Sometimes it’s hard to figure out where a story actually begins. This story is that way. Three years ago this month, a government official in a country far from ours made a political decision that would change our lives and the life of a little girl forever. We grieved our own loss, but mostly we grieved her’s. She had beautiful dark skin, big piercing brown eyes, long lashes, curly hair, a long face, and a timid smile that seemed to convey the weight of the world she lived in. For 18 months, we had thought of her as part of our family: her pictures covering our house, a bed waiting for her, magnets with her name on hundreds of refrigerators, the few videos we had of her playing on repeat in our minds, her name on repeat in our prayers. She was the little girl we had pleaded for, planned for, and dreamed about… and she would be returning to an orphanage where her future hopes were unpromising. We continue to keep praying for her, praying that she will know the love of a Savior, praying God is writing a wonderful story for her, far better than anything we could ask for or imagine. We keep trusting, that somehow in all of this, God’s plan was for us to champion for her, to be her lifetime prayer warriors across the globe, for us to be changed forever by a little girl we will never meet. The little girl whose name meant gift, the little girl we called Aida. Maybe this story started when our pursuit of Aida ended that day three years ago. Or maybe it started way back in middle school when I knew I wanted to adopt someday. Or the first time Ben and I ever talked about adopting when we were dating. Or maybe that day in October 2010 when God reminded me of my adoption desire, and I decided to spend the next few months praying that God would remind Ben of that desire too. Maybe it was in February 2011, when Ben walked in the door and said three things: “We should adopt. We should start now. We should adopt internationally.” Maybe it began when we filled out that first application to start an adoption from Ethiopia the next month. Or maybe it was when after the door closed on international adoption we moved our application to domestic adoption. Since, I’m not sure where this story starts, I’m going to begin it with an ending. She came to our house in November. Ben had barely got the dog out the back door when she pulled up, and I was pushing dirt into a dustpan. We welcomed her in and sat on the couch in familiar company, this homestudy update seemed like second nature to us now. We had lost count after 5½ years of them. She asked us all the usual questions and told us of some possible adoption scenarios that were coming up. She then walked us through upcoming changes in our agency and a choice we had to make: keep pressing on with hope that one of the scenarios would be it for us or get out now with an option to get back a large chunk of money… an option rare (if almost unheard of) in the adoption agency world. Our paperwork explaining the legal side of all of this had gotten lost in the mail so they were giving us an extension on time to make our decision... until sometime in late December. And as her words echoed in my mind, I could hear the whir of the washing machine and the hum of the dryer playing a little tune that sounded a lot like my least favorite words: hard decision. Some months earlier, Ben and I had a discussion in the late evening, behind the closed door of our bedroom after kids were long asleep. We spoke those words out loud that neither of us rarely verbalized. What if adoption wasn’t supposed to happen for us? What if God was telling us this journey was over? We decided that when March arrived (6 years from the time we filled out our first application), we would seriously pray and evaluate whether God was shutting the door on adoption for us. But it wasn’t March yet. It was November, and we weren’t supposed to face this decision now. We discussed and prayed but mostly waited, hoping for any word of those possible scenarios working out and for a set date of when our decision needed to be made. On a Monday in mid- December, we got an email saying we had to make our decision by Thursday. There was no update on the possible scenarios, they were all still just that: possibilities. Possibilities like we had heard about all summer with each one falling through. Each time filling us with hope, and then each time deflating us a little bit more, leaving us wondering how much more air could be let out of us. I spent the next four days crying over a decision I felt no clear answer to. We spent every evening talking in circles and begging for wisdom. We heard only silence. On Wednesday, we stayed up until 1:30 praying and speaking to each other all the things we had already said 10,000 times. We made a decision and went to sleep. I woke up convinced it was the wrong one and drove to work in tears. I spent the next few hours as a confused mess. At noon, Ben took me to lunch, and he sat down and spoke to me things that had come clearly to him in the matter of a few hours. We had been wandering for the last few years (I knew it too). We were no longer excited about the process. Our kids were older now, which meant we could adopt a child who was over three and therefore less likely to be adopted. Libby’s heart health was more stable and that meant we might could afford to take on a child with some moderate medical needs. We could adopt a child who was school age, and I could still continue to work the job that I loved and felt called to do. There was an excitement and urgency in Ben’s voice that comes with clear vision. We called and closed our domestic adoption file with the agency that had been with us for 5 years and 9 months and walked with us through some of the hardest seasons of our lives. Somehow, I knew Ben wasn’t wrong and yet, I still felt utterly unconvinced that our decision was right. I felt heartbroken over another closed door. I felt sick that I would never know if those “possible scenarios” would have worked out for us, and I would always have to wonder. I felt uncertain as to what we were supposed to do next. And truthfully, I was frustrated with God because I could still hear the whirr of the washing machine and the hum of the dryer, but I never felt like I heard Him. If I had only remembered that sometimes God speaks to us clearly through others, and we don’t recognize His voice. And sometimes when God is silently ending one chapter, it’s because He is already quietly beginning the next one. She came to me on a Sunday morning at church, three days after we had closed the chapter on domestic adoption. All weekend, I had felt stunned and directionless. It felt like we had our feet out one door but had yet to place our feet down somewhere else. She asked me where we were in the adoption process, and I felt my stomach knot up. But she didn’t give me a chance to respond. “Because I want you to look at this little boy.” I heard these words: “Age four,” “China,” “heart problems, and “everytime I see him, I think of y’all.” She wrote down the information, and I took it, slid it into my pocket and mostly brushed it off as another “possibility” that wouldn’t happen. Ben was out of town that evening as I sat in the glow of the Christmas tree on the couch with my laptop and saw the little boy with the dark hair, all joy and energy spilling out of every inch of his being. I pulled my blanket tight around me as if the extra layer could protect my heart. The next few weeks was a series of events of simply doing the next thing in front of us. With each timid step, each phone call, each text message, each email, each search on the web, each hard question asked to an agency, we assumed the door would close. But it never did. So, in an abundance of irony and grace, on Aida’s 5th birthday, we got in the car and went on a trip. This little boy was in Texas for a very brief time, staying with a hosting family, having medical check ups, and charming everyone he met. The amazing family that was hosting him opened up their homes and hearts to us, but also warned us, “he takes a while to warm up to people who have come into our home.” On the drive there, we prepared the kids, “he may take a while to warm up to you… don’t overwhelm him… give him some space... he doesn’t speak English... meeting him doesn’t mean we are adopting him.” And as I sat in the passenger seat, I prayed fervently with a cautious heart. I prayed for discernment and clear direction from this meeting, prayed for our reluctant nine-year-old who had understandably become very indifferent to this adoption process, prayed for our six- year-old with the tender heart, prayed for this dear family we were coming to meet who already felt like old friends, prayed above all for this precious boy—that no matter the outcome that God would have great plans for Him. When we stood outside in the cold on January 6th as Ben knocked on the door, I could hear my heart beating. The door opened, and there were hugs and hellos and in the background a little boy. He looked cautiously at us, the strangers on the other side, and then… he reached out and took our nine-year-old’s hand and held on as if he had no plans to let go. And in the skip of a heartbeat, I knew: sometimes when we can’t hear God clearly speaking, He gives us eyes to see Him clearly working. At the same time God was writing Aida’s story; He was also writing another one. One for a little boy (just a few months younger than her) in an entirely different country. He has olive skin, narrow happy eyes, thin jet black hair, scars on his chest that speak of surgeries, and a chipped-tooth grin that fills up his face. For just a brief few weeks (since the agency gave us the go ahead on pursuing him), we have thought of him as part of our family: his pictures filling up our phone, his bed being debated over, his videos playing on repeat in our minds, his name on repeat in our prayers. He has become the little boy we plead for, plan for, and dream about… and we are praying that he will leave his orphanage with a future full of promise. We keep praying for him, praying that he will come to know the love of a Savior, praying God is writing a wonderful story for him, far better than anything we could ask for or imagine. We keep hoping that somehow in all of this, God’s plan is for us to champion for him, to be his lifetime prayer warriors right by his side, for us to be changed forever by a little boy we have met, and loved, and called our own. The little boy whose name means God is gracious, the little boy we call Zane. Sometimes it’s hard to figure out where a story actually begins. This story is that way. All I know is that one hard chapter just closed. And the next chapter... well it’s finally getting good again. A few answers to some things you might be wondering:
-It is with an abundance of caution and hope that we share this. We have struggled with how long to stay quiet and when to tell. If you know our story then you know that it is hard for us to consider him to be ours until we are back in America with him. When Tuck and Libby ask if we are adopting him, we tell them that we are doing our best to make it happen and are hoping and praying that it will be so. We share this news in hopes that you will join us in praying. We have clearly seen God's hand moving in a direction we never planned and we move forward hoping to be obedient to whatever next season He calls us to walk through (hard OR good or hard AND good). -We hope, hope, hope to bring Zane home before the end of this year but the timeline is not certain. -We can’t share his Chinese name with you now but it will be a part of his name when he comes home. -We moved to a new agency, so yes, we have lots more paperwork, home studies, etc to do (we are trying not to whine about it TOO much). -Zane has had multiple surgeries but is doing incredibly well. One blessing in already having a child with CHD (congenital heart defects) is that we already have an incredible pediatric cardiologist. He has already looked at the medical files that we have for Zane. Our doctor was very encouraged by the files that he reviewed and can’t wait to meet him. -Tucker and Libby are beyond thrilled and pray for him every day, and they have been bursting to share this news so I am sure they would be happy to talk about it with you. -We have tons of photos and videos on our phone so feel free to ask us to see him! (I’m sure the grandparents would also love to show you his picture). -We adore the family who hosted him while he was in the States, and we are forever grateful for the big part that they played in his story. We are excited that they live about four hours from us and that they will get to continue to be in his life when he returns to the States. What a blessing that this little boy is already known and loved by two families who are rooting for him. -We got a good bit of money back from our previous agency but of course, not all of it. We will still need to pay for our trips and hope to set aside some money for some medical needs he will have when he arrives home. If you want a fun, inexpensive way to contribute, we have some t-shirts in the works… we would love for you to buy and wear one as a way to help with funds and a reminder for you to pray when you wear it!
6 Comments
Sammye Waldrip
2/19/2017 07:51:46 pm
Awesome news. Your family will be such a blessing for this little boy. Your family is so loving and open. Prayers that all will work out and we will have another little guy in our midst. Would love to buy a t-shirt.
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Dorris Warnock
2/19/2017 08:03:10 pm
Oh Beth and Ben as I sit here with tears in my eyes I am so in awe of you all and your spiritual and emotional journey. Dr Ralph and I continue to pray for every step of the journey and that we will be able to meet and love on this precious little boy. We love all of you !!!!
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Allyson
2/19/2017 08:49:02 pm
What an amazing book our God is writing for your family! You are an encouragement to those around you & a blessing to those you meet! Our time in Texas was short but sweet! I'm thankful for getting to know your family! I miss our daily chats while waiting for M.E. Beth & Tucker to get out of Kindergarten. I miss the joy I felt when I heard M.E. Beth talking about how much Tucker loved Jesus & the Florida Gators! I miss the excitement M.E. Beth & I had when we found out that Tucker was going to be in her 1st grade class! I miss bumping into y'all at Qudoba! I'm so glad that God allowed our paths to cross. And I'm so excited for the next part of your story! #ourgodisgood
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Jennifer Hayes
2/19/2017 10:14:16 pm
Oh my goodness, Beth!!!! What awesome news!! I am so very excited for you and your family! God is so good!!! We will definitely keep you all in our prayers!!!
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Judy Bowles
2/20/2017 05:27:11 am
What glorious news to celebrate with your very special family. We commit to continue PRAYING for you and for Zane as this process runs its course. We give God the Glory for answered prayers. May he come home to you as soon as possible. May God guard his health. We can't wait to see pictures and maybe one day meet him. We continue to pray for Aida also. Thankful that our God is still in the miracle business. We love you, Judy and Robert BOWLES
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Linda Ward
2/21/2017 10:30:27 pm
What an incredible journey your family is on. I can't imagine how hard this has been and how your hearts have been stretched during it. Roger and I are praying for Zane and for your family as God continues to add to your story. I will definitely be asking to see pictures to put a face with his sweet name.
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AuthorWe are a family of five (Ben, Beth, Tucker, Libby, and Zane). We started this blog during our 7 year journey to bring home a child through adoption. This is our story of how God is faithful in the good, the bad, and all the in between. Archives
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