Running Toward Love

Hello all!!!   Today, I will be redirecting your path to an entry I made on my OTHER blog... it is directly connected to the adoption, and figured it would be easier to post the link here so you could read it there.  And maybe you'll like the other blog, too and want to follow along on that journey.

Have a great day everyone!

http://www.purgethepocketgod.com/2010/09/day-13-for-now-for-her/

Gail

Jim and I attend a weekly community meal at our church in the city and every week, invariably, there are loads of kids who come.  Some of them attend the weekly services and others just come from the surrounding community to play in the playground and have a tasty burger (or taco, or pancake, or whatever dish is being served up for that evening).  There is one particular young lady who my heart is particularly drawn toward named Veronica.  She's a beautiful black girl with a killer singing voice and a whole lot of joy.  Every time I see her she runs up to give me a big squeeze and wonders why I haven't been around much this summer.  (The church is way up on the north side of Chicago and until we sell our house and move up there, my time at the meals is scarce.)  I miss her when I can't make it up there.

I did make it yesterday for the end of the meal... and she was the first one I saw standing in the parking lot with her friends.  She gave me a warm hug and asked where my boys were.  I told her they were with their aunt for the evening and she followed that up by asking if we were still adopting a little girl.  I told her that yes we were and she wondered why it is taking so long (how do you explain the bureaucracy of international adoption to an adolescent???).. I started to say "well, there's lots of paperwork and processes...." and then just decided to go with "It just takes a long time... it stinks."

"Is she going to be from Africa?"

"Yes... from Ethiopia, actually."

"Will she be white?"

"Nope, she'll be black."

And with a thoughtful and slightly perplexed look on her face, she said... "Hmmm... that's goin' to be HARD!... How're you gonna do her hair??!"  to which I enthusiastically replied, "You're going to teach me!"

While I think she was thinking about outward difficulties like the difference between my brunette caucasian hair and my daughters black African hair, I think she had a great deal more intuition regarding the difficulty surrounding inter-racial adoption and pinpointed in one sentence why I am sometimes paralyzed with fear when I think about what we are doing.  "That's going to be HARD."  Yes. It will be hard. For our daughter, for me and Jim... and it will be hard for our kids and even for friends, extended family and strangers of every color.  I don't have any illusions about that fact and I think anyone who thinks that it is going to be easy is most likely in for some big surprises.

A couple of weeks ago we got an email from our home study case worker stating that she got word from DCFS that they were reviewing our completed home study.  She said that this meant we should hear soon that we have been approved by DCFS to move ahead with the adoption (and we heard just that... a couple of days ago!  YAY!).  I did receive this news with joy but it also struck deep fear within me.  This new "green light" means that things are moving forward... this is FOR REAL... we are actually doing this.  And I thought "what in the world are we doing????  Who do I think I am that I can handle this?"  It began a small landslide of emotions within me... fear, anxiety, uncertainty, feelings of sheer inadequacy, panic... it all came flooding out in hefty and steady sobs.  Question after question battered my brain.  How can I be a mom to a GIRL?  How can I be a mom to a black girl?  What if she hates it here?  What if she hates ME?  How will I be able to even begin to understand what she is going through?   Will Jacob and Tyler adjust well?  Will I be able to love her like I love them?  How can I help her through issues of judgement and prejudice when I have lived my whole life as a white middle class majority beneficiary?  And, indeed, how AM I going to do her hair?!!!

All these questions and so many more rushed through my mind like a herd of elephants and I suddenly wanted to back out of the whole thing altogether.

I thank God that He moved me through that breakdown before Veronica asked me that question about the hair, or she may have been faced with quite a different response... a maniacal "I  DON'T KNOW!!!" followed by hysterical sobs.

But through my husband's gentle words and warm arms the night I had that breakdown, God reminded me that it is He who will equip us for the calling he has placed on our lives to bring our daughter home... our daughter with beautiful black skin and a vastly different cultural background into our home.  Most of all, He reminded me of how much I love this little girl already... how much I celebrate her.

And isn't this the Body of Christ?   God's family... wonderfully and richly diverse, knowing no borders.  I want my family to reflect God's heart and His diversity... His reconciliation (most churches don't do a very good job of this!).  And I know that we'll get long stares and be asked questions by strangers in the grocery store based on ignorance and fear... but I trust that God will give us the grace and love to respond with the desire and hope to educate people about the heart of God... to show them Jesus in the picture of our family.

I have so many... SO MANY thoughts about all of this... I could go on for eons.  But I will end this here...maybe picking it up again at another time as I am sure my feelings of inadequacy will rise up and gnaw on me again... and I can tell you about it.   I hope that what little vulnerability I can offer in this entry will help others who are in a similar process... and speak to those who are not in some small way.

And one day, Veronica is going to help me be wicked-amazing at cornrows, beading, and afros.

I have been to St. Louis twice in the past few weeks... and both visits were filled with a celebration of new life.  The first visit, I watched a woman's eyes dance and saw her nerves rattle in anticipation as she opened gifts and wondered at the looming and exciting reality of being a mom.  I saw her love her baby... even though she hasn't held the child in her arms yet.   The second visit this past weekend, my own eyes danced as I watched my husband... my amazing husband... run 26.2 miles for his child... a child who now lives across the world.  And though we haven't met her yet, she is very much a part of us and we love her even now, so long before we can hold her hand.

Watching Jim push so hard to accomplish a goal only achieved by a tiny percentage of the world's population (1%) has stung my eyes with proud tears every single time he has done it.  It will never get old for me.  One of my favorite memories in my years being with him is running alongside him on the last .2 mile stretch to the finish line in Green Bay, holding up the sign our kids and I crafted for him and screaming all sorts of cheers and wild exclamations right on up through his crossing beneath the race clock.  He is a hero to me.  And this time more than any other.

This time, it was just Jacob and me on the sidelines cheering him to the finish line (and all the other runners that dared to take on that long stretch of pavement - I LOVE cheering runners on. I told Jim yesterday that if I were an older lady all by myself with my kids all gone, I might just travel around the world to various marathons and make it my lot in life to give wings to runners with my words.)  

We got to the race at around 6:50 in the morning on Sunday and looked out over the ocean of runners waiting at the start to cross to the finish.

I couldn't find Jim or the friends he was running with (can't figure out why... there were only 17,000 runners there) but took some shots of the crowd in hopes that the camera lens might find the man in the red shirt my eyes were failing to see.  The Canon failed, too... but it was fascinating none-the-less to watch all those people begin to move in unison in response to the horn blast sending them off.  Jacob and I cheered wildly as the runners shuffled forward, all hoping their feet would be at a decent pace by the time the chip in their shoes registered with the computer at the starting line.  Once we waited through, oh, say, 13,000 runners-by... we booked it back to the car to head to the 7-mile marker in hopes that we could this time cheer Daddy on face to face.

We got there around 10 minutes before the first runner crested the 7th-mile hill...

 It is amazing to see someone in the lead of 17,000 people.  A few more came behind him.... trickling in one, two, a few at a time.  And then the waves began to hit the pavement shore as the other 16,950 runners rounded over the hill and began to rush by us like a human tsunami... most of them still with a great deal of energy with only 7 short miles behind them (bwahahahahaaa!  Did I just say 7 SHORT miles?).  About a half hour into the rush, my eyes darting over polyester wick-wear and bib numbers to find my partner in life, I hear a booming thunderous shout.

"GAIL!!!  GAIL!!!"

And there he was, running alongside his friend, calling out to me to be sure I didn't miss him.  And I am glad he did, otherwise I certainly would have.  He looked fresh and strong at this point in the race and  Jacob and I screamed loudly "Goooooo DADDY!" We held up our sign that was shimmering in the sunlight with glitter-glue letters - "RUN TOWARD LOVE...  GO DADDY GO!"  As fast as I heard him yell, he was down that hill and out of sight again... and we carefully weaved in and out of runners to get back to our car so we could attempt to catch him at the next point... right around the 17 mile marker.

If you are a long-distance runner, you will know what I mean when I say "the wall."  It comes at a different point in the race for different runners, but it seems to hit for most somewhere between mile 17 and mile 21.  Because of this, marathoners need someone to believe in them and the strength they have within them at this point more than any other part of the race.  So we chose a spot between mile marker 17 and 18 as our next point of hooray-hurling.  We got there in plenty of time, so I stopped at a coffee shop across the street and bought myself an egg sandwich, as my tummy was miffed for having missed breakfast.  As I waited for my sandwich and sipped my coffee, I felt a little weird about kicking back beneath the sunshine while my husband's quads and buttocks were set ablaze with pain... so I only ate half of my egg sandwich and then Jacob and I crossed the street to wait for the rush again only to find, as I should have remembered from past races, that the runners thin out at this point.  The half-marathoners are done miles before here and everyone else is spread out due to running at different paces.  So they run by in smaller clusters... anywhere between 2 and 10 at a time.

We waited for a bit and then Jimmy, one of our friends, blew by on a mission to qualify for Boston.  We cheered mightily for him, waited about a half hour and then saw Jon, the friend Jim had previously been running next to at mile 7, come over the hill (there were a LOT of hills on the course).  But I wasn't concerned... I knew Jim wouldn't be far behind him.  And so Jacob and I screamed our heads off for Jon as he passed and then returned our attention to looking for Jim.

About 5 minutes went by, and just as I began to worry, there he was.  A bold red shirt with the symbol on the Ethiopian flag and bright yellow letters reading "Running Toward Love" moved toward us; and I could tell he needed some wind under his wings.   He slowed down and stopped to greet us... soaking with sweat and breathing hard and deep.

"How are you doing, baby?"  I asked.

"I'm dying," he replied.

But I knew he wasn't.  See, I handed him Gatorade and Goo (a high-octane energy, well, goo... for long distance runners) during a 20 mile training run in the southern tip of Florida in the middle of May one year... 85 degrees and 90% humidity. What he looked like then?  THAT was "dying."  This time, I knew he still had some juice left in him even though I knew he didn't feel like he did.  I kissed him and hugged him and he trotted off.


Trying to choke back tears in the midst of my immense pride, I screamed until he was almost out of hearing range, "Go Baby!  You can do it!  RUN TOWARD LOVE!,"over and over again while Jacob cheered "Go Daddy!  You can do it!" and proudly rang his cowbell.  Hoping that he was okay, I whispered a prayer for him and Jacob and I headed over to the car to drive to the finish line.

And then I got lost.

Having about 50 minutes to spare, I wasn't too worried when I found myself wandering and wondering where the heck I was.  But when I found myself on the highway with no visual of the infamous St. Louis Arch... I began to panic.  I looked at the clock and noticed I had wasted about a half hour trying to get to the finish line... and I still had no clue how to get there or how I got so turned around.  I finally stopped to ask a woman in a pretty hat for directions and she got me on the right path (after chiding me with a friendly, "you didn't see the Arch?").  I looked at the clock once again and welled up with tears and fear that I would miss Jim finish this race.  I moved as fast as I could without being in danger of impoundment, and finally found a parking space a couple of blocks from the finish line... with about 5 minutes to spare.

"Hurry up and get in the stroller Jacob!"

I ran so fast.  Zig-zagging through hundreds of spectators with my Graco as my weapon... I rushed to get to the fence that separated the 99% from the 1%.

And about 30 seconds after we barreled to the side of that fence, he ran by.  "Praise His Name, I MADE IT!," I thought.  And my husband!  He looked so strong and beautiful crossing that finish line.  And I choked on the tears again.  How could I be so blessed?

We met him a couple of minutes later and talked through his experience, enjoyed some laughter and chatter with the 3 friends who also ran that day... and then I headed back home with my little boy.

All in all, Jim is happy with how he ran on Sunday finishing at 4:09.  And the reason he ran... well, it's a beautiful one, to be sure.  I doubt he will ever run for a more beautiful and deeply personal reason.


Our gratitude to everyone who prayed for Jim and gave toward this effort in fundraising knows no bounds.  Because of generous hearts, God has provided over $3000 to help us bring our daughter home.

Thank you.  Thank you so much.

I will close with my sons words as we walked back to the car after the race:  "Daddy's the best, isn't he mom?"  Indeed he is.  This little girl has the best daddy in the world and I can't wait for her to meet him.  This is what we were meant to live for.

The race is not over...

---Gail

I've seen many movies over my lifetime.  One that is of the more memorable for me is entitled "Sliding Doors" starring Gwyneth Paltrow.  It follows the life of one woman and how her world might look in two different scenarios (which we get to watch in tandem) all depending on one seemingly insignificant event: whether or not she catches the train.  The first life we follow occurs as a result of the train door sliding closed just as she squeezes through... the second life occurs as a result of the doors sliding closed a tiny moment before she can get her foot on the train.  And they are vastly different lives. 

I came across some information yesterday... about one of my husband's old girlfriends.

No, I am not hunting down all of his past flames...nor do I plan to extinguish them.   And I will leave how I came across this information at the word "innocently." 

In any case, in discovering this information, I was forced into wondering: Why me?

This girl - she could have been where I am now.  In theory, she could have been wearing the ring I have on my left hand.  She could have been the one graced with the love I am privy to.  But for a number of different reasons, her life didn't work out that way.  And the series of events that followed one decision led her into some treacherous territory.

I'll be honest - it really jarred me.  After thinking and talking through some of these thoughts with Jim last night, I spoke aloud to him "Why did God choose me?"  Because the truth is - I don't deserve it.  Some may think I do, but I just finished writing out my autobiography for the adoption home study, and I can tell you unequivocally - I don't.  This amazing husband.  These beautiful children.  The opportunity to be blessed by the gift of a third child.  It breaks me into grateful pieces.  I am no better a woman than this girl was or is and yet here I am with a man who wrings his heart out to serve God and his family, who loves his kids in ways that would make any son jealous, and who bends over backward to know me and love me as I was made to be loved regardless of how many mazes he has to go through to figure out how.

I have behaved like a wretch countless times in my life...countless.  I've abandoned friends, smashed my parents hearts with sharp words, been addicted in ways that hurt everyone around me and people I have never even met, and broken hearts with no thought for anyone but myself.  Yet I stand among the most bighearted, bright-smiled, hopeful and loving children anyone could know... every day.  The blessings in my life are innumerable.

And I don't know why... because I continue to fail them, these miracles in my life.

What I do know is that over and over again, God reaches His arms out to bless me.  And that after all the horrific things I have done, He loves me anyway.  I want to teach my children this truth... I want it to saturate them. I want my children to recognize how wonderfully redeemed their mom and dad are and how no matter what they do in life - the mistakes they make, the people they hurt, the selfish decisions they opt for - they can be redeemed, too.  Every time.  For everything.  No matter what.  His arms are reaching out to bless if only they will fall into them. 

I hope this old flame who shook my world yesterday fully understands this truth... she has a beautiful family now and in that alone is blessed beyond understanding.  I hope she turns her heart to the giver of those blessings again one day.  I hope a flame ignites in her heart again making her more alive than she ever thought possible.  I hope she fully knows her blessings and allows my incomparable God to take the ashes from her life and turn them into unrivaled beauty...and whether here or in the coming age, I look forward to sitting down over finely ground coffee with her and thanking her for helping me to understand further how very blessed I am.  Blessed, indeed.

Hosanna!

Enjoy the new music - let is soak your soul.

A dear friend of mine is famous.  Many of you reading this probably know who she is, or at least one of the characters she has played on tv.  Another one of my dear friends started an incredibly successful theater company in the city years ago which has hosted plays so wonderfully good that they were nominated for and/or won coveted awards.  I went to school with both of these women and have watched their respective television and theatrical careers take off and fly with bold beautiful colors.  And I sit here tonight after witnessing one of them soar through the thespian sky... and I am burning with jealousy.

WHY am I telling you this?  Well, part of the reason is because, though I am not always good at it, I believe in being real... I believe in honesty.  And while there are some things that probably should be shared with discretion and some that maybe shouldn't be shared at all, there are some things that I believe can and should not only be shared, but thrown off.

I was laying in bed trying to go to sleep tonight and instead of my mind entering a dream state it kept playing over and over again my frustration at not having my dream career in acting.  Just typing that makes me feel like an idiot.  But struggling with it leads me, or rather leads the Spirit within me, to ask the question of myself: "What do you thirst for?"  WHAT, indeed?

Matthew 5:6 falls smack in the middle of Jesus famous "Sermon on the Mount" and in this particular verse He tells His listeners: "Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied."

And I lay looking at my ceiling with an unquenchable thirst to act.  For real.  For REAL?  Not for righteousness, but to act.  And I am certainly in no way satisfied.  I am thirsting for the wrong thing.

I know I was created with certain gifts and talents and that having a desire to use them is not a bad thing... but the particular way I feel with this thing... i know it's not good. There are moments, hours, days sometimes that it consumes me and has wreaked havoc on my heart and made it a bitter thing.  And I don't want to be bitter... I want my dreams to be God's dreams for me and in His own time, not my own on either count.  I said earlier that some things not only should be shared but should be thrown off.  This is one of those things for me. Not the talent, mind you... but rather the consuming thirst.

I don't want to be consumed by this thirst... for it to be my enemy.  If it exists at all within me, I want it to serve as a catalyst for joy and good and life - not bitterness and destruction.  To be shaped by God and to serve His purpose.  Truth be told, I am disgusted with myself that this desire to make a name for myself can compete so fiercely sometimes with my desire to make a name for Jesus... to bring His Kingdom to pass in ways that have nothing to do with fame and fortune and everything to do with bringing a little girl home to be a part of our family.

I can't believe I can so easily lose sight in my heart of what is truly important. Of what is eternal.

"But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness..." Matthew 6:33a


The Kingdom of God.  HIS righteousness.  For there is no one righteous apart from Him.  If I am to be satisfied, I need to be thirsting for what actually satisfies.  And Jesus tells me it is He who satisfies... and I am to drink deeply of Him.  I am sitting at this keyboard tonight begging God to change my thirst... to make my heart hungry for Him... to remind me that the longing, the thirst I have that is so deep to change the world, to make all that is wrong right again, to feed hungry stomachs, to bring a little orphan home to us and make her our daughter and an orphan no more...  these are the heart of God.  These are the cravings I need to feed.


Maybe I'll be able to pursue acting more substantially than a minute-long monologue here and there in my lifetime... I do love it so.   But if I truly believe that my life is only at the beginning of eternity, then I know I can trust God with my dreams.  And I know that His Spirit will thrive within me if I throw off these jealousies, this coveting demeanor that only looks for my own gain... if I turn my will over to the One who made me for Him and for better purposes than I could ever dream up.


A little girl... my daughter... has infinite greater worth than a gold statue.  In fact, compared to any one single human being's life, nothing compares in worth.  It is people that my King died for.  People He gave everything up for. My daughter... my children... that He rescued in His resurrection.


So I will throw this crap off.  And keep moving forward.  I leave you with song that speaks to and quickens my thirst for righteousness.  Jon Foreman's "In My Arms." A song about my God's love for me... and my longing for our daughter.

May you thirst for the One who truly satisfies and run full-force toward Him.

Upon announcing the final decision that Jim and I would be adopting a little girl from Ethiopia to my dear friend, she hugged me warmly and exclaimed her excitement for us.  I have to admit that it felt a little weird... more surreal, I suppose... because the reality of our decision hadn't quite set in yet (I suppose it still hasn't). My friend brought some beautiful perspective to me... she likened the journey we are embarking on to that of an elephant pregnancy.  For those who crinkle their brows in a quizzical fashion in response to this statement, let me elaborate a smidge.

The adoption process, specifically international adoption, takes a while... like waiting for an elephant to be born: give or take 22 months from conception (can I get a "Sweet fancy Moses, God bless mama elephants!" from all the pregnant ladies out there???).  Our particular journey, we hope, will take a bit less time than that of an expectant pachyderm, but it will be a lot of waiting none the less (about 12-18 months, they say). 

I did not take offense to my friend comparing me to elephant - not one bit.  It brought my heart to a new fullness, thinking of this journey as a different sort of pregnancy.  And it prepares me in a way that I know will help me as we move along the path toward meeting our daughter and bringing her home.  When we experience those times of being overwhelmed (just about every minute, these days) by all the paperwork we have to get done, I can liken it to those annoying little stretching pains I would get in my lower abdomen when Jacob or Tyler was steadily growing in my belly.  I imagine as I go along, I'll be able to compare many facets of the experience to pregnancy...

I wonder if an elephant experiences these discomforts as well?  They're incredibly intelligent creatures, you know... and very emotionally discerning as well.  I wonder if mama pachyderm feels impatient as she waits to drop 250 pounds from her body and meet the gray lovable Dumbo who's been growing in her womb?  I bet she can't wait to see what she looks like... how she laughs, what it feels like to hold her hand... how much joy she will bring her family, what her name will be.  The blessing she will be to this world.  I sure wonder about these things as any expectant mother would.  And I know my joy when I meet her will be bigger than an elephant. =-)

The race to Ethiopia has begun and each minute is another step toward bringing her home.  Thanks for cheering us on... keep coming back for further musings on our pilgrimage.