Satan

Let me get this out of the way: I believe in the devil. I believe in unclean spirits. If you don't, this post is not for you, I guess? But I would ask that you do a Bible search on it and examine why you believe what you do.

Our culture certainly has a fascination with evil -- who could deny that? -- but it is the particular way that the devil, Lucifer, is depicted, that I want to address. Listen, I'd prefer to call the devil "it" to shy completely away from thinking this being is man-like, but I know that is off-putting, so I will use "him."

The devil is crafty, sure. Satan wants to harm us, sure. But the two things that make me want to shout at cars are this: that you can win the devil's respect by outsmarting him, and that the dangerous nature of the devil is seductive and therefore sexy.

To the first: the devil's war is not with us; it is with the God who made us and loves us. We are tools of warfare to him. If a lobster crawled off the counter while you were busy boiling another one, would you respect that lobster? Of course not; that's absurd. It is absurd to think the devil would ever have that kind of begrudging admiration that is often depicted.

Now hear me, Jesus was both man and God, and the Holy Spirit (who dwells within us) is no less powerful as the one who had demons begging him for mercy. We do not need to fear the devil; we know how this story plays out. So does he. But if you look at the story of Satan v Yahweh, humans are supporting characters. I think having an accurate understanding of how the devil views us can help us realign ourselves with orthodoxy and out of our (relatively) recent cultural views.

Ugh, this "evil is sexy" thing. I mean, part of me gets it; danger is thrilling. Or perhaps I should say some danger is thrilling to me. But the devil isn't a rebel or a lone wolf or even only a tempter.

What Satan would like most of all to do with you is to imprison you, in front of the people you love and who love you the most, and especially in front of your children and those who look up to you, and torture you in the most painful ways in the most vulnerable areas until you die of something else.

He doesn't want to make a deal with you, he wants to drive you insane, to where you're destroying yourself and every relationship you have out of pain, over and over again for decades. Satan would love to take everything that makes you smile and turn it into a source of anguish.

That's not sexy.

Refugees

President Trump. Executive order. 6 months. You know what I'm talking about.

Here's what I really don't get: the acquiescence from Christians.

I've been thinking and thinking on how to frame this in a gentle and gracious way. I'm really going to try. But what is happening here?

I cannot get past the conviction that God loves the foreigner. God loves the alien to be among his people. And I'm not just talking in the theocracy of OT Israel. I mean as part of His character: He loves and is for those who have found themselves (through no fault of their own) at the door of violence, starvation, and death.

So I don't understand why I'm not seeing an abundance of my fellow believers in America saying, "please show me exactly why we cannot take any refugees from these countries where people are really needing to leave." And why I'm hearing so much "I don't know" "it's only six months" "we need to keep our people safe" "better vetting" etc etc ad nauseum.

Shouldn't our hearts be starting from a place of, Is there no way we can accept refugees? Because, if I remember correctly, the religion we are to practice is to look after widows and orphans in their distress, and to keep ourselves from being polluted by the world. And this attitude I'm hearing seems neighbor-distancing and born of a spirit of fear and self-protection.

And that seems pretty polluted to me.




Also, if you don't like to talk about practical things based on ideals (which I would disagree with wholeheartedly), and you want to talk about Facts (real ones, with numbers and dates and percentages), we can certainly do that. I feel very, very comfortable in my stance based on those as well. But that doesn't pain me. It's the attitude, which seems so different from the one I see in the God of the Bible, that grieves my heart.

Hand to the plow

I was convicted yesterday morning of putting my hand to the plow and looking back. Really, my hand is lashed to the plow -- it's not like I'm going to leave my family -- but every day is a struggle to embrace this season of life and not wish it was different.

Nothing crazy is going on behaviorally, I just have four little kids when I previously had two. Two of those kids don't speak English very well, and one of those kids is just starting to feel "safe" enough to say how she really feels about things... which I know I should be glad of, but, you see, I don't like whining. Also wading into the world of crying, and I feel almost bewildered. Ezra has never once sat down and cried when he was upset. I am not kidding. He may cry while he hits something, or throws something, or yells angrily what he wants. But loudly crying when something doesn't go her way? What do I do with that? #recoveringboymom

Don't worry; I'm figuring it out (slowly). It doesn't help that my attachment to my girls isn't as rock-solid as the boys. I simply haven't had enough time. I mean, come on, I've had five years with Ezra and eighteen months with Judah. So, you know, I have to actively think about doing some caregiving things that I unconsciously do with the boys. That's not wrong, and I know that in my head, but even that there's an internal difference for the kids I've parented for years and the kids I've parented for almost two months is really draining for me. It's hard for me to ever feel like a successful parent right now. And that makes waking up today to do the job I feel like I failed at yesterday pretty tough.

But my dear friend reminded me of a little truth this morning that helped reorient me when I was really starting to steer off-course. She reminded me (okay the Holy Spirit reminded me through her point) that, for some seasons, we are servants most of the time. And what we do is serve. Do we get the thanks for it we would if we weren't servants? No. But we're called to servitude. And we aren't celebrated or encouraged or noticed like we want crave. Still, my service is a glorious offering to God, and he notices.

I realized that I've been parenting my kids out of my love for them, and it's just not enough. There isn't enough of my love for any of my kids that doesn't run out by 9am these days! Gifts is my primary love language, and I've been laying down my life as a gift to my children. Of course I'm going to struggle! My preschoolers and toddlers (omg I have so many kids) aren't capable of handling such a gift well.

But God is able to receive the gift of my servitude and self-denial in his utterly capable hands, and the hiddenness of my life is not hidden from his sight. I know that every load of laundry I wash, meal I make, bottom I wipe, and every time I book it from one end of our tiny apartment to the other to mother my kids is received as an act of worship and of love. Seriously though, how do you people who live in more than 900 square feet keep up with your kids?!? I am calling "I'm coming!" to break up fights or comfort a kid or tell someone "no, you cannot play with that right there right now" all day long!

Okay, I got sidetracked from my totally poignant and spiritual point. Anyway, my kids don't deserve my life. Look, I love them so freaking much, but I can't let them be my purpose. For me, it's not enough. I don't even care how that makes me sound, they can't be the "because" of every thing I dislike doing in my current job description [raise your hand if you love washing urine off your hands, or parenting two kids who are fighting over a used paper plate]. The reason I take hold this plow every morning can only be found in God.

Process Update

Okay, here's where we are on the adoption side of things:

We had our appointment last Wednesday, and it went wonderfully. Thank you for praying! I was so vulnerable during all that time. But I was able to meet a member of the birth family who'd taken care of the girls as well as she could, and I was so thankful to meet her! They moved our appointment time that day (fro 1:30 to 3:15), so we were there until 4:30 (poor Stephen was alone with all four kids the day after they got here from noon to 5:15).

The woman who was interviewing the family said everything seems great, and she felt comfortable scheduling the visa exit interview (yay!), BUT she said they didn't have any availability until Monday, Feb 29th. Which means we wouldn't get their visas until March 2nd. Which means we wouldn't be home until the evening of Ezra's 5th birthday, March 3rd. Which is miserable for this mommy. It also means we have nothing to do until a week from now. Nothing. UUUUUGGGGGH.

I've been reading An Unhurried Life and it's been so good for this time (for reasons I believe are obvious). I'm really trying to harness my thoughts as they keep spinning out from under me about wanting to be home, with my "house" and my people and my life. Here everything's just a bit more difficult, and I really didn't think I'd be here for a month, but it would be a month to the day if we left on the 2nd. I'm pretty worn down.

So, please pray with me that they would give us an exit interview on Wednesday. Stephen's leading worship on Sunday, and I'd love for us to be there. I more than anything just don't want to miss Ezra's birthday.

Matoke and Posho

We found (okay, Linda found for us) a little restaurant we eat at pretty frequently. They make all the food the girls are most familiar with, and I want them to be able to have matoke, posho, and the like while we're still here.

That I get to have chapati may also be a factor.

This restaurant is around the corner from where we're staying. Unfortunately, the street we're living on is both narrow and busy, and people are really scary - one bodaboda driver who was carrying some boards knocked Mirah's arm while he passed by. The cars aren't better. They get so close to you, sometimes even when there isn't a car passing the other way.

What's Lusoga for smorgasbord?

It's nice to go in order to get out of the house as well. Because we're staying in a house, there are no other families nearby (who speak English). Just across the street is the market. Americans, I don't mean a grocery store; think a flea market but with food vendors. So much gorgeous food!

Oh my heart! What a little stinker! Love her spunkiness.

Tonight was a little difficult because I'd actually made dinner, but I used a pepper I didn't know, and it was incredibly spicy. I think they were habañeros... #oops
I didn't have time to make something else, so to the restaurant we went, at the busiest time on the road.

On the way home, I was hurrying because both of the girls needed to potty, and a car came really close to Stella (who was walking, holding my hand). A man walking the opposite way on my side gave me a dirty look and said, "take care of that girl!"

I know it shouldn't have, but it made me cry. Really hard. I have gotten angry and hostile looks, but no one has said anything to me until today. And I know a lot of Ugandans don't like foreigners adopting because they don't know the adoption process; many believe we can just walk into Uganda, shower people with money, and walk out with a kid. So it makes sense that they would be suspicious.

And that man doesn't know how hard I'm trying to "take care of that girl," or how close the one I was holding came to dying because others weren't taking care of her. That man didn't see how his face and tone affected "that girl" after he said those words. I wonder if he would care. I know to some, I'm a thief; I'm stealing children. To some, I'm a trafficker. Really.

And I in no way want to make light of all my daughters will lose by leaving their home country, and have lost already by my involvement in their lives. But to those people, I wonder what they would say if I were to ask them: would it have been better for Mirah to have died at the age of two of a treatable disease in her home country, or grow up to deal with that loss as she matures?

Maybe I'll ask her. In thirty years.

Still Here

I thought I would have the emotional energy today to explain what happened yesterday. I don't, so this will be about as barebones as it gets. Sorry for the lack of energy to make it appealing to read.

Stephen took me to the airport yesterday. I checked my bags, went through security, and walked to my gate (the same gate Stephen and I sat at when we left in November).

My phone plan hadn't been renewed because my autorefill was on a card that expired this month. But I didn't want to pay for a phone I couldn't use in Uganda, so I let it lapse yesterday. So, at the gate, I opened up my computer to text Stephen from GoogleVoice letting him know I was safely at the gate.

I got an email from our lawyer in Uganda, saying there is a misspelling on Mirah's official birth certificate, and that the corrected one won't be ready in time for my I-600 filing appointment. He advised that, if I wasn't already traveling, I shouldn't come yet.

This was 9:40a. The email was sent at 9:33a (our time). The plane would start boarding at 11:10a.

Here's where I stop knowing how I feel about what happened. I let those who are invested in this adoption tell me what to do, and I didn't consult my own impression, thoughts, or desires. But I rescheduled my flight (with no extra fees, thank you, United!) for February 9th (which I had to do by calling from GoogleVoice and holding our Chromebook up to my face, like a cool guy). That's really just a placeholder date. I don't know when I'm going.

But when did I start to just lie down and comply? Who even is that? My whole life, I've fought for my thoughts to be heard, understood, and valued. It's not about submitting; it's about making sure the decision I submit to is fully informed and not just someone's preference. I'm just so puzzled at my own behavior. Not that the decision wasn't the right one either; I think only time will tell that.

I was dreading going with no end date, so for that, I'm glad. I don't want to be separated from my boys (and my man) longer than I need to be. But my girls, they matter too. It's been almost two months since I've seen them. And I know changes to the adoption laws are coming soon. We can only delay so long before our adoption (and thus, our family) may be in danger.

I'm trying not to mope, but I don't want to unpack my necessary clothes, and repack them again. I don't want to do this leave-taking all over again. I am really tired. But I'm also getting ready to fight.

difficult news

Finally got some news about our case. The judge is refusing to issue the ruling until we appear before him so he can explain the conditions of our legal guardianship. We are trying to figure out the best course of action.

A few scenarios are playing out in my head:

1) We wait until the new judge comes in office on January 8th, not knowing how s/he would rule on our case, and probably having to do the court proceedings all over again (meaning another two months from then before we could get the girls home).

2) I go now before this judge leaves office and get the written ruling and go through the passport & visa process without the family, or the judge's conditions are such that we cannot accept guardianship of the girls.

I wish we could all go and just have Christmas in Uganda as a family, but we don't have the funds. We are trying to get more information so we can make a decision. Please pray for us. I was really hoping to introduce our daughters to the public today...

Wednesday WHAT.

I've been busy with a conference this week, but I came home Monday to find this in the mail:

YOU KNOW WHAT I REQUEST, USCIS?!? I can't tell you because I want to be like Jesus. And he loves you I GUESS

And I promptly had a dramatic moment. You know, an I HATE EVERYTHING IN THE WHOLE WORLD moment, quickly followed by a WHY IS EVERYONE INCOMPETENT moment. And then I tried to actually read the document for comprehension, and had a I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS moment.

Luckily, there are actually some people who know what they're doing, and our home study has been updated to include the mysterious "specific requirements" our home study was missing. I've also emailed USCIS to let them know that we actually live at the address on the front page of our home study, and not in Pennsylvania, as they've concluded from the documents we needed because our Uganda agency is in Pennsylvania. You might think that's confusing, but remember, looking at home studies is this person's ONLY JOB. YOUR ONLY JOB, USCIS GUY. I will forgive you. Well, I'm working on it, okk?

And then after calling both agencies (and leaving voicemails), and then emailing both agencies, and venting just a little bit to Stephen, I was able to reconnect with God's heart and re-trust him with our adoption and the timing of it. I'll talk about that more later on.

Wednesday Whaaaat?

My Wednesday Whaaat is dedicated to our doctor's office losing the documents we need. So I had to call our homestudy agency to get them, print them out again, put notary wording on them again, make copies again, write out instructions for our doctor again, put them in a packet again, and give them to the office. Again.

I was supposed to hit "schedule" for this and didn't. Here's my whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat for yesterday.

Having Privilege my Daughters Won't

I confess, since we started planning to adopt from Africa almost 4 years ago, I've thought a lot about racism and white privilege in our country. Like A LOT. I think I alternate between trying to find appropriate methods of guiding my children through a reality I don't have to face, trying to figure out how I can fight this war so that my girls will be protected [#saviorcomplex], and obsessing over it in hopes that I will somehow learn enough to feel prepared.

I'm currently raising white sons. White, middle class boys. They and I have the good graces of the world, and I feel it. I feel the wash of approval every time I'm in public with them. People adore my boys. I like to think it's because holy cow they are so cute, but I know their (and my) whiteness really is a factor.

This pic is old, but it's also precious. Also also, they're so white they might be pink.

On Tuesday we were at the grocery store, and one of the store clerks came up & gave me an "instant winner" sticker she found from the game they have here. And it struck me: would she have given this to me if my kids were black? If I was a black mother? I really don't know, and that is one of the saddest things I've ever thought. Not because more horrible things haven't happened (it was a sticker for a game), but because that is a reality that never goes away for some. It may someday be my own daughters who face that.

I can't show you her face, but this is Star's midsection and her gorgeous, gorgeous skin.

I struggle not to rage at the thought. THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE. It is. Raising white sons and black daughters is going to make me more angry than I've ever been. And it will tear my heart apart.

But.

I can prepare both my black daughters and my white sons to recognize, externalize, and appropriately combat racism. I invite you to do the same.

Sad News

I've actually known this "news" for at least six weeks, and most of you may already know this, but we are not actually eligible to adopt from China. We will not meet their net worth requirements. This was missed during our paperwork because we were deciding on whether to sell the house at the same time that we were deciding to adopt.

China requires a net worth of $80,000. We don't come close.

It was a hard blow to my heart. I had a lot of hope that, through adopting from China, we would be able to cross our t's and dot our i's and end up with a daughter on the other side of time & paperwork. I hoped to bring home that sweet little Treasure. I have cried and prayed and finally felt peace that, like the precious girl we weren't supposed to adopt last fall, we aren't able to because God has a different family marked out for her. I am honored to share a teeny piece of God's heart by loving these kiddos and praying for what's best for them, not just what I want.

We are proceeding in a different direction that I hope to be able to tell you all about soon. This is our last "go" of adopting, so I'm praying and preaching hope to myself that the past three and a half years of struggle has been leading up to this situation. To our beautiful, precious little daughters. #spoileralert

Parenting Insight.

I got it this morning: why staying at home is really hard for me, especially right now. You see, of the five love languages (words of affirmation, quality time, physical touch & closeness, acts of service, and gifts), acts of service is the one I speak least. Like I do not speak it at all. [so if you do something to serve me but don't cue me in that you're doing it out of love, I'll probably thank you but won't feel loved by it.]

But acts of service is all I do for this kid, you know? And man, it's awesome when he says thank you, but it is horrible when he can't even be happy about it. Not just not acknowledge it, but seems to look for something to be unhappy about it. YOU SUCK ALL MY ENERGY, CHILD. Not just because you're rambunctious (I pretty much like that, except when you hurt me), but because you require me to constantly go against my personality with almost nothing in return.

To top that off, gifts is my #1 (luckily I speak other ones, or my marriage would be a shambles; Stephen is not a natural-born-gift-giver). And a 3-year-old is not really capable of thinking of something I like and then giving it to me.

And on top of all that, I'm very fun-oriented. I'm not a particularly driven person, not a high achiever (it seems exhausting, honestly). And it seems like this 3-year-old is intent on finding ways to not have fun. He asks me to stop the water in his bath, and when I do, he falls apart that I stopped the water. What am I supposed to do with that? YOU LOVE BATH TIME. HAVE A GOOD TIME. WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU. You need to stop spitting/screaming or you'll have to get out of the bath.

So whew this stage is particularly hard. I am glad I had that insight this morning; it doesn't change my situation, but still, more awareness can help me manage my own behavior when my son clearly is having trouble managing his.

DRC Update

This is not a big update, but I wanted to write it anyway. The State Department has issued another alert suggesting that even the grandfathered-in cases will proceed slowly because people have been forging documents. The emotionally violent part of me wants to go BEAT some sense into these people! I know you're desperate to bring your child home and I don't blame you for your feelings, but give a single moment's thought to the hundreds or thousands of families you're affecting by further damaging the United States' relationship with the Congo.

Flag of the Democratic Republic of the Congo

It is possible that, because of you, we won't be able to bring H home. It's horribly selfish, which is a terrible way to start your parenting of a hurt child. It also makes you look just like a trafficker. Just fyi. </disdain> </rant>

Termites.

Okay, I'm not talking to them any longer. Frankly, their selfishness will incur wrath more frightening than my own, for who loves orphans more than the Most Holy God? Who placed in mothers the fierceness of protection? Children are literally dying every day in the Congo for want of aid and protection, and these people are making it worse. It will be a dreadful thing on that day.

Honestly, I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to do whatever it took to get H here. But then I think about having to tell her, eventually, that she was smuggled here. That she was, essentially, trafficked. It's no good. Besides, H isn't the only child in the DRC who needs a family. How could I live with myself if my actions caused a country to close down its international adoption program? I sure hope anyone realizes this, and I desperately hope they feel the same way.

Katanga region. Rainy season. Beautiful.

In the same alert, the DRC also warned that the suspension of issuing exit visas may last past the original term of one year, so things aren't looking any better for us. But hope does not disappoint, and I believe steadfastly that the Lord will use our adoption to advance the Gospel, just like He used Paul's imprisonment, from where he wrote the epistle of Philippians.

Discipline from the Lord

This Summer I received what I would call a hint from the Lord, in the form of a book I reread. The author is a mother of four very young children, and she wrote a short bit about striking the word "overwhelmed" from her vocabulary. The idea is that you cannot be overwhelmed by your daily life; you just need to live it. Sometimes we hide behind words, or we give them more power than they ever should have.

I was inspired by the idea. I feel like our generation has caught some sort of "overwhelmed" virus and suffer from the effects almost constantly in every area of our lives. I think this should not be. So I took the hint and decided not to allow myself to be overwhelmed anymore.

lol.

Turns out I'm sneakier than I thought. This morning I received a much-needed talking-to from God about what I'd been doing instead of telling myself I was overwhelmed: complaining. Ugh! complaining about good things from the Lord... No no Michelle! That's no no.

This week will be full. There is a lot more to do than I want to. BUT. I should not be complaining about gifts from the Lord! Crazy child! I need to lean into the Lord, to hold His hand and be with Him, not busy myself while muttering over and over all the things I need to do and how I don't really want to do them.

That's all. <3

Worldly Sorrow

If you know me IRL, you'd probably nod your head in agreement that I'm not the type of person to beat myself up about things I've done wrong. It's just not part of my personality to think of myself as a "bad person," and it took a long time (and a pretty serious downwardly-spiraling life) for me to realize I couldn't just do my thang in life and be okay.

And most of the time, I don't even mind that part of my personality - I married someone who's definitely the opposite in this area, and man, it just seems tiring to be wondering all the time if you're violating your inner conscience. I tend to think, look, if I do, I'm sure it'll tell me, amiright?

Which is why motherhood kind of threw me for a loop. Yesterday morning, Steve, one of our pastors, spoke on repentance. One point he highlighted was on godly sorrow versus worldly sorrow, and the Holy Spirit pretty much opened my chest and strung out the last two years before me, a huge pile of worldly sorrow accumulating mass every day.

I have been beaten down my worldly sorrow for my inability to be the parent I want to be for Ezra. I have been paralyzed by it, drowned in it. I have not repented nearly often enough for my lack of reliance on the Holy Spirit to make me more like Jesus. This worldly sorrow has robbed me of so much hope that God is able to do more than I can even hope for in my and my son's lives. Ugh, I'm so done with it.



Epilogue: It's kind of nice, isn't it? Eight years after my first real experience with repentance, I'm still plumbing the depths of God's grace and sufficiency and our relationship. I hope it never ends, exploring His love and letting Him in. He is so, so good to me.

Upon the Waters

If I could tell you how many nights I chew the skin off my lips, rub my eyes until I see stars, and tell God I just can't. I can't do this anymore.

Stephen was gracious enough to help me understand that it's a Peter thing. I see what Jesus is doing, I step out on the waters, and realize HOLEY CRAP I'M TRYING TO STAND ON WATER. And I fall.

And usually, somehow, I end up pointing my bony finger at God and accusing Him, as if He is only a voice leading me in the dark, in a world full of predators lurking just beyond my periphery. As if He doesn't cradle me in His hand. As if it would even be best for me to get what I want when I want. As if He isn't good.

This song is beautiful and I love it, and I want to sing it with confidence. God knows I'm a fickle follower and cannot promise tomorrow. But tonight, I will rest, knowing He will complete our adoption in His perfect timing, and I'll continue fashioning my ebenezer stone to plant at His feet, a testament to His faithfulness.

Cooperation

For Pete's sake, I am bound and determined to cooperate with God on whatever He's wanting to do in this whole adoption thing.

[As an aside, I have been so blessed this summer to have my husband let me go to each Tuesday LT service. I can't ever go on Thursdays because he's leading worship; but he could totally say he needed to go on Tuesdays for work. But he doesn't. :) and man, each service has been just like a great bath in the Word and Spirit. I come out feeling like my spiritual skin has had a good scrubbing, and my head full of ponderings.]

Anyway, this very nice guy (and the Collegiate pastor at Ohio State), Jon Shah, was teaching last night out of Hebrews 12, and it was a very loving and gentle kick in the pants. I know God is using our adoption to grow me and mold me and refine me, but I don't know how, and I'm certain I've been fighting him on it.

But beyond just not fighting him tooth and nail (which is the only way I know how to fight), how do I actually cooperate with what he's wanting to do? The thing about LT is that it brings up a host of character flaws and lies and things that need sharpening. I sat down last night and listed a dozen things that have been brought up in my heart over the past four weeks.

So, if you'd like to pray, please pray that I'll hear clearly from the Lord what he actually wants to work on right now, and to stuff deep down lay aside the things he doesn't want to deal with right now.

kthanxbai

Dreams

I don't remember many of my dreams, but usually the ones I do remember are the stress dreams. I had so many when Ezra started walking quickly: he'd be right next to me, and I'd look up to answer someone's question, and look right back to see him jumping off a cliff or into a swimming pool (filled with jellyfish!).

Last night (early this morning, rather) I had a different sort of dream. So, my mom, my brother (Matt), and I were digging in the ground (for some logical reason I've forgotten) kind of near a bank (not the river kind, the fiduciary kind). All of a sudden, we start digging up people's wallets, I mean twenty or thirty wallets. In one wallet, we found a $20,000 bill. Incredulous, we brought the wallets into the bank to turn them in. The teller and the manager went through and discovered that the owners of the wallets were dead, which somehow meant that the cash (it was all bills, no checks or anything) belonged to us now: a total of a little over $30,000. My mom looked at me with a smile and said, "Well, what do you want to do with it?"

And, in the dream, I started crying, because it meant we could adopt now, the way we wanted, and not have to worry about fundraising, or scrimping to save, or getting to a point in the process and not having enough money to go forward, or having to stop because expenses were higher than projected. I felt unburdened, free! We could commit to a specific child, our child, the very next day.

It was a good dream. But not real. But it was a good reminder that I can trust God, even though the money aspect of our adoption is not working the way I'd want it to. I let God control the outcome of my efforts in many other areas, but I haven't surrendered my children enough to be unburdened by the process of bringing one of them home.

I suppose I'll work on that.

Update

Well there's no big news or something like that, but I will give you a lil adoption update. Since we're most likely parting with our current program, the fundraising countdown doesn't really apply anymore. :(

But we've pretty much narrowed our focus down to adopting from Democratic Republic of the Congo or Hong Kong. There are positives and negatives with both; I can tell you we'd rather adopt from DRC. There are children (lots of children) waiting who have no special need (and some are infants; many are toddlers). As soon as we collect the money, we could move forward.

Man, what a bitter pill to swallow, that the only thing keeping us from adding to our family is money. It rankles. [that's what I say now when I want to say something sucks]. You know what's a similar word and also a great one? Fester. Just sayin'.

Where was I? Oh yes, festering. I'm sure this is me being whatever personality I am [ENFP], but I really dislike that something as arbitrary as money is what's holding us back. Then again, I've never had much respect for it. I'm not sure how healthy it is; money just feels like tennis shoes. Sure, there are a number of things you can do without tennis shoes, but there are things you just can't without an athletic shoe, and there's no real getting around that. And I'm sure some people are desperate for and in love with athletic shoes, but I cannot whip myself into any sort of excitement over tennis shoe shopping. They never fit perfectly and I'm often not enjoying myself when I'm wearing them. Money. Tennis shoes. I mean, who gets giddy over paying bills (or fees, as it is)? Who adores keeping the budget? It's tidy, but it's not fun like a good cute pair of sandals. Is all I'm sayin'.

Anyway, if you'd be praying for us (for money to rain down from the sky, or for a pillar of cloud by day and of fire by night to guide us in the direction He wants us to go), we'd really appreciate that. In the mean time, I've been working up some new jewelry to Etsify hopefully in a little over a week. I'll share that when it's done.

Hi. My name is Michelle

And I'm addicted to sugar. Like, the-same-as-I-was-addicted-to-cigarettes addicted. If you've never been addicted to something other than food, you may think this is kind of silly. But I remember quitting smoking, and this is just like that.

[An aside: sometimes I feel like I'm airing out my dirty laundry on my blog, but, truth be told, food addiction is pretty tame laundry, even though it's wrapped in shame.]

You know, I limited myself to one or two cigarettes for months before I was able to completely kick the habit. Months. Miserable months. I just didn't know how to let go of that sweet, sweet nicotine. [Stephen laughed when I used that phrase earlier this evening. He just doesn't know.] Honestly, I was only able to quit because of the patch and a big reward for being smoke-free for a month. I still had a few slips since then.

I even tried a cigarette a while ago (it had been years since my last slip), and the hunger to smoke again returned, almost fiercely. Man, something in me is set to addiction mode.

So I really am that kind of addicted to sugar. The hide the goods, be controlled in all other areas, contain it as much as you can, that kind of addiction. It's open-and-shut; I need to get rid of this. I can't contain it. I don't have the self-control. I have to go cold turkey and be okay with maybe never being able to have sugar again. Oh sugar, I love you! How can I leave you?!? There is something wrong with me.

Jesus, here's my mess. I just can't even anymore.