2017: The School of Hard Knocks

9 out of 10 people agree, it’s been a rough 365 days.  (In 2017 fashion, I totally made that fact up.)  Not many of us are going to look back on this year with nostalgic love or cute scrapbook-y memories.

Well, maybe it’s just me.

About this time in 2016, I was having an emotional breakdown.  Our first foster placement, through no fault of her stubborn, sassy self, hit every deep-seated, very personal trigger of mine.  It was threat level midnight at our house.  So, we connected her with a better suited family.  That choice -though it WAS the right one for all involved- made me feel like such a failure.  Even afterwards, guilt continued to stomp my heart into a bloody mess.  Then stuff started getting real in Ethiopia.  And by “real,” I mean REAL bad.  In May, the country suspended international adoptions.  Good thing I’d already discovered Zoloft because this was our worst nightmare come true.  Those 4 excruciating years we spent on hold for our African daughter, gone in an instant.  The lifeline connecting us to our future child had been completely, irreparably severed.  David’s and my spirits were crushed, aimless, and flipping mad at God.  Next, my tiny, infant, baby boy turned 10 in July.  Yeah.  The beginning of the year required A LOT of processing (Read: Wine) for this sensitive soul.  At that point JC got the memo and started CPR, pumping life and direction into us.  The tide turned towards India and we went with it.  Friends rallied around us, again, in support of our princess.  Revitalized by their love, we put our nose to the paperwork grindstone.  And as of November 17th, the Indian government approved our family to receive A MATCH!  No big deal, but we could get the call AT ANY TIME.  Auuuuugggghhhhhhhh!!!  Then the remainder of our papers head to India, we WAIT 8-12 months for processing, and -at long last- hop on a Delhi-bound plane (or, in my case, stumble onto the plane in a medicated fog)!

This historic account of our family’s woes isn’t shared to induce a pity party.  Not in the least.  Let me confess something: It’s no coincidence 2017 began with a blog about idols.  Because God spent the first half of this year knocking mine down.  I’ve never considered pride one of my many sins, but -as it turns out- you can be both REALLY self-deprecating and still REALLY prideful.  And I was proud.  About my goals.  I was going to be a foster parent.  I was going to adopt from Ethiopia.  I was thumbs-hooked-through-suspenders certain about these plans.  When crap started getting complicated, I lectured God about it.  Why was HE ruining MY calling?  Hello, I’m in charge and we’re doing good stuff here.  Wait, what?  Turns out my motivations were a tad selfish and jacked up.  My people pleasing drive was revved through the roof.  Consequently, my feelings of failure tied directly to my inability to complete my mission.  (Note the ridiculously high amount of “my”s back there.)

So Jesus gave me the gift I never wanted: Humility.  I handed over our first foster babe and got the joy of watching her THRIVE with a new family.  We released Ethiopia expectations and -in exchange- got to finally build into an Ethiopian daughter, Wedu, through a monthly sponsorship with Compassion International.  Hesitantly we transferred our adoption to India and were rewarded with the abundant generosity and assistance of family and friends.  Note: These victories only happened after hard sacrifices.  My ego was stripped bare and that’s where God met me.  On my knees.  Where I should’ve started in the first place.

Giving the foster babe to her rightful Mama bear, the new Ethiopian princess addition-Wedu, and our India fight song: "Our lives are in HIS hands and HE keeps our feet from stumbling."