We opened the big cardboard box from our agent a year ago. Inside were books educating us about what we might encounter when we bring Meseret and Kamise home. Pages about black hair follicles…who knew there were different growth patterns and follicles. Caring for black hair. How to respectfully respond to insensitive comments by curious onlookers. How to attach to at-risk children. The challenges we may face as we integrate at-risk children into our family. Sometimes it was disturbing to read stories of detached children who never find the place within them to trust their parents and surrender to their care. All of this reading prepared us for the sobering realities we might encounter. And as we journeyed into the heart of mystery, He showed us repeatedly He is the Faithful One. Yet we still questioned our sanity by welcoming two children into our family, whose story has taken them into unfathomable losses and life on the streets.

Our agent came over on Sunday, excited to see our girls. She rarely enjoys the pleasure of seeing this side of the adoption journey for most clients live out-of-state. She said she has a video of the market which comes to Kamashi (our girls’ village) every Saturday. She took it five years ago when she first went to Kamashi. She remembers seeing Kamise, a 3 year-old then, wandering unattended in the market all day long.

We were prepared for the worst. These children, who’ve fended for themselves on the streets, could have arrived with hardened hearts. Instead, Kamise clings to me. She can’t get enough of me. Hugging until we’ve melded into one. For a few days she pushed back at my authority. I replaced her “no” with a “Yes Mommy” and she now joyfully responds to my requests, “Ok! Yes Mommy!”

As I was applying my makeup at 4 (life has slowed immensely) in the afternoon on Wednesday, she ran in from the backyard and whispered, “Mommy, shower.” I drew the bathwater with the necessary bubbles overflowing and she couldn’t have leapt in faster. But when I left the bathroom, she exclaimed, “Mommy!” and leapt out of the tub. I put her back in and sat. And was “with” her. And took in the beauty of this little one who has finally been given the gift of one who adores her…and will protect her at all costs.

Kamise’s only boundary is her back. To come from behind and put a hand on her back will bring a “No!” and a squirm reflecting a harsher reality. What is meant for love is received as pain, offense. She allows me occasionally to gently place my hand on her back if she’s prepared, but only Mom has this trust at this point. I wonder what happened to her from behind. My mother’s heart aches to know as I encounter the squirm, aches to know the source of the scars on her cheek. One day she may remember and recount the stories when we share the same language and trust. When she does, I will count it an honor to hold her heart for her. In the meantime, I’m thankful there was One who was there in every situation, holding her heart. Always with her. Never forsaking her. What a gift to be His arms, His eyes, His ears, His legs, and His heart to this abandoned one, who is now enjoying her truer reality as the Chosen One.  Though we were prepared for the worst, our Father has lavished us with far more than we could ask or imagine in this melding into one.

Whew, it feels like it’s been much longer than three days since Meseret and Kamise joined our fold. What’s truer than true about our adoption journey, is that we have been still, and waited for the strong arm of the Creator of the Universe to move on our behalf, and in wonder and awe, been jaw-dropped by His faithful movement.

Friday night after the airport bash, we led the girls into their bedroom painted faint pumpkin and distressed blue. Their bunk beds awaited them. Their closet was full. They ran to their dolls…and played furiously, undressing them, dressing them, exploring every basket beneath their white bunk beds, reorganizing everything inside, absolutely delighted by their dolls. After play and a short tour of their home, we tucked them, and their dolls, into their beds, prayed with them, and delighted in the reality that they were safe, protected, and nestled beneath a clean, poofy comforter which was their own (thanks to Grandma and Grandpa Halversen).

Saturday morning brought Cole’s fabulous french toast! Big brother couldn’t wait to cook for his sisters. He’s delighted in being the baby of our first three, taking advantage of any perk possible as the baby. My heart expanded watching him thrive under the responsibility of caring for these two. He served us all and we graduated to the dining room fro breakfast, as the kitchen nook would no longer accommodate us all. We’ve graduated to the big table!

Next, there were magical moments in front of the closet. Meseret and Kamise scanned all the possibilities, and without hesitation, went for the tiered, sequined mini skirts, brightly colored, blinged camis, and headbands. They tried on every boot and shoe in their rooms. Prancing around like princesses. Kamise, who had tended to be camera-shy, was posing like a model, babies in arms. Our prom princesses were home.

They played in their room for several hours, cleaned up and organized their belongings (Meseret is quite the organizer) after which, we led them outside to the trampoline. Mes and Kam giggled and gasped (a common Ethiopian reaction…the gasping) tore off their boots and crawled up to the bouncy black mesh. Judy, our dear friend, dropped by for the afternoon to join the wonder. Our girls looked like birds who’d just found their legs. We laughed hysterically. Sequined beauties flopping all over the tramp, giggling hard. Hours and hours of fun. Virginia, a dear friend from SC joined us for the weekend as well. Every one of us taking turns with the sequined beauties.

The girls grew more and more at home as the day progressed. The Londres’s dropped by with a monster bowl of strawberries…we devoured them through the evening, the girls eating to their hearts content. Virginia made us dinner, freeing me to join the kids on the tramp, where the girls clung to me as if they’d always been mine. Jumping as one, we giggled loud, tumbled, jumped, tumbled and eventually, collapsed on the black mesh, watching the sun set and the moon take it’s place in the sky. We were sardined together…Cole, Kamise, me, Meseret, Madison and our adopted sis, Sarah. Coolness came, blankets appeared and for a long time, the six of us snuggled, admiring the moon and one star visible in our Orlando sky:)

They devoured the wonderful lasagna V prepared for dinner, which was a relief. They’d been missing their doro wat, tibs and other Ehiopian faves. After a long, full day, we thanked the Father for His overwhelming grace. A day which brought never-ending wonder. The gift of new eyes. The gift of knowing this could be so challenging, yet our daughters hungered for attachment and it was so good. We’d prepared ourselves for the worst (our adoption education was sobering) and we were being lavished by the best. As we drank in creation, I drank in the faithfulness of the Creator. He whispered to me 15 months ago when I heard His voice telling us to “Go” that this would be for His glory alone. I knew we were in way above our heads, but wanted only to walk in the path He’d prepared for us. He alone pulled off the adoption, led us to Mes and Kam, provided over $43000 to bring them home. He alone brought us worshipers who already seem to adore Him. His grace this day was more than sufficient. Pure joy.

When the girls awoke our first morning together, I was readying myself for our day. As I went back into our bedroom, I heard Meseret speaking swiftly in a low tone. I turned the corner to find the girls kneeling on their bed, heads bowed low, praying to the Father. And they prayed and they prayed. For a good 10 minutes or more they prayed.  I was overwhelmed by God’s favor toward us to give us Ethiopian daughters who are worshipers. I continue to be awed by how intimate a relationship with the Lord can be when there are so few distractions. Poverty has many down sides, but that morning I was humbled by an upside.

Our third day in Addis Ababa greeted Dennis with a bang. He was playing with Mes and Kam in our bedroom on the second floor of our guest house when out of the Norwegian guys’ room about 15 feet away pranced a 20-something Ethiopian woman…buck naked. Into the bathroom she went as if this was normal behavior. I suppose it was for her. Not normal or common for a guest house occupied by adoptive families. Two Norwegian men staying in our guest house (which was only for adoptive families last time we were here) were on holiday for a month partying, brought home some women and gave Dennis an eyeful. Thankfully Meseret and Kamise were facing Dennis instead of naked girl. A few minutes later out walked Norway guy in a towel. Good morning to us. Needless to say, this event was an opportunity to find another guest house for the remaining two and a half days of our stay. The providential aspect of naked lady and Norwegian party guy is that we ended moving to a guest house where our girls’ two closest friends from their village, Kamashi, were staying with their parents from Kentucky, whom we met in court in Oct. and easily adored. So after an amazing day, we headed to the Grace guest house and watched our four girls come to life.

We hired our agency’s liaison, Howie, to escort us out to the Blue Nile Gorge about two hours outside of Addis on Tuesday. I was determined to see how Ethiopians live in rural areas so I could taste an inkling of how our girls’ lives might have been. The bonus is that the Gorge, which is similar to our Grand Canyon, is only 2 hours through the country from Addis.  Howie hired a driver whom I think, might have killed us 5 times during our trip out to the Gorge. Somehow we survived Crazy Driver…must not have been our time yet b/c if it had been, he would have been the man to make it happen.  Kamise grew carsick within the first 10 minutes of the ride. Barf bag to face. Thankfully we moved her into the front seat before she lost her breakfast. Once we broke through the city line, a totally different side of Ethiopia greeted us. Miles and miles of teff, wheat and barley grain growing golden. Every few plots of land we’d see 4 Ethiopian men or women or both, on their knees and elbows, rears in the air, cutting teff grain with little knives. It’s hard to imagine people still doing it that way. There were little mud huts, or corrugated steel/mud huts, one room only, scattered around the vast land, maybe 3-5 in the same area then a long break. Repeat. A man churning butter. Children running raggedly free. Nowhere to go, nature was all they had. When we slowed down for any length of time, teenagers and young ones raced to our car, begging us to purchase their marble crosses. We passed a piece of land with honeybee boxes, orangutans and dogs, intermingling….tons of orangutans hanging out covering the land. We stopped to take it in, creation taking our breath away. Within 30 seconds, boys were surrounding our van, shoving their treasures through our windows, begging us to buy their goods. Dennis gave one of the boys 10 birr, the equivalent of $1, asking him to keep his treasures. The boy smiled wide, shocked. You would have thought it was $100 at the look on his face.

We began our time there at an Ethiopian Orthodox monastery/cathedral where we were given a tour by one of the monks. Haggard older women lounged on the floor, awaiting mass. Prayer shawls covering their heads, we learned these women sleep around the outskirts of the compound as homeless worshipers who spend every day fasting alongside the monks and priests til 3 pm and may eat and drink through the evening only and on weekends. There are about 5,000 monks/priests/homeless praying women residing in the area presently. They live a life of rigid law-keeping, hoping to make themselves acceptable to God. I would make for a terrible orthodox worshiper…that I know. I grew even more thankful for the undeserved grace of Christ which births life day after day within me, in spite of me.

The Gorge was breathtaking, being away from the crowded, chaotic city was restoring. We enjoyed lunch at the only restaurant there on the edge of the Gorge, wandered down to an overlook which I think freaked Kamise out. She was quite secure to stay a ways back from the edge. I, on the other hand, freaked Dennis out by how close I was to the edge. Hmmmm, that’s how I roll. We could have been content there for days. Nature is so restoring. For a few hours I was able to escape the gnawing discomfort and impact of the poverty around me. I was grateful. I’d been uneasy during this trip in Addis, mores than our last visit.

I ached for what had become luxurious comforts!

I miss toilet seats that are attached so I’m not taken for a sleigh ride when I sit.

I miss toilet seats for that matter.

I miss toilet seat covers.

I miss manicured spaces.

I miss clean things.

I miss not feeling the freedom to safely walk around my living space barefoot.

I miss big, safe plates of salad and veggies!

I miss sinks and showers that drain.

I miss how beauty is deeply valued and the resources are available to create beauty.

I miss my safe fruit smoothies.

I miss my family.

I miss my friends.

I miss comfy beds and pillows.

I miss fresh smelling laundry detergent

I miss dryers which produce fluffily soft clothing/towels.

…and that’s merely the beginning of my list. How spoiled am I. How indulged is my life. As we headed into town and were stopped at a light for quite some minutes, immediately long-faced mothers with babies begged for anything. One in particular was asking for something in particular. Finally I connected the dots as she pointed to the 6 litres of water bottles on the floor of the van. I grabbed one and as she received it, her about two-year old boy lit up and exclaimed, “Waha!” It seemed like Christmas for him. Another momma pulled out one of her breasts and her two-year old looking son, grabbed it and began to ravenously suck for nourishment. She was unveiled for the world to see, seemingly oblivious to her exposure. Perhaps the other mothers around her equally desperate diffuse any self-consciousness. Poverty strips people of dignity, as does wealth. Yet in this place, it doesn’t feel like they’ve chosen this. How I am forced to wrestle in this place, which is why returning to America is so appealing to me each moment of every day. I wish I could say it was different.

When we walked into the Grace Guest House, our new living space filled with 3 other adoptive families and their children, Zemene and Agare ran and wrapped themselves around our girls. They laughed and talked a mile a minute and we, parents,  were so blessed to see our daughters come alive in the presence of one another. The girls’ enthusiasm didn’t stop for the remaining 2 1/2 days in Addis. And we’re equally fond of their parents so Naked Lady proved to be a blessing (in not much of a disguise…HAH).

We were awakened at 4:30 am with the Muslim call to prayer which sounds like death to me every time I hear it. It not only stirs the people but the dogs, who begin barking incessantly for hours. Then at 5:30 the Orthodox church competes with their call to worship, which is equally obnoxious. Then the chickens chime in and it’s one loud and a wild free for all. And sleep is hard to come by. And the suburbs are that much more appealing.

This morning we arose early and were out the door, headed to our long-awaited Embassy appointment. After going through security we were escorted into a large room, maybe 2-3 times larger than our DMV  waiting room, filled with Ethiopians who were applying for visas or faithfully meeting the Embassy’s request to state why they’re relinquishing their children or grandchildren for adoption. The other few were white families adopting those children. Once again I was struck with the hard reality of some on this earth having been economically blessed with so much, while others are  so economically oppressed. The consequences are painfully vast.

We happened to sit down in front of a young couple adopting a baby boy, who just happened to attend church with one of Dennis’s roommates from his Montana days. How wild is that! We talked until they were hailed to one of the 14 windows. About 5 minutes later, they walked away from that window, the momma smiling radiantly. A long long journey comes to an end with strangers in a DMV-like room in a foreign land with the driver who took us there high-fiving and congratulating us. Perhaps this is why we are so looking forward to the airport party…celebrating this journey is a challenge without our community surrounding us.

While we stood at the long-awaited and highly anticipated window, the man on the other side told us that when Meseret and Kamise’s birth father appeared last week,  he shared that he is a day laborer who makes 50 birr/month ($30) and has 3 other children to support. With their birth mother gone, he can’t care for them or provide for them.

It was another holy offering, full of gratitude for another detail of our girls’ history which will help us read them bits of their story one day.

After our 5 minutes in front of the window, Howie, our escort congratulated us. Though we met him about 60 minutes earlier, he is such a warm person I felt like we had a friend with us;-) I’m not sure what I was feeling. Because I’m so very relational and cannot verbally communicate  with our daughters, I’m feeling quite a void. I hunger to know what they’re feeling and thinking each step of the way. Because that cannot yet happen, there’s a tension within me. One of the first requests of Meseret when we picked her up yesterday was asking us if we could go to Kamashi, their village. Everything in me screamed “Yes!!!” I want to meet your father and tell him we’ll give you all the love we can possibly muster. We’ll protect you the best we’re able. We’ll educate you. We’ll celebrate you! We’ll weep with you. And so much more. But….

it’s not possible to get to their village right now. It’s too far away…14 hours by jeep. But hopefully some day we will have the privilege of taking them back there for a visit. I ached to meet her longing for her two vastly separate worlds to collide.

We headed to a market to purchase some souvenirs. Within 10 minutes we had spent the equivalent of their birth father’s salary on some sandals and bags for them to carry their crafts onto the plane with them. No wonder Africans hold the stereotype that Americans are rich.

They crafted and nourished their growing technological addiction all afternoon long. After a few hours, Meseret was walking around plugged into Den’s cell phone singing the theme song to one of the games. That’s one way to learn some english.

Presently, they’re watching a movie with their new friend from Denmark, who was adopted from Ethiopia 8 years ago and here with her parents adopting a baby boy. Maybe they’ll pick up a little Danish while they’re at it.

It is really finished!
We showed our faces at the Embassy this morning, swore an oath, signed a few lines and the adoption was completed once for all. Wild. I’ll write more detail later

We boarded Ethiopian air flight 501 at Dulles airport saturday morning at 9:45 am. While awaiting our boarding call, we skyped with Madison, Keegan, Cole and our Judy on a whim, which was wonderful. During our video chat, a call rings into our Skype account….Transition House. What? Quickly we pick up the call, with madison begging us to figure out how to 3-way video them in, to find Meseret and Kamise and a few of their other friends looking on. There was no appointment scheduled. Just a random call from our girls in Ethiopia.

We told them we were coming to bring them home to Florida. They smiled big. They had no idea we were going to show up the next day. An unexpected treat to talk with them. We nestled into our cozy little seating arrangement for the 13 hour flight to the ends of the earth…at least that’s what it felt like to me. Sitting to my right was an Ethiopian man who’d been very involved with CRU as a college student and now works with compassion Intl.l

Sorry to leave you hang in’ but this jet lagged body keeps nodding off here in the lobby of our guest house…must write later when I awake

————

After spending the morning getting grounded in Addis, we arrived at the transition house where the girls have lived the past 4 months, greeted by mostly new faces. There were only a handful of children we’d met on our last trip here, which was encouraging to find most of the kids had been taken home. For those still remaining, my heart ached. I asked Hannah if she knew when she was going home…she didn’t.

Meseret and Kamise scurried across the courtyard into our embraces, all squeezing tightly. We lingered as they told all of the other children and nannies goodbye, most with the traditional Ethiopian “grip right hands, bump right shoulders. Only a few did they embrace with squeeze tight hugs. Those were the special friends. Tears filled my eyes, pondering the # of friends they’ve said goodbye to over the past 9 months. They’ve become skilled at living with such uncertainty.

We settled into our guest house and laid low for the rest of the day. During shower time, Kamise laughed out loud when I held up the spraying spicket, remembering our last shower adventure. We giggled as she kept attempting to “get under” the spray, for the bathroom was cold. By the end, both girls surrendered to the spray which I thought was a quick transition to the newness of the shower spout.

Between the barking dogs, male voices chattering outside our windows, the sound of the water heater heating the water and a bed like a concrete block….sleep was challenging to come by. We are such comfort-driven Americans.

Early this morning, while hurriedly applying my makeup to fly out the door to school (Friday’s the day boys’ program meets), I checked my email inbox.

Sue Hedberg….

subject line: your cases have cleared

deep sigh. heart leapt. deeper sigh. a tinge of excitement.
Then awe.
God did it. Our Father did it! My mind rewound to 14 months earlier, when God told us to, “Put our feet in the river.” One of my deepest fears…he’ll lead us into the water…and leave us hanging.

Over the past 14 months, my vision of Him has shifted, my eyes detarred a little more by His faithful provision and pursuit. He is no longer the one who might bail out and leave me hanging, but the Faithful One. And He has done it.

We will find out tomorrow if our tentative Embassy Appointment on Jan. 23rd is a go. If so, we will fly the friendly skies on a very unfriendly route back to Ethiopia to bring our daughters home. I opened a photo stream from Sue last night in my inbox. The girls had one more goodbye with their birth father. As I scrolled from one to another, a story was being told, a vivid story. How I longed to be a fly on the wall as all three flipped through the photo album’s we sent the girls. Then their father was writing on a piece of paper and they were pensive, deep in conversation and thought. Scrolling down further, dad’s eyes were filled with tears. Next photo…tears stained his cheeks while Meseret’s eyes filled. Next photo…dad and Meseret, both with tear-stained cheeks, Kamise’s eyes filled. Next photo….all three a wet mess, wiping tears, huddled in close.

They seemed to stand in a prayer circle. Then their birth father turned to enter the vehicle which would take him the long 14 hours back to his village. My eyes filled. Tears poured over. Tears stained cheeks. Soft heaves. The ground is so holy. Dennis and I were sobered by how wildly our Father has entrusted to us these two precious girls’, whose losses I cannot fathom. Their father is passing on the baton to two who have more resources in every way to raise his daughters into who God designed them to be. I don’t understand why things are the way they are. I never will. But I’m grateful our Father gave us the courage we needed to put our feet in the river 15 months ago.

As I scrolled through the pictures, I kept thinking, “This is so much bigger than us. This is too much for their young hearts to bear. This is too much for my old heart to bear (ok, almost middle aged). And then I thought, “I’m good at sitting with people in crisis. I’m good at being “with” people whose lives are turned upside down.”

I think my Father was bringing me much needed comfort. He’s been authoring my story for 42 years and knew this chapter would be written when in my mother’s womb. He whispered that throughout the chapters of my life, he’s been pouring into me to prepare me to walk alongside these two little girls’, be with them as they grieve, guide them through their lives, cheer them on in their endeavors, and lead them to Christ.