Two weeks

Two Thursdays ago, we were granted custody of some beautiful people. We are now in a time of "adaptation" that should culminate in the legal process of "adoption". Officially, from a paperwork point of view, the process has just begun. Emotionally, from a bonding and healing point of view, the process has just begun. And yet, in some difficult to articulate way--there is a feeling of completion rather than initiation. There is some deep sigh of the heart finally at rest. There is some "click" of everything at last lining up in it's correct place.

How can it only be two weeks?

Two weeks ago, we had a special "meeting" to talk about what a family is. We clinked milk glasses, and signed pretend signatures to papers agreeing to work on being a family. Jonathan and I talked about what one, first "rule" or expectation did we need to present--just one thing to focus on for safety's sake. So at this special "meeting" we practiced Rule #1: "When we call, you come." As the week progressed, we gradually saw the power of our response to their calls as well. The phrases that have been said most often in our house these last few weeks are "Aqui estoy!" and "Me voy!" ("I am here!" and "I am coming!")

As I shout these words hundreds of times daily through bathroom doors, and from under piles of blankets, and across playgrounds, it is so clear to me, that I am not merely answering these little people, I am quoting scriptural promises.

From Genesis to Jesus final words at His ascension, The Book is full of God calling back to his insecure children, " I am with you." "I am coming."

These little ones need so much reassurance that these new parents of theirs can be counted on. And I will tell them a thousand times, " I am here." " I am coming."

Just as my Father keeps reassuring me every time I forget, or let fear take hold:

He is with me.
And He is coming.

Timing

During my first week as a student at Harding University, I heard someone say, "I've known her a couple of months, but they were 'Harding months'. It was the first time I had heard someone express this shared sense that at this stage of our life time was flowing differently. The beginning of our marriage was another wacky time when it felt like we were packing decades of "big experiences" into weeks and months. (got married, moved, changed jobs, moved again, took in foster kids, took in those kids' parents, family deaths, changed jobs again, foster kids returned to family, moved again)

 Neuroscientist  David Eagleman explains it like this:
The more detailed the memory, the longer the moment seems to last. This explains why we think that time speeds up when we grow older,—why childhood summers seem to go on forever, while old age slips by while we’re dozing. The more familiar the world becomes, the less information your brain writes down, and the more quickly time seems to pass.

While not the first time I've felt this way, the past month has been an amazing example of this phenomenon.  The calendar reminds us only a few weeks have passed, but they've been great big long ones--and it seems the coming weeks may be even bigger.

We returned from (what we thought of as) a whirlwind time in the US on December 13. We were settling in for some slow times, some waiting. We knew there wouldn't be many visiting groups to the mission for a while, we knew most government agencies and other organizations would be on holiday and in the reflective new year planning season. We saw this as a time to work on all those big projects that get shuffled to the back burner when things are hectic, and a time to focus on hospitality and relationships. The next few months were clearly going to be the sort that slip by all too quickly.

We worked on glasses inventory, planned for children's bible programs, delivered "smile boxes", sorted through boxes of donations, organized school supply distributions, and had various kids/teens parties at our house twice a week.

Then on January 13, precisely a month after our return to Nicaragua, we were sitting at our dining room table with two case workers from MiFamilia completing our adoption home study. I can't express how surprised we were with the timing. We delivered our paperwork to the ministry of families the day before we flew to the states in November, and based on the 20 months that it took to establish residency with the immigration department, we expected to settle in for a long wait before there was any action. But one week after dropping off an updated form, the case workers were asking folks around town their impressions of us.

Those same case workers explained the next steps in the process to us. They will prepare our report, it will be evaluated by the adoption council at their next monthly meeting. (*note that in this case "monthly" means they meet once during a month not necessarily that they meet every month). At that point, we will be given an appointment to come to Managua and find out if our application is approved or denied. If approved, our names go into the pool of families waiting to be matched with adoptive children. The case workers advised that the timing for this matching process is generally between six and eighteen months. After that comes an in-home adaptation period and if affirmed by the council, the legal process of formalizing an adoption can begin.

So, excited about this progress we returned to our projects, settling in for the first of many coming wait-ings to find out if we might be approved.

>>>>Now, I just have to insert that "waiting" has such a negative connotation to many people, but I find it kind of comforting. I think I am good at it. To me, waiting signifies that your actions/decisions are not needed. Your part, for now, is done. I like that feeling. Maybe that means I'm super-spiritually patient. Maybe that means that I'm far too lazy. Maybe it means that I am deeply indecisive. (Yeah, O.K., I know, it's not the first one.)

Just 23 short days from the home study a phone call came:
"Will you accept two children?"
"Will you come to Managua on Monday?"

These last few days have been long and passed slowly. Not just because we are too excited to sleep at night. There is so much to do, and think, and feel packed into so few hours. What happened to the waiting?

And suddenly it is Monday. We met with the ministry of family (who are sooooo nice!) and heard the case file on some precious little ones. In less than an hour we were headed across town to the shelter to meet them.

After a little while with balls, dolls and swings, the counselor and case worker were explaining that papers granting us permission for an off site visit were complete.  Lunch, playing, sight-seeing...the day was a whirlwind of play-dough and giggles and french fries and getting to know you questions.

And already, rather than feeling like the first day we met, it feels like the first night we are apart.

We dashed back to Jinotega to gather some clothes and make sure things are in order. Tomorrow we will head back to Managua for several days of visiting, followed (we all hope) by bringing these beautiful young hearts home.

During this period of adaptation, before the legal parts of the adoption take place, we will be tempering our excitement and desire to share every detail in order to protect the privacy and identity of P. and J. We hope you will use any moments of curiosity for details as a reminder to pray for these two very special and loved little ones.

Company

For the last few days we have had a house guest. His name is Ederson and he is 14 years old.  He is from the town of San Andres on the Rio Coco and has come to Jinotega, to further his education. 

A group of families from the church here have committed to helping him with this dream of his, and while we organize, arrange, and gather things like beds, and clothes and supplies...he's staying with us. He's such a neat guy! And we're having a blast learning from each other. 

Can you imagine? 14 years old, and you've left everything and everyone you know because you are so hungry for school? Aside from how hard being away from home would be for any kid, imagine the culture shock for this guy. His home is a place without water, electricity, or even a door. His town is a place without roads, advertising, or strangers. 

Here are a few of the things he's learned about this week--experiences I have lived in a new way through his eyes.

• flushing a toilet
• turning on a faucet
• turning lights on and off (it took him a couple of days to get brave enough for this one)
• feeling the coolness from the refrigerator
• walking in traffic
• tasting bread with jelly
• tasting an apple
• tasting a carrot
• television
• playing a video game (he hated it, by the way)
• taking a shower
• using a key in a lock
• going to a grocery store
• eating at a restaurant

He's a great storyteller, an amazing singer, and speaks three languages fluently. (Sadly for us both, English isn't one of them). He's deeply inquisitive, obviously brave, hard working, and plain 'ol hilarious. (Can you tell I totally want to be like Ederson when I grow up?) Here are a few of my favorite (roughly translated) quotes from the last few days: 

• "Can I try to make my own ice in there? How do you know how long it will take? How long will the ice last once it is frozen? Can I do it every day until I understand these things?"
•  "How do you know which trucks are going to stop so you can continue walking?"
• (While looking at photos of animals online and teaching each other names for them in various languages) "Oh wow! Pecary! They are my favorite. They are so beautiful. I love them. They taste better than toucans."
• "I've been inside the house so long I think I am turning white." (obviously teasing) "Is that what happened to you?"
• (Car alarm across the street going off) "Does that sound mean the car is broken? It isn't moving. It is broken. Why do they let that sound continue? Is someone going to stop that?"
• "Once while deep in the forest I found gold. After my dad sold it, he gave me new rubber boots. I teased him, 'I find a gold nugget and my only gift is boots? These must be expensive boots.' He said, 'Be quiet, we are getting a cow and you can follow it wearing your boots!'"
• (Teaching me words in Miskito) "That means the food is very delicious. You keep giving me cold things from that refrigerator without warning me, but I will still say delicious."

Please pray for Ederson. He is a special person facing some big challenges with incredible grace.