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A Mother's Heart...

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It was the night before we were ready to leave for Ethiopia that it dawned on me. We hadn’t given the necklace to Biruk yet. When we had exchanged necklaces with his birth mom ten years prior at the orphanage, we had no idea when we would give it to him. We just knew that we wanted him to be old enough to appreciate it, as it would be the only thing he would have from her. We had no idea if we would ever see her again.  There have been several moments in our journey where I’ve had to pinch myself, because it has felt like I was dreaming. That night as we put our final things in our suitcases, took a deep breath, and came to the realization that we were not only taking our kids to Ethiopia, but that Biruk would in fact meet his birth mom…well, you had to pinch me, because it felt like I was dreaming. It also felt like the perfect moment to share this gift that we had been holding onto for 10 years. So we pulled out the necklace and gave it to Biruk. While words can be few and far
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Thin Spaces...The Sights and Sounds of Ethiopia

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When I was in Seminary, I went on my first Mission Trip to a third world country. I was just two years into my marriage, a young 23 years of age, and I had no idea how the experience would change me. My Dad happened to be taking a team from his church to the Dominican Republic and I needed a cross cultural experience for a class I was taking, so it seemed like a perfect match. That trip not only changed my life, but created this passion to serve in third world countries and was the launching pad for all the mission trips I would get to lead at the churches I was a youth pastor at. By the time I was I reached 40, I had taken 2 more trips to the Dominican Republic, a trip to Costa Rica, a trip to Guatemala, a trip to Africa, and of course 25+ trips to Honduras.  There is something about being in a third world country that feels like home to me. I know that sounds strange, but I have often found myself saying, “I’m my best self here.” They are places that breathe fresh life into me,
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Who Needs Plans Anyway

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When you dream about something and talk about it for quite some time, you often find yourself planning out the details in your mind, envisioning what it will look like, and creating this perfect scenario. It’s kind of like when you start dreaming about your wedding day and find yourself creating the perfect Pinterest board, combing through magazines and stuffing a binder full of your ideas. You know what you want. You have a plan. The expectations have been set. You would think that the same would be true about the trip to Ethiopia we promised to our son when he turned 10, after all, we had been talking about it for years.  When it became a reality that we were actually going, which happened in May when we paid $4000 in airfare, it sunk in that we really didn’t have a plan. All we knew was that in less than 4 months we were going to board a plane to a third world country with an 8 and 10 year old. That in itself was a little overwhelming. However, what we’ve come to stake our l
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Stories Matter

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Yesterday, my family and I found ourselves at a local elementary school’s culture club, presenting about our trip to Ethiopia. Even as I write those words, it kind of blows my mind how God has continued to use our story in unexpected places. When the kids were old enough to understand, we began to talk about taking them back to their birth country when they turned 10. We figured at 10, they would be old enough to be pretty good travelers, but still approach the adventure with a childlike wonder. What we didn’t plan on, was that the year Biruk turned 10 would come on the heels of me taking a brand new job, our family moving to a new state, and buying our very first house, in an economy that felt as though it was tanking!  I remember talking to my counselor one day and sharing with him that while we had always promised this trip to our kids, it just didn’t seem to make financial sense. After all, last time I checked, Southwest Airlines does not travel to Africa. He said something
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"Come And See What God Has Done"

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I remember the day like it was yesterday. We had just sat through a goodbye ceremony that included cake, popcorn, soda and coffee, all of which were used for special occasions. We had spent the last hour watching the faces of about 20 little ones, ranging from the ages of 2-14, singing their hearts out, as we held back the tears. Next to us was the little baby boy whom we had just adopted, a mere 8 months old, being held by his birth mother, a mother who had made the difficult decision to give him up for adoption. There are moments in life where words are just inadequate and this was one of them. As a couple who had experienced a long journey of infertility and was now about to embark on parenthood for the first time, we couldn’t help but feel all the feels. There were no words. Minutes later, we would find ourselves walking out to the van, holding the most beautiful baby boy, and at the same time walking alongside a mom whose grief was so tangible you could touch it. Once again,
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Hard Conversations on Racism

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This past week was a big one for me.  I got my first tattoo (that's a story for another blog post), our kids started school in a brand new school system where we really don't know anyone (yet another story for another day), and I had my first opportunity to preach on racism in the church. I've never been a person to shy away from speaking on the things that I feel deeply about, or more importantly, the things that God has laid on my heart.  At the same time, I've never really enjoyed conflict.  I'm not an avoider of conflict, but it definitely isn't on my list of "I hope I get to experience that today."  Sometimes, we shy away from conversations that God is calling us to have as the Church, because we are afraid of the conflict that might rise up, myself included.  We all love accolades, affirmation and amens.  The problem is, sometimes God asks us to do hard things, things that cause tension, things that leave you feeling vulnerable, things that may e
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The Perfect House

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I've never been a super patient person.  I'm not sure what parent to blame that on, but for as long as I can remember, I've not been a fan of waiting.  I was always the kid on the road trip asking my parents a million times over, "How much longer until we get there," five minutes into the trip.  It only got worse the older I got, as I impatiently waited to find out if I made the volleyball team, waited to see if I got the job I applied for, or waited for my now husband to propose to me.  I never liked waiting. Our infertility journey was a "wait" that at times almost broke me.  There were so many days where I felt like giving up on God (start at the very beginning of this blog journey), giving up on the dreams and desires I believed he had planted inside of me, and giving up on the idea that he had a plan and the plan was good.  Years of struggling with infertility and 25 months of waiting to be matched in an adoption process has a way of testing your le
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