I was in Sam's shopping for work when I got the phone call early last week. I was standing in the snack aisle when she told me that we received our LOA (letter of acceptance) from China to adopt you. I stood there for a moment crying, trying to stop my spinning mind long enough to think what I should ask. I got off the phone, and I wandered aimlessly for a good 20 minutes putting random things in my cart, not able to remember why I was there. I called her back 20 minutes later with all the questions I suddenly had. After 7.5 months of unusual, frustrating, baffling delays that no one could explain, the last 3+ months have finally been a series of steps forward. When our dossier (collection of documents) finally sailed off to China at the end of September, I merely dared to hope we would get our approval by the end of December. That seemed a safe dream, something that wouldn't set me up for another disappointment. So when, at the end of November, I stood in a store listening to the words "I have good news!" I was overcome, overwhelmed, overjoyed... 6 1/2 years of delays, closed doors, and "no's" and here, finally... a "yes". And I keep thinking about what your name means, a promise I repeat to myself: "God is gracious." You are going to be a son. A brother. An Edfeldt. I'm tucking our 5th stocking away for yet another year but I'm trusting that next year will finally be the year it hangs on our mantle. Across the world, we are waiting for you. Hoping for you. Praying for you. Preparing for you. Loving you already. Merry Christmas, sweet boy.
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I laced up my running shoes this morning. I went out the front door and I think I tried hard to run away the hurt.
Ellie Holcomb sang in my ears and even though her music isn’t really running music, it seemed appropriate to be listening to “Can’t Outrun Your Love” as my feet pounded out the last 18 months on the sidewalks. We lost her this week. Our Aida. I felt a little like I was running in a movie montage, the images flashing through my mind: the 18 months of pictures and the short video of her learning how to walk and the monthly updates, and the first time we saw her face- all moving in front of me as I raced by houses. Next week, they’ll pack up her things and take her away from her transition home back to an orphanage. There she will wait in hope that someone from her own country is allowed to adopt her or allowed to foster her. The wind hit my face and I let go of our future with her and let the breeze carry it away. And Ellie’s voice sang scripture over me and I clung to its promises. And I ran with the music seeping into my soul and my feet chanted out an anthem to Him for me and for us and for our Aida. I stopped running and moved forward in prayer as if I could walk out the miles between us. I thought about all of the others who have walked beside us and prayed the miles with us too. And I gulped in the air, the shock of knowing what I said way back in March was true and a friend even reminded me of it last night. There was a little girl in Africa that without this journey that threatened to crush us, would have never been known, loved, and prayed for specifically by hundreds of people. Her name rose up to the heavens like a chorus from His people: "Aida.” She was our gift and our hope for 18 months, the daughter and sister we will never know but who will be bound to our family for the rest of our lives. We are grieving and we know there are lots of questions we need to answer but for now we ask you give us a little time. We have a thousand thoughts but few words. But keep praying. Our gift needs a gift herself. Pray for a family in Africa for Aida. I’ve used up my fair share of grace over this winter.
I’ve wrapped it around me like a warm blanket, thanking God for its abundance, asking for forgiveness for how much I need it, praising Him for giving it so freely, knowing I will need it again tomorrow. The last five weeks haven’t gone like we wanted them to … how I wanted them to. A steady stream of disheartening news and estimated travel dates passed by, and I’ve been left broken and confused … trying to act normal. Like a part of my heart isn’t living in Africa, growing up in front of me through pictures and updates, going to bed every night without a Mommy and Daddy. And there is also the ever increasing awareness that this seemingly impossible wait is going to be nothing compared to the wait after we meet her and leave her there and wait to be able to return to get her. The days have gone by slowly like a clock ticking away moments lost with her and after weeks of overwhelming sadness; I found myself numb. And then the court date we had been waiting for came. But I didn’t react the way I was suppose to: I didn’t jump and squeal, I didn’t post it on Facebook, I didn’t want to write a blog, I didn’t call or text all my friends. In fact, I talked to as few people as possible. Because I felt stuck feeling an emotion I wasn’t supposed to feel. Not the emotion people would want to see or hear from me. And the emotion hit me with such overwhelming force (a storm that had been brewing for weeks … or maybe it was more than two years in the making) that I didn’t know what to do with it; I couldn’t even identify it at first. I stomped my feet and pounded my fist on the bathroom counter. I lay on my bed sobbing and begging God to give us a just a few weeks earlier, a few days earlier. Anything sooner. Not April 1. We had lost another month. I felt cheated. I realized IT was anger. I was furious. What happened to the end of January, then to February — and why oh why did March get skipped over completely? And the questions keep pouring out of me. Between my tears and bursts of anger, I’ve spent the last few days pleading for gratitude and for peace and a changed perspective. I wish I could say it was fast in coming; it’s not. But I press on reciting the Truths I know, rehearsing my thankfulness even when I don’t feel like it, expressing my feelings to a Savior that restores me through His understanding, feeling the warm blanket of His grace … knowing that healing and growth take time. The roots are there already. But they need both the sunshine and the rain to grow up out of the dirt. Beautiful things sprout up in the spring. And that’s when we’ll meet Aida. It was one of those long nights.
I was exhausted and emotional and tired of sewing, and I saw no end in sight. I sat at my sewing machine, and Ben sat at the desk behind me, and we listened to Pandora and shared the same space. And my shoulders shook, and I cried quietly (I’ve become pretty good at that over the past year) and wondered aloud how sewing T-shirts was going to bring our child home when the total to raise kept increasing as the months passed ($27,000 to $30,000 to eventually $35,000). Sewing appliques on T-shirts that made about $10-12 apiece just didn’t seem like it was going to make much difference. And my husband, the gentle strength and steadiness that he is, said to me, “loaves and fishes.” And in the quiet hours of the night Ben repeated all of the things our Provider had done over the months, all the ways He had multiplied the tiny things we had to offer, and I knew he was right, and we laughed, and I, of course, cried some more, and Our Redeemer’s promises filled our little space with peace at midnight. About 21 months ago, we stunned our parents by telling them that we were going to adopt, it was going to cost about $27,000, and the only plan we had to pay for it was to use some of our savings and to fundraise for the rest of the money. I wish I had a picture so I could show you (and them) the looks they tried hard to hide on their faces. I knew they were scared for us. I was scared too. At the end of August 2012, when asked if we wanted a referral for a child — “YES! Please! Of course!!!” — we realized it would mean we would have to raise the remaining $20,000 in about 6-8 months (you can find that story here). It seemed impossible. There were moments that doubt filled my mind and I thought, “No, it just can’t be done. We will have to wait for another child when we have a little more money raised.” But my husband, with faith much greater than my mustard seed, believed and repeated the past of God’s faithfulness to me (once again), and so I followed his lead and my God filled me up with a peace and a faith that I knew I wasn’t capable of. We offered our loaves and fishes (our time, our abilities, our energy, our little bit of resources), and we were overwhelmed with all of you who joined us and offered up your loaves and fishes too. And our Lord multiplied it. My Savior who fed the five thousand with five loaves and two fishes said to us, “I can do this too.” And He did it. With time to spare. Thank you seems so inadequate. But we are so glad you are walking this journey with us. So grateful you are partnering with us. So blessed you offered what you had. If we had any money left, we would throw a party to celebrate with you. But truthfully the real celebration is still a few months away. All that is left to do now is wait. I’m going to be honest, waiting really stinks. Waiting alone stinks even more. So… as if we haven’t already asked enough of you, we would like to ask one more tiny thing: would you wait beside us and continue in praying our Aida home? "Delighted, they dance all day long; they know who You are, what You do- they can't keep it quiet! Your vibrant beauty has gotten inside us- You've been so good to us! We're walking on air! All we are and have we owe to God, Holy God of Israel, our King!" (Psalm 89:15-18 The Message)
Made over $4,700 from our auction yesterday. Made over $500 at a painting party last night. Yesterday, we made over $5,000!!!!! What does this mean? We need less than $5,000 to bring Aida home. We are praying we will have the money raised by the end of the year. Will you join us? ecstatic, humbled, grateful, overjoyed... thank you, thank you, thank you!!! |
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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