Battle of the Ants

“Ants in the laundry room! Ants in the laundry room!!!”

This is an actual text message sent by me to my dear husband this week.  I was about to launch World War III in my laundry room.  The full force of all my fury was getting ready to be unleashed on these teeny tiny little ants that were likely just trying to avoid a late March arctic blast.  

An entire can of Raid later, the ants were dead and I was exhausted.  My rage against the ants had left me totally depleted.  I collapsed on the couch and thought, “What is wrong with me?”  Why did something so tiny (literally and figuratively) generate such a huge emotional response?  I realized that I have been having big, over blown, borderline cray-cray reactions to just about everything lately.  In fact, I’ve been living my life like an all caps twitter feed.


YOU MEAN WE HAVE TO WAIT ANOTHER DAY BECAUSE THE U.S. CONSULATE IS CLOSED FOR A HOLIDAY? HOW DARE THEY!?!

I HAVE ASKED YOU FIVE TIMES TO PICK UP THESE LEGOS!

NO, YOU MAY NOT HAVE ANOTHER COOKIE!

SHE NEVER EVEN SAID, “THANK YOU!”

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, TURN OFF THE TV!!

WHO ATE THE LAST CADBURY CREME EGG!?!?


I realized, after those ants, that I am walking through life like this:

Sometimes, we pick up our swords to fight a cause and we start off with great intentions.  There are battles that need to be fought.  There are wrongs that need to be right.  Some of us become warriors because we have to.  

I know mothers of special needs children who are mighty warriors, fighting to make sure their children get the services they need.  I know social workers and AIDS advocates and legal aid lawyers and teachers and pastors who are warriors, fighting for what is right and good every single day.  

We often become warriors in an instant, because life is fickle and sometimes fate deals an ugly hand.  

When your aging parents need more care than their social security benefits will provide, you become a warrior.    

When your spouse is diagnosed with cancer and there is nothing to do but wipe away their tears and clean up their chemo induced vomit, you become a warrior.  

When your grown up child is lost in a haze of drug addiction and brings home yet another baby for you to raise, you become a warrior.  

When you realize that you have a child living thousands of miles away, going to bed every night without knowing he is loved, you become a warrior.  

This is the great epiphany I had after my epic war against the ants:  Eventually, the battle needs to end and the warrior must remember that before it all began, she was and still is a child of God.   

All of us, even those of us with the noblest battles to fight, eventually need to stop fighting, lay down our swords, and come sit at the feet of Great Warrior.  

When we do this, we remember why we are fighting in the first place: 

We fight not for ourselves but for others because somewhere in our  heart of hearts we heard the prophets sing, “Let justice roll down like living waters,” and our heart sang back, “Yes!”   

We love because he first loved us and this is the truest of true loves- the love that leads us to stand in the gaps, to walk through fire, and to slay dragons without thinking twice.   

We fight because we have encountered the Resurrected One and we know, we know, we know that the battles have already been won.  

This is the God who said to the Israelites,  “Don’t worry about those Egyptians chasing after you with their might army.  I’ve got this.  I will fight for you, just stand still.”   

Stop running.

Put down your sword. (or that can of Raid)

Let go of the fight. 

Take a deep breath.

Close your eyes.

Be still.  

Feel God’s arms wrap around you like a mother holds her child.

Now open your eyes and watch the seas part.  

"Close Only Counts in Horseshoes, Darts, and Hand Grenades"

         My fifth grade teacher, Mrs. McCallister used to be a fan of the saying, “Close only counts in horseshoes, darts, and hand grenades.”   At the age of ten, I had no idea what she was saying except that being near a hand grenade was not something that sounded like a good idea.  I’ve been hearing Mrs. Mac say that phrase in my head a lot over the last few weeks and I think I would reply with a resounding, “Amen, Sister!” if she were around today.  Close doesn’t count when you are a few weeks away from going to get the child you’ve hoped for and prayed for every day for the last six months.  We are so close, so very close, but not really close at all to that little boy whose world is about to be turned upside down.  In fact, we are seven thousand four hundred miles away from close.  Close doesn’t count when the little one you dream about holding is still just that, a little one existing only in your dreams.  

          Close also doesn’t count when you are trying to get what feels like your 300th official piece of paperwork sent from one government agency to another government agency and you realized that they misspelled your name.  

And not even your really strange, hard to pronounce my-parents-are-theology-nerds first name.  No, they misspelled your nice, normal easy-peasy last name.  And so you have a small breakdown and want to collapse on the floor in a puddle of  tears and “Why me, God?!”  -until your wiser than her years ten year old daughter reminds you, “This is just a small setback, Mom.  Some people wait years to get their children.  Think about those people and how lucky we are to be going to get Carter so soon.”  BOOM.  You’ve just been schooled in the most important lesson in life by your daughter.  Who is in the fourth grade.  

(Yes, that's a hamster peeking out of her pocket.)

             But, close DOES count when your heart is weary and your mind is tired from endlessly racing from one task to another and you find an inexplicable sense of peace arise from unexpected places- like washing the dishes.  Close does count when you get an email telling you that your little boy loves to be outside and is happy when he is looking at your pictures.  Close does count when you start to complain about yet another snow day keeping your kids at home until you realize that you’ve been given an amazing gift of fifteen extra days at home together, as a family of four, before it all changes for good.  

          Close counts when you are standing in the laundry room, folding the first of what will surely be thousands of loads of baby laundry, realizing how much you didn’t miss trying to match tiny baby socks, trying not to cry at the realization that you are folding size 9 month clothes for your 19 month old son, and then finally crying because this is the first tangible thing you’ve done that connects you to that tiny body on the other side of the world (and because tiny socks make you think of tiny baby feet that maybe have never been kissed).   

          Close counts in these moments because these are the moments when God has reached down and whispered into my heart, “I’m here.” 

       God, who said, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” (Mt 11:28&29) 

 Wait, did he really say rest?  Twice in two sentences?  Does he know how tired I feel?  Heart and soul tired?  

The funny thing about rest is that it requires you to be still.  To stop racing and pacing.  When you are still, that is when you notice just how close that the gentle-hearted Creator God is to your own tiny little self.  
Close.  
Close in the way that really does count.  

From the mouths of children...

Jesus entered the temple courts and drove out all who were buying and selling there. He overturned the tables of the money changers and the benches of those selling doves. "It is written,” he said to them, “‘My house will be called a house of prayer,’but you are making it ‘a den of robbers.’"

The blind and the lame came to him at the temple, and he healed them.

 But when the chief priests and the teachers of the law saw the wonderful things he did and the children shouting in the temple courts, “Hosanna to the Son of David,”they were indignant.

"Do you hear what these children are saying?” they asked him.

“Yes,” replied Jesus, “have you never read, 

“‘From the lips of children and infants 

 you, Lord, have called forth your praise’"

Matthew 21:12-16

"I don't eat vegetables."

"I can count to infinity. "

"I like you. "

"Are you a princess?"

"My new mom and dad came to pick me up from the foster home and brought me to my new house- I flew the coop!"

"My daddy lost his job and we might have to move. "

"You are pretty."

"Hey, you're not my doctor. You're a girl."

The best part of my job is getting to listen to kids talk.  Four year olds are my favorite. The worst, very bad, no good day can be turned around when a little one says something beautiful and true. Children speak truth.  Truth as they see it. Truth as they've been told. 

Hidden in the gospel of Matthew is a story about children doing just that- truth speaking. I'm not sure why I never noticed until recently. Maybe because we move through the Bible from important event to important event and skim past the parts we don't think matter too much, like stories that involve children.  On Palm Sunday we celebrate the story of Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem by having our children wave palm branches in church. We all know that story. Jesus rode a donkey into Jerusalem while the crowds waved branches and cheered. They sang, "Hosannah to the Son of David!"  They were proclaiming Jesus as the messiah. He was on his way to Jerusalem. The time had come. God was going to do big things. Maybe they thought Jesus would free them from Roman oppression. Maybe they thought this would be the beginning of a new golden era for God's chosen people. I don't know what they thought Jesus was heading to Jerusalem to do,  but I can bet that it wasn't to go to the temple and start throwing tables around, attacking their own way of life. I'm sure they didn't think this new Son of David would go to the temple just to be surrounded by the lame and the blind. Where's the glory in that? How does God's mighty power show up in a man who is telling them they themselves are corrupt (not the Romans) and he wants to hang out with the beggars and broken ones (not the rich and powerful)?

All those people who were waving palm branches and singing praises to Jesus just moments before were now speechless. Their singing stopped. Their questions began.

 But here is the rest of the story- The children kept singing. They watched everything Jesus did in the temple and they kept shouting, "Hosannah to the Son of David!"  The children didn't stop singing when the messiah they praised in the parade was not the messiah that actually showed up at the temple. 

Jesus heard the children proclaiming him to be the messiah and these may have been the sweetest praises he had ever heard, sweeter than the angels own songs. I think his heart was filled with deep, overwhelming joy at the sound of these tiny sons and daughters of God,  declaring the truest Truth for all to hear. They were speaking words of Life. They were prophets, echoing what Simeon and Anna had declared in that very spot decades before.

 Jesus heard them and he knew that they knew.  They knew who he was. For real. 

When the Pharisees tried to turn the children's praise into a mockery Jesus said, "No."  

In that moment, these little ones were the voice of God. The Spirit had given them a song to sing and the praises of  children were called forth from God's own holy dwelling place. 

I believe that's really all that God wants from any of us. To sing God's praises no matter what, without expectations, without agenda. 

Can we still sing God's praises even when God has disappointed us?

When God has not lived up to our ideas of who God is supposed to be?

When God takes us down a path that looks so very different than the one we imagined? 

When God takes a whip to the greed in our lives? 

When God heals some but not others? 

When the miracles are nowhere to be found?

When they mock him? 

When they  mock you for believing in him? 

   When you can see the cross looming in the distance?  

            And you know that there is no way around it.

  

                             No way to skip from Palm Sunday straight to Easter.

In Matthew's gospel this marks the point where Jesus begins to make more enemies than friends and the plans are set in motion for ending his radical ministry here on earth.   God came to be with us, but it was not the God we expected and so we said, "No thanks." Shortly afterwards,  Jesus would be arrested, beaten, betrayed, and hung up on the cross.

 I believe there was a reason that the  last songs of praise Jesus heard were sung by children.  

Could it be that the Spirit-God knew that God the Son, through his suffering and solitude would need to have those sweet little voices singing a song of the Father's love, echoing in his heart? 

Could it be that the Spirit knew Jesus would somehow find comfort in praises from perhaps the only ones among us who are able love without condition? 

Could it be that it is still this way?

 That in spite of all our best planned worship, our most impressive singing, and most inspired sermons, it ALL falls short of what true worship is meant to be.  

Could it be that it is still the children who are the only ones among us who are singing truth, speaking love, and pointing us towards God's own heart? 

LOA and what comes next...

"LOA! LOA! LOA!"

After waiting 72 days, our LOA finally arrived!  Technically it is called a “Letter seeking confirmation”  and was sent by China to us saying that all of our paperwork has been reviewed and we are officially approved to adopt our baby boy.  We are supposed to check the box saying we will accept him as our son, sign it, and mail it back to China.  There is actually a box to check saying that we decline the match.  Can you believe it?  I couldn’t imagine after all this time, checking the “No” box.  

So what’s next?   Now we go through a very convoluted and confusing process of applying for Visa approval for Carter to enter the country as our child (at which point he will become a U.S. citizen.)  After this approval, the US Visa Center, the US Consulate in Guangzhou, and the Chinese government have to communicate to each other that this approval has been granted.  After the last two steps will be when we receive “TA” or travel approval from China to travel to go get our boy.  After TA, we schedule our appointment with the U.S. Consulate in China where all of Carter’s final visa paperwork will need to be issued.  Our trip will be scheduled backwards from our consulate appointment.   (So hypothetically if our consulate appointment is on May 19th, we will leave on May 8th and get Carter on May 11th)

Confused?  That’s ok because you really need an advanced degree to follow all these steps.  Here is a chart that I borrowed from a friend’s blog (not sure where it originated from) that lays out all the back and forth steps.  Essentially we are at step #9, waiting for #10 (I800 approval).  

The short of it is, now that we have LOA, we are past all the big waiting times and should be leaving in about 9-10 weeks! (Maybe longer depending on whether or not we run into a road block during these next few steps.)  We won’t know our exact dates of travel until about 1-3 weeks before we actually leave.  So, if you see a crazy lady in a black SUV running around town in March and April, please just look away.  It is hard to believe but we are in the homestretch of one of the longest, most emotional, and amazing journeys of our life.  It is also hard to believe that on the other side of the world is a precious little boy who is busy being a toddler, learning how to walk and talk, and completely unaware that his family is racing towards him with our arms wide open. 

Please pray that the next steps go smoothly, that we get an update from Carter’s orphanage soon (with pictures!) and that Carter’s heart is somehow ready for our arrival.  I don’t know that you can prepare an 18 month old for something as traumatic as being scooped up and carried away from the only world you’ve ever known.  But at the very least I am praying that all of the pictures we have sent are being shown to him every day so that when he sees our faces he will think,  “Oh, there you are.”  I am also praying for his foster mother who has been caring for him since last summer.  If she loves him (which I believe she does) then this must be incredibly hard for her, too.  I have been praying for her every day since we found out Carter was moved into a foster home.  I know that the day that can't arrive soon enough for us is likely the day she is hoping won't come for a long, long time.