My heart is heavy tonight. Thoughts of Ethiopia have been flooding my mind all day. Our sweet pea, dear friends, the village of Korah, the flowers, the noisy traffic, the people on the streets, the smell of diesel, the macchiatos. I miss it. With an aching heart I miss it. The past 2 weeks being back home have been hard. We landed right smack dab in the middle of Christmas season. Everyone seems to be going a million miles an hour in every which direction. I can't seem to catch up or keep up. I don't want to.
My mind keeps going back to this little boy...
who I gave a package of cookies to and he just giggled and smiled and waved.
Or this man...
working so faithfully at the leprosy alert hospital, using his skill to the best of his ability, which is pretty darn amazing! His eyes will forever haunt me.
And these precious boys at Kolfe orphanage...
doing what boys do, finding moments of joy despite their circumstances.
And beautiful kids on the street..
who laughed at me when I started singing to them because they didn't understand English but they knew the ABC song.
Such good memories. The thing that surprised me about our trip was how much we laughed. Maybe it was a coping mechanism, maybe I'm just not around my witty husband enough, he has a way of making everyone around him laugh. But we laughed and laughed, more than we cried. It was refreshing. Especially considering the circumstances. While we were there I had many moments of struggling with the purpose of us being there to begin with. Adoption. There are over 5 million orphans in Ethiopia, that's the size of Addis Ababa, the capital. And in the midst of poverty, disease and famine, there are glimpses of hope and perseverance. Seeing these signs hit me hard...


I didn't and don't question what we are doing, or rather, what God is doing through us. Don't get me wrong. But during and since our trip, my heart has been grieving for what might have been, what should have been. I believe with all my heart that in a perfect world a child should be with their biological mother and father. But we live in an imperfect world, and our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the powers of this dark world and the spiritual forces of evil. That's the case all too often, and injustice and brokenness awaken bitterness and confusion. I knew this. But my eyes were opened while in Ethiopia. There are things we saw and learned that were HARD and INJUST and PAINFUL. And I questioned and cried out the "why's?" and "what if's?" for a precious baby girl that I have loved and prayed for from before she ever came into this world. There are questions I will never have answered this side of heaven. And it's ok. Our adoption story and Yohana's life are precious, tiny pieces of the bigger picture, the Kingdom picture. God is just and His mercy reigns.
The morning of our court appointment, I sat in the back seat of Solomon's van, put on my headphones and started my ipod as I soaked in the sights of the busy city streets. The song that came on spoke to me like God speaking to me himself. (
Brooke Fraser's Desert Song.) I replayed it all the way to the courthouse. As I listened to it over and over, I prayed the lyrics for Yohana's life, for our family, and for the people of Ethiopia, a country and it's people that have forever changed me and I am now connected to for life. As we said our goodbye's to Yohana on our last visit, I found an index card of a verse that I had tucked into her photo book. There were some stickers on the wall by her crib, so I stuck it under a sticker to hang on the wall near her. It's a common prayer, but a good one...

"For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future...you will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart." jeremiah 29: 11,13.
All of my life, in every season, you are still God, I have a reason to sing, I have a reason to worship.