Peace, Love, and Olive Oil

Baby Girl,

I’ve been writing you a letter on Valentine’s Day for 4 years now.  Four years!  I went back and read all four letters a few days ago.  Here’s what I noticed.  Each year I was certain we would only be waiting 2 years longer to meet you.  Every letter talked about how I guessed you might be conceived (or even born) during that particular calendar year.  And, of course, I always spoke about how deeply we missed you.

Not much has changed.  In fact, nothing has.

It is difficult for me to write these letters to you and not get angry about this excruciatingly slow process.  We’ve been “officially” paperwork ready and waiting for you for over 2 ½ years now.  Long enough to see ALL our other close friends who were also in process either complete their adoptions or become pregnant.  It’s a tough pill for your Mama, Daddy, and brother to swallow.  It isn’t easy.

Regarding the wait, I read a devotional written by Lysa TerKeurst called “Peace for the Pressing Times.”  She mentions one of the requirements for the Old Testament temple was “clear oil of pressed olives” (Exodus 27:20) to fuel the lamps.  Then she expounded on how this relates to enduring hardship:

Isn’t it interesting that the olive branch is often seen as a symbol of peace?  And yet in order to get what’s most valuable from the fruit of this tree, there is a lot of pounding, crushing and pressing that is required…..This is so much like Jesus...For Him to truly be the “light of the world,” the prophecy of his beating, death and resurrection had to be fulfilled.  His greatest hardship became our greatest hope...The crushing of the olive isn’t its end.  It’s actually the way to get what’s most sacred and valuable to emerge.

Those words meant so much to me.  I used to say I was heartbroken over missing you, although that isn’t *quite* the right term.  Because “breaking” is quick.  Break a vase, an egg, a toe, it happens in a blink of an eye.  But crushing or pressing takes time.  And THAT is a more accurate description of how Daddy, Elijah, and I feel.  Our hearts are continually being crushed during this separation from you.

However, we’ve learned things as well.  Patience, cognizance, empathy, gratitude.  The other night over dinner, we played “High/Low”- a game where you say the high and low parts of your day.  When it got to your brother, he said, “My high is that we have plenty of food to eat and a warm house to live in.  Not everyone has those things like we do.”  This kind of awareness is part of our family dialogue now.  And more than that, we feel moved and responsible for those hurting around the world.  When you’re called to act (as our family has been), it is impossible to shut your eyes to suffering and crisis.  This is a crux of Jesus’ teaching, so I’m beyond thankful it has become real and vital for us.

Do you remember the very first Valentine’s letter I wrote you?  In it I said that I’m thinking of you as “Mira” (short for Miracle) until we meet face to face.  Well, recently I discovered the Hebrew version of that beautiful name: Meira.  Which happens to mean “Light” or “Giving light.”  Of course, I cried upon finding this out.  Because just as that olive is pressed for oil to fuel lamps, our hearts are being pressed to produce something valuable as well.  Something to fuel US forward.  My sweet girl, you are literally the light at the end of this long tunnel.  Burn brightly little one, so we can recognize you through the darkness.

All our Love,

Daddy, Mama, and Elijah