Exodus House Orphanage

Joanna

Megan

My heart is so deeply affected by the plight of the orphan. I can’t even tell you. I have prayed more times than I can count : “Lord, let my heart mirror yours” and I’m realizing now the full and profound impact of such a prayer. My heart aches deeply to know children who are in such a state of being as the orphan. I’m struggling to put a definition to this group of people- children and adults alike without family or belonging.

This, of course, leads me to want YOU to know also. I want- no, I NEED- to share with you the stories of a few of the beautiful children who I call my friends and who weigh heavy on my heart at night when I can’t sleep and I ask God who needs prayer. To start, I’d like you to meet Joanna.

Joanna was born to a woman who was insane. My friend Patrice would visit her village and see the woman sleeping on the side of the road while her baby cried beside her. Patrice would feed the baby and swaddle her then leave. All the while she prayed the mother would awake and take care of herself and her child. After almost two years, Patrice realized this situation would not improve and went to the authorities for permission take the child to her orphanage. She was granted custody of the baby and when she was finally able to bring the baby home the authorities informed her that there was no record of birth for this baby at any hospital and by the way, she didn’t have a name. She was two years old.

Patrice named the baby Grace because God was her Papa now and she was a child of the King of Grace. She raised Grace in her own home until she was old enough to go to the orphanage. Grace was given the opportunity to go to school and learn to read and most of all to love Jesus. Praise God for rescuing her from the side of the road! Then one day, the very best opportunity came to Grace: she was adopted by a local pastor and his wife. They had no children and loved God so much that they shared His heart for the children at the orphanage. They financially supported the orphanage’s school and much of the ministry Patrice did in the city. The best news of all was that Patrice would still get to see Grace grow.

It was the best day of Grace’s life, I’m sure. She went to live with her new parents in the city and they changed her name to Joanna. (It is customary in Africa for a person to change their name to document such an exciting life change). Joannad lived for 4 years as the daughter of a pastor and was settled in her new school and neighborhood. She had a Mama and a Papa who loved her and saw her friends at the orphanage regularly. Then one day, her new Papa fell sick. He died suddenly and went to be with the Lord- causing shock to his congregation and friends. His wife was not a citizen of Benin, and so was exported to her native country. And Joanna? Joanna was returned to the orphanage since her mother had no rights and her father was dead. In a moment the happy dreams Joanna had once been blessed to live were gone.

When I met Joanna she had been back at the orphanage for the second time almost a year. One year after the death of her Papa, she is a shell of the joyful child I hear that she once was. Her eyes are haunted by tears over the family she had and lost. She doesn’t revel in the “family” of 100+ kids she now lives with as some children do. She isn’t ungrateful, but she knows better. She knows love and has lost it. She knows what it is to be tucked in at night and now she goes to bed without a kiss. Her smile is still beautiful but her heart is shattered. I spent a whole day with her covering her in hugs and mom-kisses and interceding as I held her hand, but at the end of the day, I received this glorious smile and I knew. I knew she was changed. I knew while I was holding onto her and dragging her with me as we played chase with the little ones, God is not finished with her story. There was a shift in her spirit that day and perhaps even she didn’t notice. But I did. And I got a smile.

Joyce.jpg

Joyful Joanna

Pray with me for Joanna’s future. My prayer is that she finds a family-either in Africa or another country- that she will be adopted again.

Exodus House Orphanage, HOPE

Extravagance

Megan

God is so stinking extravagant!!

I’ve spent days and weeks laying certain needs before the throne of God. I know He knows my needs and I know He is so glad when I give them over to Him but I’m seeing a little pattern here. I lay them down and He leaves them there only to walk over to the other side of the throne and pick up something even better-even bigger-even more than I would think of- and He delivers. Not only does God seem to be filling my needs, He’s fueling my dreams!

For example: last week. Friday to be exact. I needed $550 for application fees for the adoption. I told Him “Hey, you got this, right? It’ll be in the checking account?” And He said “Actually, I’d like to take you out to coffee since you haven’t done that in a while.” (Free Coffee? Well, OK!) “And while we’re out to coffee, I’d like to remind you that I haven’t forgotten your dream kitchen that’s been put on hold indefinitely. I’m working on that, don’t worry. Here’s a multiple-thousand-dollar appliance just to remind you. Oh, and those family pictures you dream of updating but couldn’t quite bring yourself to do? I’d like to offer the best photographer at the lowest price. And don’t get all worked up and crazy about outfitting and coordinating. Let’s just do it now before the crazy sets in and you scream at your family and their hairstyle choices making the experience miserable AND documented for eternity. I know you. I love the things you love. I like making your wildest dreams come true.”

And just like that, literally within 4 hours I had the beginnings of a kitchen makeover and the first glimpse of our finished and practically stress-less photo shoot. To top it off, my family was eating gifted pizza from our favorite pizzeria to celebrate by 5:00. BAM! Extravagant, no? That $550 has nothin’ on my Pappa.

My friend from Africa tells me all the time how much “I owe her.” She “charges” me for translating at each judge and government office and every restaurant we eat at. I go with her to the market and she “charges” me for recommending the best vendor. I offer her a compliment and she says “Well, you DO owe me.” When I say “How could I ever repay you!? (wink wink)” she says “You can’t. It is too much! BUT I know your Pappa and He is very rich. I think maybe He will pay me with…(wait for it)… a car. Or maybe a nice house. I think maybe He will pay me 1 million US dollars and I will be very rich too.” Of course I laugh and say yes and her response is even more honest. “But if your Pappa does not pay, I know MY Pappa will. You see, my Pappa is very rich too!” ha ha ha. Of course we die laughing at this point. And I agree that yes, I owe her everything and thank goodness our Pappa pays up so we don’t have to.

I have such relief to know it’s not on me to bring in this $550-or the kitchen renovation for that matter. It’s not up to me to force something or to scrounge and figure and add and subtract. I will do as much as I possibly can, and the rest is up to Him. Not only that, but He WANTS to do it.

Now the enemy is wiley and I have to admit I’ve had a moment or two where I thought “BUT God…. that’s not what I asked for! What I need is money and these pictures won’t pay an adoption agency.” But how selfish is that!? Who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth? Who am I to demand what I want and nothing less? And what kind of big picture do I have-to know that this is not the best and what I was asking for was 2nd rate? Humility takes a step back and reevaluates. Do I really need the thing I was asking for? Is there nothing I can do to bring that money to fruition? And is His provision already what I was asking for on another level?

When I asked God, I knew lots of places the money COULD come from (in my I’m-the-center-of-the-universe dream world), but my real worry was whether God saw the whole enchilada. $550 is nothing compared to the tens of thousands we will still need to pay. Does God see all those zeros? Is He going to come through for each one of them? And is He going to do it quickly so my boy doesn’t have to wait eons for me to come back to Africa?

Yes. His answer was a resounding yes.

He’s going to come through for this adoption and also for all the sacrifices we’ve made to get this adoption to where it is. I’ve sacrificed lots of coffee and that might as well be my love language. He knows that. I’ve sacrificed other dreams and plans and hopes for this thing and God knows that too. And He doesn’t forget. Instead He promises MORE. Because He’s extravagant like that!

Summer 2015 578
My friend Patrice with a rich Pappa (who loves to pick blueberries in Michigan!)
Living with a Community Mindset

My Friend At Meijer

Megan

I have a friend at Meijer.

She is employed there while working on her degree in Criminal Justice.

I get to see her in the checkout lane EVERY time I go. It’s one divine appointment after another.

It all started one day when I complimented her hair, I had just taken out Mya’s first extensions and my hair-care world was being rocked. How do women around the world have the time, commitment, and knowledge to do “this” over and over!? It seemed like I had just succeeded in doing everything wrong. (My own hair, mind you, is washed once a week “whether it needs it or not” with minimal brushing in between and occasionally curled…ONCE for the week!) Poor sweet Mya will one day cry at the photos of her lovely locks torn to shreds and dry as bone after I got those braids out

Mya's pretty braids before I ruined them!
Mya’s pretty braids before I ruined them!

My friend has some gorgeous dreads that I’m absolutely positive took days to put in. And she must care for them meticulously because they always look so smooth and glossy. “I can learn a few things from this girl,” I thought so I struck up conversation. I’ll admit she was a bit reserved at first. Who can blame her? I’m sure not everyone who checks out wants to hear your whole life story and your hair care techniques when they ask “How are ya?” But once I complimented her amazing hair, she smiled and opened right up. It is obviously something she prides herself in and she had a lot to say. By the time I left the store, I knew all her style secrets and a few tips from her experiences with her nieces and nephews too. I went straight home and washed, conditioned, and finger brushed (this is a HUGE help!) Mya’s hair. Then I made a super-secret, tried-and-true, best-loved recipe for a homemade daily oil spray that is divine. My new friend is a genius!

As luck would have it, I got to go back to the store just two days later. (I love those multiple-trips-in-a-row-weeks…NOT.) My friend was there and so was Mya this time, so I introduced them. Now they can be friends too. The world needs more of these friendships that start with nothing and yet continue on for the love of Jesus. I never feel the need to preach or leave a tract, but each time we chat I do leave behind a little bit of Jesus with a smile, a question, even a hug these days.

All my kids know my friend now and boy, are they better at showing Jesus’ love than anyone! They run up and say “hey” with no reservations. They high-five and smile sweetly and any person knows they really mean it. There’s no angle, no expectations to be fulfilled, we just want to be friends. I’m pretty sure my new friend will get a birthday party invite at some point, because kids are so good at loving fiercely. I want to be like that. I want to love my friends fiercely no matter how well I know them or what their story is. Now that I think of it, I may just invite her over for coffee. I want to know her more and I want to love her even better and someday, whether I get to tell her or not, she’ll know she encountered Jesus and I think she’ll like the Jesus she met.

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Flying Home Alone : When We Expected A Finalized Adoption

Megan

In an attempt to answer the question “What happened in Africa?” I’d like to try to explain a few of the goings ons we experienced. I’m sure this will bring more questions but here’s the gist: Last year in Africa we started our adoption with a lawyer at the Court of Ouidah. It’s a big courthouse in a somewhat “major” city in central southern Benin. After several months of putting us off again and again, the judge ruled against our case. In prayer one day, our friend PulCherie got a revelation from the Lord to go to the court in Lokossa and try again. Lokossa is a smaller city close to Elisee’s mother’s village on the far west side of Benin (4 hours from PulCherie’s home and the orphanage). She drove out there several times a week and acted as our lawyer. She made excellent progress within the court towards our adoption. This led to us being summoned to the court to meet the judge and our last minute trip commenced!

Once in Africa, nothing was easy. Our meeting with the judge was more of an interrogation with no promises made of adoption and the judge seemed to think of quite a few MORE papers necessary to progress that we would need to bring him. On top of that, it was the parliament’s election time and all judges (including ours) would be campaigning for the next few weeks before the actual election. “Come back in a few weeks” he said. Not an option! We want to fly home in a few weeks!

Next we knew the visa would be difficult. It is not possible for just anyone from Benin to leave the country and more specifically, from Elisee’s family’s village. Long ago in the “birthplace of Voodoo” (this very village near Lakossa) agreements were made with Satan himself to “protect” the people and keep them safe from the slave ships. Ever since the time of the slave trade this village and many others have been marking their children upon birth with the sign of the snake. Almost every single person we met in Benin had some variation of this sign which is three scars in a row that have been bled, filled with powdered snakes blood and healed to a scar over time. This sign proves a child’s inheritance of the snake’s protection. Elisee has this sign (faint and small yet still evident) on each cheek. He has been “given” the snakes protection which (obviously to a believer) is bondage. This spiritual battle was overarching every meeting and plan we had in Benin. We were fighting for every step forward.

Also, we found out an appointment is needed to be made for a US citizen to meet with the US Embassy. This we did not know since PulCherie (& even both of us) had been several times for her visa and never had an appointment. So when we tried to set an appointment there was only ONE available during our three week stay and it was 5 days before we left. (Please consider the fact that 2 of the 5 days were a weekend and one was the 4th of July. NO TIME for adjusting paperwork if needed!?) Little did we know the Embassy was moving to a new building on the other side of town and was completely shutting down during the transition. SHUT DOWN. Great.

The second week we spent in Africa the amazing PulCherie traveled hither and yon collecting new copies of the paperwork we had already done (since the first judge had confiscated it). She felt it best to go alone since most officials in Africa are eager to charge double or triple the price of anything if a “Yovo” or white man is present. She searched and dug and drove until she was worn out. She dragged along the mother and grandmother of Elisee for signatures and photos and help searching in their village archives. All the while she rose at 3 am to make pate’ with the older girls in the orphanage which could be sold in the market for enough money to buy the next days’ food for the children. At the end of the week, Elisee’s grandmother called and said she had some things that “might be helpful.” When PulCherie took the envelope of papers she discovered it held every single paper she had just spent a week and hundreds of dollars to gather. The grandmother knew all along.

The third week was the charm we had been waiting for! Finally our appointments with the Judge and the Embassy had arrived! We had spent a chunk of week 2 in prayer and felt fully confident that the Lord’s favor was upon us. We just knew that the downhill slide was about to turn into an airplane ride home with our little man. We met with the judge Monday and had all the wonderful papers collected and copied. He in turn requested more information, more paperwork and remembered the need to send a social worker to Elisee’s mother’s village for interviews. This would take more than two weeks. TWO WEEKS. Our flight out is in 6 days. We paid the social worker triple the fee and he headed off to the village immediately- he actually left the building before us, PTL, he understood our urgency! We left believing for a miracle.

Tuesday was our appointment with the Embassy. It was actually the first day the new building was open to “the public” (or those with precious appointment papers). We were literally kept outside the main doors until one minute past our appointment time and then entered into the chaos of the first day. This is where the nightmare began. Once we made it through the minor glitches of security and got our “misplaced” passports back we waited for a meeting which turned out to be a bank teller window with an audience of a whole room full of waiting appointment holders. We were informed that unless we had applied for adoption in the US before May 14, 2014 we did not stand a chance due to the incoming Hague Convention Act. This is NOT what their website had told us a year before, I might add. And it shouldn’t matter since the adoption in Benin was almost finalized, right? We wanted to speak directly with the consular. She was in a meeting, but we were more than willing to wait no matter how long it took. She did come forward at long last but informed us in no uncertain terms that she would NOT be offering our son a visa either today or any day and no, there was no other way to get our boy home. She did after some consideration offer us the opportunity to move to Benin and adopt him. “I know an American family who did that and loved living here so much, they’ve stayed and it’s been seven years.” How lovely for them.

So thanks to the lack of US paperwork (which, might I add, is simply not possible since we can find no agency or attorney in the US who works with the country of Benin) and thanks to the adoption of the Hague Convention Act (which won’t be in place and active for several years) and thanks to the US government and their inability to accept a bribe and look the other way (jk, we didn’t even try) we have no visa. There. The end. Or so it seems… Praying for some crazy miracles to align and bring to fruition this adoption story, because to quote pretty much my favorite book of all time:

“The God who created the universe did NOT create too many children in His image and not enough LOVE to go around…[And] He doesn’t ask me to take them all but to stop for just one.” -Kisses From Katie by Katie Davis

Sitting Next to Elisee’s Empty Seat : For 42 Hours of Travel
Fostering

The Call

Megan

If you’re a foster parent or refugee caregiver, you know the call. “We have a _____year old child from ______ and we need to get him/her somewhere safe/secure by this weekend.”

What the heck am I supposed to say!?

Here’s my first thought: YES!!!!!

Here’s my next thought: My husband’s going to kill me for that. Or at least take away my phone and forbid me from receiving any future calls from ANYONE.

Now, this is not at all because he doesn’t love children, mind you. But more because he loves our “already” children so much that he’s protective. He considers how the shift in dynamics will change our current kid’s lives and hearts. This is why I need him SO desperately!! I want to rescue any and every single child I ever hear about. I love them so fiercely without needing a name or face. (This is obviously Jesus in me because it is NOT normal.) I picture them in a Foster Agency office, twiddling their thumbs wondering which bed they’ll sleep in tonight and with whom they’ll have breakfast.

How could I possibly say “No”?

Because they’re not just “my” kids. My husband’s hesitation gives me time to remember that they’re God’s children. I don’t have to rescue every kid who experiences trauma and fear, because I would most certainly fail. I simply can NOT take in every one. And even the ones I do take, I need Jesus every single minute to love them through their “stuff.” It’s not an easy task, my friends. Kids can be so innocent and sweet and adorable… but not every minute of every day. Oh no, they have ON buttons and OFF buttons with their cuteness. Then they discover MY buttons. Oh-my-lanta. (By the way, just a short time into this phase I go completely cukoo and Collin is required to step in and save the house before I burn it down cooking dinner while sobbing or fuming- either one is equally dangerous.)

No, I’m not capable of saving a single one of these children. But thank God, He is. He has the wind and the sea at his beck and call. He orchestrates families and parents and beds and breakfast tables. And he doesn’t stop there! God alone can deliver crazy nurturing capabilities in the middle of the night (16 times) and meals the next day to boot! He surrounds the orphan and their caregivers with love and support that can sustain them on the desert island of transitions…for years if need be!

He brings grandmas and grandpas, aunts, uncles, cousins and siblings who can love a kid they’ve never met before. Even shower them in Christmas gifts BEFORE they come into a house. God alone can put the lonely in families like mine who love so fiercely even when I want to “send ’em back”. Like that one time Missy Mya was completely shattering my dreams of children slumbering through the night in the van on the way to the best family vacation of all time. (For three weeks of roadtriping with three kids!? I need new dreams.) Makenna stopped my inner seething after 6+ hours of Mya’s screaming with “Mommy, do you think her heart hurts?” Yeah, even a 5 year old can love an orphan with Jesus’ love.

And it doesn’t have to be me. I don’t need to deliver that Jesus love. I don’t need to provide the bed. I can, but God doesn’t ask me to every time. A child’s life doesn’t fall apart if I say “no” because God holds them in HIS hands. Any other hands in the mix are just tending to the precious one as He protects them in the shadow of His wing. Think about that. It’s a beautiful picture! Actually, I want my “already” kids there too, so before I drop THEM off for foster care I’m going to place them there with all the other kids God loves and let my white knuckles take a rest. In the arms of the one who holds life and death and healing and trauma I’ll place each child I love and each child I hear about right into the very safety I long to provide for them. I’m not God and I don’t need to be. Thank you Jesus!

One last thought.,.

Of course the catalyst for this train of thought was one such phone call. I heard of a 4 year old babe who’s dad was dealing drugs from a condemned house while she lived in it with him. He run away with her after the situation was discovered by CPS but when they found her again she needed someplace safe and warm and away from Dad. He’s going to prison and Mom’s already there. This girl has nothing. And there’s bleak hope for her future. I received the call and knew this child wasn’t for our family in this season, but you know what I said? “YES!!! (just for the weekend of course…or forever?)” Yet with God’s orchestration, in less than an hour we got a call back that there was a mix up at the agency and another family had already been found for her. God didn’t need me to take her in, but maybe He just needed me to pray over her, to place her in the arms of the one who knows right where she belongs.

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Love at First Sight

Megan

After two years of knowing we were going to West Africa “someday”, that day finally came! My husband and I were traveling for our 10th anniversary to love and serve the children at Exodus House Orphanage and see what God had planned. We took off on a forever long trip touching down on 3 different states and 4 countries to land in the Republic of Benin. We had the name of a person who would “most likely” pick us up and no phone number. Oh and by the way, the national language is French- I took Latin in high school and Collin took sign language… not at all helpful!!

We were road weary and smelled like airplane food but we made it alive. Our excitement and nerves built inside of us as we waited… and waited to be picked up. It was day 3 of traveling and we had a two hour drive ahead of us.  Back at home it was past my bedtime but in Benin it was 4pm.  We had to stay awake. Finally a woman came to us and tried to pronounce our names (African French people don’t speak the best Dutch) then told us the taxi had broken down but the driver (forever named Driver to us!) was fixing it and would be along shortly.  So we sat some more and finally hopped into the oh-so-trustworthy vehicle and headed out of the city and into the villages. The culture shock of riding down a third-world African road is a story in and of itself but again, we lived to tell the tale (another time!) and arrived in the village of Pahou.

As we pulled up outside the orphanage children spilled out of the gates and rushed up to the car. Their cheering and smiles filled us with joy and we knew God’s love was in this place. They swarmed us and sang “Brother John” and “Head, Shoulders, Knees & Toes” to impress us with their English.  They grabbed our hands and pulled us into the compound. We couldn’t begin to take in each one of their sweet faces and names but they gladly shared with us everything they could think of to share. We were overcome. After several minutes of this beautiful chaos our host, also known as “Big Mamma,” instructed the kids to gather their instruments and welcome us with African song and dance. The beauty and joy that followed was incredible! More children poured out of the buildings as soon as they heard the beat of drums. I think the best part of it for them is watching us try to dance because, of course, we were not allowed to sit and rest our weary feet!  We attempted to copy the moves we saw and feel the rhythm as best we could but there was much laughter and pointing.  We were the entertainment and we knew it. As I laughed at myself I looked around at the smiling faces and noticed the concentric circles of children- outgoing and self-assured kids were right up close, the exuberant and interested kids right behind them, uncertain bystanders kept a little more distance but stayed close enough to witness it all. Beyond that were a few “outsiders” who stood by a wall or continued their playing or work. It was in this last group that I saw two boys running past and I froze. I knew that face. I had memorized that profile.

Later that night when we finally fell into bed in our African home-away-from-home, I told Collin what I had seen: “I saw our son,” “I must be crazy,” “How  could it be him!?” I couldn’t begin to process what I saw in the orphanage, never mind that our boy was quite possibly here and not in the US foster system! I was obviously beyond tired. I wasn’t sure of anything. Thank you Jesus for my even-steven hubby who soothed me with words of peace and encouraged me to search for him tomorrow and pray. “Time will tell.”

The next day a part of me wanted to bust into the boys dormitory and search every bed for our boy. I wanted to stare into every pair of eyes and ask God “is this him?” But I held back, I waited and loved each and every child I got to hold hands with and listen to and sing with. We had so much fun playing games and learning French. About midday I saw two boys running again and I reached out and snatched one out of the air. He looked at me incredulously and leaned in for a snuggle. I don’t think it ever crossed his mind to gain the attention of the Americans- there were 73 other kids who were vying for that.

I had a storybook moment. You know that moment, when a mother has just pushed until every vein on her temples stands out and she’s shaking from fatigue after laboring for hours.  At the sound of the first cry she looks down and sees the head of her very own child- the fruit of so much labor- rising and reaches out as the doctor or nurse places that baby for the first time on it’s mother’s chest. The mother can finally rest in knowing her child is alive and well.  She rejoices in holding that child because IT IS HERS.  I looked at this child’s dimples and traced the shape of his ear. I held his hands and counted every finger. I kissed his head and breathed in the scent of African dust and the hot sun. I hugged him and felt his ribs and belly and I traced a pattern on the smooth skin of his skinny arms. I memorized the shape of his nose and the way he raised his eyebrows and laughed. And he was content to bask in this attention and I was content in knowing he was alive and well and he was mine.

(Please also appreciate my amazing hair-compliments of the girls of Exodus House Orphanage)
                      The Day We Met Elisee                                                     Elisee is in my arms!                                             (Please also appreciate my amazing hair compliments of the girls of Exodus House Orphanage)

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A Dream

Megan

To begin with, let me tell you I have wanted to adopt from the time I was 10. I recently found an old journal from the 90’s where I confessed to wanting to adopt because #1 who wants to push a child out!? (eek!) and #2 our world is so full of children in need already!  So I decided then and there: I would adopt someday. When my husband and I had been married a few years and were [ridiculously] surprised twice with biological children, I had a dream.

The dream came one night when my dearest friend Megan returned from the World Race with stories of kids from every corner of the map.  (I should have realized!) We talked all night and I went to bed so filled with love for kids that I dreamed of a young African American man who was once an orphan. He was returning to the orphanage he had lived in and was challenged to “make something” of his life. He faced where he came from without knowing where he was going. A man who ran the orphanage seemed to be persuading him to the side of “evil & darkness” over and over again, yet in the end he always chose good. In the end, he even returned to run the orphanage so that he could change the fate of others and give them a second chance- to believe in kids the way his adoptive family believed in him. He was going to give back all the Father’s love he himself had received. During the whole dream I felt a protective mother’s heart for the young man. He had been through so much! And despite America’s claimed “racial equality” an African American man does often have to prove his good intentions, it is not assumed. Well, God pointed me toward that mother’s love and made it clear that this boy was to be my son someday.

God allowed me several more dreams of my boy including one just a year and a half ago where all I saw was his face. I saw him smiling at me. I saw his deep dimples and the caramel color of his eyes. I saw his light eyebrows and his shaved black hair. I saw his profile and memorized the shape of his head and ears. I saw how his skin was like midnight on the back of his neck and faded slightly until it was milk chocolate on the apple of his cheeks. It seemed like I got to stare into his lovely cherub face all night and when morning came I asked God why I had only seen him and not spoken or played or had a glimpse into his life like before? God seemed to say all I needed was to know my son- really know him. And his eyes had told me everything.

This is the face I have prayed for. After the first dream I started a prayer journal and wrote down my dreams of him and my prayers for him. I have prayed over his biological siblings, his mother and father, the “orphanage” (or in my unknowing mind, the US Foster family) where he lives. I have prayed for his past, present and future not knowing where I fit into the story. And I have prayed for my biological kids to have a heart for the orphan and my whole family to be prepared and bursting with love and acceptance whenever this little guy comes to us. And God gives me hope- patience to wait and hope to know he is coming…someday.

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Waiting

Megan

I know a boy whose smile lights up a room. This boy is so full of hope and anticipation and yet his eyes speak of wisdom.  He knows expectation and he knows disappointment. He knows love and loss and worry and joy. But oh that smile!  His deep dimples wash aside the fear I know he battles and offer joy to anyone who receives such a precious smile.

Waiting

Here’s the proof of his hope. Look at that face! He’s looking at his Daddy. Who wouldn’t have that look when they see the face of a Daddy who loves them and seeks out their best interest before His own?