions. *Let me say, I am really impressed and grateful that you made it all the way here to the last line of this very long blog entry. a glimpse and a dance 01/06/2012
I stood this afternoon and watched her through the tiny crack in the door. Libby was supposed to be napping but instead she was using her beloved giraffe and owl to do a puppet show over the side of her crib. The light was streaming through her windows glittering across her face and her toddler babble tumbled out like sweet music. I stood enchanted by my little glimpse of her unaware. He tugged at me while I was working on dinner and asked me to turn on the “Baby” music. I smiled and followed Tuck into the living room. I cranked up the volume to the The Supremes “Baby Love” and we grabbed hands and slid around the floor, spinning in our socks and Libby joined us laughing. The room danced with magic and my heart overflowed. I needed these moments. I needed the reminders. Libby kept me up most of the night, and she woke up this morning acting exactly like a toddler who got 5 hours of sleep the night before. Tucker woke up this morning seeming to have forgotten about obedience to me and kindness to his sister. After lunch, I found Libby with a marker in her hand and drawings on our rug, floor, and couch. And a few minutes later, I discovered the dog had gotten into the trash and shredded a diaper all over the kids’ room. My patience was low and my frustration was high. And then they were there, captivating me with their sweetness. Her creativity. His eagerness. Their preciousness. I felt overwhelmed by the privilege it was to be their mom, so grateful and humbled to be a part of this sacred task called parenting. People ask me why we want to adopt, and I think about moments like these. I think about how I see my children at their absolute cutest, funniest, kindest, and I see them when they’re throwing fits and drawing on furniture and glaring at me stubbornly and at all times my love for them is constant. And then I think about all of the orphans out there who may never get to experience the unconditional love of an earthly parent. The kids who have no one to catch them being adorable when no one else is looking, no Mommy to dance with, no Daddy to wrestle with, no one to tuck them in at night. And I can’t imagine not giving those things to at least one child. I can’t imagine missing out on more moments that take my breath away. I can’t imagine missing my third child’s lessons for me about laughter and grace and patience and love. And I pray that God, who sees all of my selfishness and pride and wretchedness, catches glimpses of goodness in me. I am overwhelmed that HE adopted me and pulled me out of the mire and took my hand to dance through life with me. I am overjoyed that He loves me with a beautiful- unfailing, unwavering, uncompromising love. He fills me up with this constant love. I just want to share it. -beth a pile of shoes and a journey 12/04/2011
Sometimes, the reality hits me in quiet, mundane moments. Today, I was picking up the shoes that were spread around the house in various places and putting them back on the shoe rack (Libby has a little game with our shoes, where she takes them off the shoe rack and places them in a row on the opposite wall or leaves them throughout the bottom floor of our house where she thinks we might need them). I lined up my plaid rain boots (that Ben laughed at me for wanting in Wichita Falls where it rarely rains; it did, however, rain the day after I got them), Ben’s navy blue Crocs (that he generally only throws on as he races out the door to chase after our dog running down the street), Tuck’s green frog rain boots (that he wears rain or shine), and a little pink pair of shoes for Libby (that I bought at a yard sale for $2 and will be sad when she outgrows). As I sorted through flip flops and sandals and cleaned out backpacks and diaper bags above, the thought drifted in: “there will be more”. More shoes to add to the pile, another backpack or diaper bag, another coat. And I’m filled with that now familiar feeling of excitement and anxiety, dreams and questions, anticipation and longing. The reality is we have no idea who you are (if you’ve even been born yet), when you will get here, how long and how bumpy the journey will be to bring you home and then make you part of our family. But we pray and we wait. And we talk and we read books and we get our home ready for a homestudy. And we wait and we pray. And we dream and we save and we fundraise. And we pray and we wait. And we know, WE KNOW, that it will be hard. BUT so worth it. You’re worth it. And we can’t wait to add your shoes to the pile. -mommy | AuthorWe are a family of four (Ben, Beth, Tuck, and Libby) on a journey to bring home our child(Tuck and Libby's sibling) from Africa. 
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