Wedu Hard Things: Redefining Dads

“Blessings look a lot like hard work.”  That’s our pastor Patrick from a recent message.  And his words felt obvious, natural.  Because the things that end up being incredibly valuable to us are the ones we’ve invested in the most.  Relationships, parenting, a calling or aptitude -even when difficult- can prove immensely rewarding in the long run.

Flashback to 2014: Our already stressed marriage was getting put through the ringer by Ethiopia’s complicated process.  The strain further exacerbated by the pressure cooker of paperwork, frustrations of dealing with numerous outside agencies, and lack of communication.  It was hell; the lowest of low.  So clearly, hopping onto the India roller coaster is a bit of a daunting prospect.  Piles of incomplete documents and approvals trigger not JUST an eye twitch, but lots of unpleasant memories.  And yet, I can manage it because of David.  (And Jesus, of course, but David’s the one I sleep next to every night.)  Those babies who applied to the Ethiopia program 4 ½ years ago are no longer here.  We’ve learned and grown a ridiculous amount over that time.  Bearing the weight of hardship has built us into stronger people, a stronger unit.

It’s rare to get a guy’s perspective about infertility or complications in family building.  I guess because we expect this sentiment to fall more to the maternal side.  Which is complete crap.  Fathers-in-waiting have a singular outlook and wisdom that many dads could benefit from hearing.  And my David is an incredible father.  A dart-gun battling, wrestling-match strategizing, lego-building, Star-Wars watching kind of Dad.  But also a quesadilla-cooking, responsibility-setting, dishes-and-laundry washing kind of Dad.  Beyond being Captain Fun, he is INVOLVED in the affairs of this house.  So also with the dream of an Ethiopian daughter.  We went into the trenches for that girl, together.  And when it became evident that our adoption journey would need to switch paths, the grief -for both of us- was huge.

Having “the talk” about transitioning countries was a shot of novocain.  Being the keeper of All.The.Emotions, I had been working my way through a whirlwind of feels during the weeks previously.  But sitting down and mutually agreeing to the change was a shock to our systems.  A stunning slap in the face.  It felt surreal, almost like we were looking in on a couple -David and Laura- having this miserable conversation on the couch.

The pain didn’t set in until later.  Particularly for David who really has to process through situations before being demonstrative about them.  (Yes, we’re complete opposites!)  He cried himself to sleep in my arms that night.  Not small tears- deep, wracking sobs.  In our entire relationship, I have never witnessed my husband more heartbroken.  I kept rubbing his back and saying, “I love you; you are such a good Dad.  I love you; you are such a good Dad.”  He finally managed to reply, breathing deep, “I know I’m a good Dad.  That’s what makes the waiting so hard.”

In our Bible study, we regularly talk about the paradigm shift that children bring.  (And also the fact that they completely Wreck.Your.Life!  Love you, Elijah!)  After becoming a parent, many passages of Scripture gain even richer meaning and insight.  Because in the indisputable Father heart of God, we see ourselves.  The desire He has for his children to KNOW Him and to live thoughtful, healthy, abundant lives is now achingly familiar.  However adoptive parenting reveals another aspect of this truth, especially in how it pertains to God and us: The pursuit and longing.  We were created to be children of God, but brokenness (sin) gets in the way of that perfect relationship with Him.  So Jesus became our Bae (Best Advocate Ever-Woot woot!) by sacrificially providing a means to bring us together.  Here’s the thing: We have to accept that gift.  We have to admit we need it.  But we’re (Read: I’m) stubborn and don’t enjoy admitting anything.  So God pursues us like the persistent, loving parent He is.  But ultimately, we have to choose Him.  And this waiting, this separation from His child(ren), must be agonizing.  For ANY good Daddy it would be.  I imagine if God had a heavenly pillow, it would be soaked in tears.

Our connection to Ethiopia is different now.  Definitely there, yet changed.  It’s hard to define a relationship, when fundamental parts of it have been abruptly transformed.  Make no mistake, our sentiment still 100% rooted in love.  However our daughter is in India, thus the attachment to Africa IS altered.  But like a 4 ½ year long miscarriage, it’s an umbilical cord we can’t cut.  So through Compassion International, we chose a little Ethiopian girl to sponsor each month.  Her birthday shares our Ethiopian adoption anniversary: July 26th.  Her name is Wedu.  She’s 6, finishing Kindergarten, and is amazing in pink ruffleyness (which had NOTHING to do with me being drawn to her).  She isn’t our daughter and that’s okay.  Hard, but okay.  Because we can fight for what we love...and we love the Ethiopian people.  

Passion, in its original Latin, is derived from a term meaning “to suffer.”   Specifically as it relates to Christ on the cross.  I can’t get over Jennie Allen’s further insight on this topic, “...when we consider that passion is originally defined as the moment of the deepest suffering of Christ for our good, it lifts the word from human desires to a monumental love willing to suffer.”  And THAT’S what should define a Dad.  Not his famous marinade recipe, his mode of transportation, his fishing technique, or greatest golf score.  1 Corinthians 13:8 says it best,  “Prophecy and speaking in unknown languages and special knowledge will become useless. But love will last forever!”  Here’s what sticks:  Shared tea parties, consoled tears, and teachable moments.  Attending rainy soccer games and cultivating accountability.  Bedtime prayers, reciting the same story 3 million times, endless hugs.  Encouraging kids’ interests and combating entitlement with generosity.  Let there be NO question that your home is a starting point for something remarkable.  Fill those 4 walls with what matters: The evidence of love.  Fathers (to be), Mothers (to be), your responsibility is great.  The stakes are high and the work seems endless.  The sorrowful seasons stretch long like shadows.  But the blessings, oh the blessings.  They make -or WILL make- every restless night, every uttered hope, every second of striving completely worth it.

Someday, baby girl.  Someday.