A Room of Her Own

Over the weekend my family graciously helped me move into my new home--a new home that is both old and new, unfamiliar and yet completely familiar, strange and quirky and yet comfortable and known.

Full of memories and ready for new memories.

My new home and my grandmother's old home.

Since my grandmother moved out of her duplex and then since her passing, my parents have rented the house to various strangers and now have generously made space for Hannah* and I to make our first home together.

I'm living on the opposite side of the duplex from which my grandmother lived--a perfect mirror image which causes all the newness of a new home to be squished together with all the oldness of old memories. I've felt again the same closeness to her I've felt in recent weeks and have entwined those feelings with the hope and anticipation of Hannah coming home.


Halfway through the day on Saturday, my sister asked me if she should put something in "Hannah's room."

Hannah's room.

I hadn't allowed myself to call it that yet. All day telling people to put it in the "middle bedroom" or calling out, "It's in the middle bedroom." Could I let it so freely roll off my tongue as she just did? Could I call it that? Could it really be Hannah has a space? A space and not just a box in the corner full of things already bought for her and already made for her--bought and made and waiting?

I practiced it a bit and tried to follow my sister's good example:

Hannah's room. Hannah's room. Hannah's room.

It sounds strange and too impossible. It sounds too real.

All the praying and hoping and the steps taken and the steps being taken, but this is something real and tangible and hers; even piled with boxes and things we don't know where to put yet, it's hers.

And I want to call her and tell her, "It's here. It's waiting for you. A room being prepared just for you."

And I think of Jesus telling us, "My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am" (John 14:2, 3).

And I dream of going back to South Africa and taking her to be where I am, and I dream of being where Jesus is, and I marvel at the story being written over our lives.

I think of my anticipation in the coming back and taking home and I imagine Jesus' anticipation. I think of how close and near I am through the miracle of Skype and international phone calls and letters and packages and yet how far, how much is yet to be done for our family to be as it should be--whole and together. I think of how Jesus is very near and yet coming and his nearness will be unparalleled with the nearness we now know.

Who am I that this story gets to be written over my life? Who am I that I get to be mother to such a precious little girl? Who am I that Jesus would love me with such anticipation?


In a few more days, the social worker will come for my second home visit and then all the paperwork will be complete and the next wave of waiting will begin--waiting for the completed home study report to be issued, waiting on countries and courts and waiting on a day when I'll be told it's time to come back.

Waiting with anticipation.

The anticipation both unbearable and completely worth it.

*Hannah is a pseudonym. In order to protect her identity until she is fully and legally mine, I use "Hannah" in all posts regarding my one day daughter and her adoption.



_______________________


Read more about our adoption story:
Hannah's Prayer
Telling Hannah
Far, Far Away
Superfluous Smoke Detectors and All

Learning Zen-Like Packability

This will be my 11th move in 12 years—three times in Abilene, twice in Portland, twice in Colorado Springs, Lubbock for a few months, twice in South Africa and now back to Lubbock. (This does not include any moves of less than six months.)

When you move 11 times in 12 years you get to be pretty good at packing. You know how to arrange items just so in a box or the trunk of a car or a suitcase to achieve Zen-like packability. You know how to perfectly balance luggage to meet maximum weight restrictions and yet be manageable for one person through customs and international terminals. You are a packing guru.

But in 11 moves, I have become much more than an excellent packer. I have seen and done things that I never would have imagined. In 11 moves I have…

• lived in five different cities and one village.
• lived with four different roommates/flatmates and one host family.
• hosted upwards of 25 houseguests.
• earned a degree in Abilene, learned to appreciate good coffee in Portland, refined my book taste in Colorado Springs and learned to cook pap in South Africa.
• hiked large portions of the Pacific Crest Trail, climbed Pikes Peak, ran the Bolder Boulder and the Long Tom 1/2 marathon and hiked the Shipwreck Coast.
• been a member of the body at seven churches.
• added Jim & Patty’s Coffee (Portland), Jack Quinn’s (Colorado Springs), Not by Bread Alone (Johannesburg) and Doppio Zero (Johannesburg) to my all time favorite eateries list.
• learned one new language (Setwswana) and pretty much forgotten how to speak another (Spanish).
• made countless friends and acquaintances and learned more about the importance of community than I could ever have imagined.
• been a program developer and manager, a bookseller and community relations manager, a temp and a substitute, a Peace Corps volunteer and a development manager.
• met Donald Miller, Steven Curtis Chapman, Ted Dekker and Sara Groves.
• played with lion cubs, skydived and been nearly trampled by an elephant.
• been invited into the homes of some of the poorest of the poor and sat at the table with some of the richest of the rich.
• gotten two tattoos on two different continents each reminders of what God has done and of who He has created me to be.
• seen old dreams fade away and new dreams born.
• learned to love a precious little girl as my own and committed myself to giving everything to make her my own.

All of these things and more have become a part of me and have shaped who I am in significant ways. Each experience has been carefully packaged inside of me, perfectly measured and situated. They all make up who I am. And while over the years, I have become an excellent packer of stuff, I think what is more important is the “stuff” that is packed away inside of my mind and my heart. Its every person I’ve met who has influenced me in one way or another. Its every fact I’ve learned, every heartbreak and every triumph  I’ve experienced, every opinion I’ve formed, every tenant I’ve believed. All of these things packed away, neatly inside of me to form the me that I am.

Moving so often has been exhilarating but also exhausting. It takes patience and time to build up new community and settle into a place, and it takes effort and persistence to maintain community left behind. But looking back, every move has been worth it. Every move has shaped and formed me into something new. Something better than I was. And I’m grateful.

I hope that this move to Lubbock will be the last move for a while. I’ve always said that if I ever stay in a place for three years I will get a dog. I think Hannah and I would really enjoy a puppy we can raise together, a puppy that can be part of our home and maybe for me symbolize a bit of stability. But puppy or no, I am confidant Lubbock will be good for us and I’m looking forward to what God has for us there.

So I’m pulling out the suitcases again and filling them up with clothes and shoes, books and mementoes. Time for one more flight and one more move.

Telling Hannah

The hardest part of leaving South Africa is leaving Hannah* behind. It feels like I’m turning my back on her, like I am another person abandoning her. It feels wrong on every level of my being to leave my child in a country more than halfway across the world from where I will be.

But I have to trust that in the grander scheme of things, so to speak, that this is for the best. That my leaving, that my search for a job and a home, that my submission to the personal invasion of the adoption screening process, that all of this results in Hannah coming home sooner. Hannah home and my daughter forever.

It was a Friday afternoon when I picked her up from school. We drove to McDonald’s talking about the school day. She had made a new friend and her teacher had read a new book. McDonald’s was easy and I needed an easy place. We ordered our food, sat down to eat, and I picked at my fries as she chatted away and I worked up the courage.

And finally I told her.

I told her that I was moving back to America. I told her that Nana and Grandad—names we use to refer to my parents, but names that for now are meaningless to her—missed me and needed me. I told her that I had been away from my family for a long time and that it was time for me to go home. I told her that I loved her very much and that I would call and send emails and Skype. And I could feel my heart in my throat. My heart said the words that my mouth could not say—I’m going because I love you. I’m going because you are my daughter. I’m going because I am your mother. I’m going because it is the best way to make you mine forever.

I watched as Hannah’s seven-year-old brain tried to process what I was saying to her. “But I can come for sleepovers?”

“No, Hannah, I’m sorry. It‘s too far. It takes two days on a plane to get there.”

“Oh…but you’ll come back after a little while, like at Christmas, and then you’ll stay.”

“No, I’m going to live there. I won’t live here anymore, so I might come to visit sometime, but I won’t come back here to live.”

“But who will live in your room?”

“Well, I don’t know. I don’t think anybody will live in my room after I’m gone.”

I couldn’t tell if she really understood what I was telling her, but we needed to leave. We had to go home to tell the rest of the “family” that I was leaving. I hated this day.

When we got to the house we called a family meeting. Mommy Mary, Auntie Claire and I sat down in the floor of the playroom with all of the kids and I told them my news. Similar questions and a few mock tears from the silliest of the boys, and then Auntie Claire said, “You know how Auntie Amanda went away at Christmas and it seemed like a really, really long time. This is kind of like that, but it will be a lot longer and we don’t know for sure if she will ever come back.” That sunk in a little deeper.

Hannah looked up at me, “When you went away, I used to look at your window and it would make me so sad and I would cry.” And with that the full meaning fell on her. Her lip trembled, tears filled her eyes and she broke down into sobs. All I could do was hold my child and let her cry, knowing that I had no words that would take this pain away.

How do you leave your child behind? Even when you know it’s what is best for them, how do you leave them behind?

I think we’ve all gotten a bit more used to the idea now. The first few days were difficult as the idea settled in, and Paul still says to me, “Oh, I thought you were already gone,” every time I walk into the house—his way to deal with the hurt and rejection he’s feeling. But for the moment, there is an easy rhythm of knowing that we have today and a few more tomorrows together. And I don’t miss an opportunity to hold Hannah close and tell her that I love her.

I know there are more tears to come, and I wish, I wish I could tell her why. I wish I could tell her that I’m leaving because I want to be her mommy and that there are some things I have to do in the US to make that happen. But that would be confusing, and the waiting would be eternal, and if it doesn’t work out and I don’t get to be her mommy, it would be devastating.

Getting on that plane will be one of the hardest things that I will ever do, but I pray that it will be one of the best things that I ever do. I pray that it will be a sacrifice made that will be fully redeemed to the honor and glory of God because that prayer, that hope, will be the only thing that will give me the strength to board. And more than that, I pray that God will protect Hannah’s heart. That He will hold her and comfort her in a way that I cannot. Because I need Him to be that for her. And I need Him to whisper over and over and over to her—I will never leave you or forsake you.

*Hannah is a pseudonym. In order to protect her identity until she is fully and legally mine, I use "Hannah" in all posts regarding my one day daughter and her adoption.

Lubbock in My Rear View Mirror

I have never wanted to live in Lubbock, Texas.

When I was probably 8 or 9 my family considered a relocation to Austin. The company my father worked for at the time was moving its head office to Austin, and Dad was asked to go.

I loved those few days we spent in Austin, exploring the possible move. I remember house hunting and being simply awed by the place. (There was a house that had a bunk-bed with a slide!) I was so excited about moving and felt that we absolutely had to move to this new and exciting place… But unfortunately the rest of my family did not feel this way. So Dad took another job, and we stayed in Lubbock.

Everything else outside of Lubbock always seemed somehow bigger and grander than this quite, slow-paced town. (It should be noted that Lubbock is a city of just over 200,000 people, and thus not quite as small as some may picture it.) As a teenager, I couldn’t wait to “get out.” I dreamed of other places far, far away. And I did apply to colleges far, far away, but instead ended up attending college in Abilene—smaller than Lubbock and only a few miles down the road. But even still, Abilene was not Lubbock and was close to a far bigger place—Dallas-Fort Worth.

Since then, I’ve never looked back. From Portland to Colorado Springs to Mmametlhake to Johannesburg—never once entertaining the idea of moving back to Lubbock on a permanent basis.

And that’s why I can’t explain it.

I visited Lubbock over the Christmas holidays. I was there to spend time with my family, obtain a South African work permit and prepare my family for the new addition. Sitting in the pew with my family one Sunday, I inexplicably found myself praying, longing to move back to Lubbock. Praying to live in this humdrum, West Texas town with little in the way of entertainment, no hiking trails nearby, and restaurant chains and box stores by the dozens. Where the wind blows a gale majority of the year and walls of dirt are known to come flying along with it. Where trees do not grow naturally and the horizon is as flat as a sheet of paper.

That big cloud is actually a dust storm blowing in.

The prayer seemed somehow against my very nature but resonated so perfectly within my spirit. How could I be praying this prayer?

But that prayer took hold. First my work permit fell through, meaning I would not be able to begin fostering when I returned to SA. Then we found out that if I chose to adopt through the South African courts it would take 6-7years before Hannah would be legally recognized as my child by both the South African and US governments. (Through our Oasis Haven connections, an inter-country adoption will hopefully take 6-12months.) On top of these setbacks, I began to see how much I needed my family, Hannah* would need my family and how much my family needed me.

So the decision was made--at the end of march, I would be moving home to Lubbock.

A friend asked me recently how I felt about moving back. My response: I guess it is time for the wanderer to go home. And I suppose there is something romantic about that idea—something full circle and complete.
I must admit that I look forward to throwing dinner parties and to seeking out the “mom and pop” eateries forgotten amid the chains. To reconnecting with friends from school days and forming new friendships with those who have discovered Lubbock’s hidden charms. To bringing Hannah home and showing her glimpses of my childhood as she lives hers.

It’s a circle that’s ends could not be drawn together until there was a me who understood the me I was created to be. A me full of confidence in my Author, and full of hope where I lack confidence in Him.

As I prepare to move back, what I look forward to most is my first West Texas sunset in twelve years. These are the sunsets of dreams. The kind of sunsets where the pinks, oranges and dusky blues seem almost impossible colors. The kind that bring tears to your eyes, as you watch speechless, unable to fully drink in the beauty. The kind of sunsets that make you pull over on the side of the road just to admire them. These are the sunsets that cause you to lift your hands in spontaneous worship of the Creator God.

And I know that on that day, with that sunset, I will know without a doubt that the wanderer is home.

*Hannah is a pseudonym. In order to protect her identity until she is fully and legally mine, I use "Hannah" in all posts regarding my one day daughter and her adoption.

Back in the Lone Star State

Our drive to Texas was completely uneventful. We made it in good time and were able to unload both U-Hauls before nightfall. The past few days have been spent mostly unpacking and settling in to my new/old abode (the parent's house).

This week, I will focus in on the search for a temporary gig to keep me occupied and hopefully help me to put more money into savings before I leave for Africa. I've tossed around several ideas over the past few months of what I might do--not sure if any of them will pan out. I trust that if I'm supposed to find a job while in L-town, then the Lord will provide.

In other news, well, there isn't other news. This post is just a quick update for those who were wondering. Have a glorious Sunday, all!

A New Familiar Place

In just over a week, I make my return to the Lone Star State (for those of you not up on U.S. State nicknames, that's Texas). It's been four years since I was a Texas resident, and I've had the opportunity to live in two of the most beautiful places in the U.S.--Oregon and Colorado. It will be hard to move back to arid West Texas where the greatest beauty is the sunset and to get beautiful sunsets you have to contend with large amounts of dirt flying through the air (something about the sun's rays reflecting off the dirt particles).

Colorado has been a wonderful place for me, and I am sorry to leave it. God has done a great work in me here--a work of healing and teaching. I've had peace here, and I've developed friendships here that I am certain I will carry with me for many years beyond life in Colorado.

At the same time, I am looking forward to being with my family for the next five months. Who knows when and if I will have the opportunity to live in close proximity with them again. It is good that I have this time to spend with them before officially joining the Peace Corps in November.

I am very hopeful that God who began a good work in me will continue to carry it out over these next months.

To Colorado: thank you for providing an amazing place of rest over the past two years.

To Texas: I look to you with hope of continuing in this journey towards Christ..