Weary

I am empty, thirsty, weary,
Coming back to you with empty hands.
You are waiting for me, you fill me, gently
Bring me back to you, once again.
~ "First Love"


I look back at blog posts about our adoption from a year ago and I think, "Wow. And I thought I was tired of waiting then."

I'll probably look back at this blog post in a month or two and think the same thing.

Every step of the way, the waiting gets harder. I get more and more frustrated. I feel like I'm in a pitch black room. I can't see where I'm going. I'm scared. I'm tired. I want to find light, but I can't. I'm fumbling around with my arms in front of me, trying to find something to hold on to. It's like I know that God's hand is there, but I can't feel it. I can't find it. And it scares me.

Another blogger recently did I post on our family and three others adopting from our same region. About how long we've been waiting. About how we need prayer. She said, "They are scared and weary of broken promises."

That is so true. I am so scared. I'm terrified that I can't see in front of me. I am so tired. Exhausted. Our agency has been "cautiously optimistic" about a court date for six months. Those words have literally no weight with me now because we've heard them so much. Every single week they tell us they think we'll get a court date and every single week our hopes are crushed. I don't know why I bother getting my hopes back up again every week. It hurts just as much or more every time.

I am so incredibly tired of this waiting. It scares me that I have no power. It scares me that my sister is living in an orphanage. It scares me that I have nightmares of her dying. If this is the Devil attacking, then so be it. But, I need my God. If I'm going to be attacked weekly, and even while I'm sleeping, I need Him.

I try to be so strong about it. I try to keep a good attitude. I try and tell people that God has everything under control. That God has a reason for everything. I tell them not to get discouraged, when I struggle telling myself the same exact thing.

When I do tell people how frustrated and broken and tired I am, I struggle to keep from crying.

I am asking for some immense prayer. I am asking for warrior prayer. Across the world, a little girl with Down syndrome is sitting in an orphanage waiting for a family. Pray her home.

When Everyone Else Is Gone

I left Nashville for Peru with so many drugs I'm surprised it wasn't illegal. I had every kind of medicine I could get - just in case I got sick in Peru, a possibility that scared me more than I cared to admit.

After our first day in Peru, I was still feeling good. But, I woke up the next morning and noticed - I couldn't breathe through my nose!

All my senses snapped into place, and I frantically searched through my explosion of a suitcase for my medicine bag. I found a Mucinex and two vitamins, and took them in one gulp. I was not going to get sick in the middle of South America, not if I could help it.

But, as usual, God had other plans.

I woke up on the next Saturday morning, my stomach churning, feeling like I might throw up. I was absolutely terrified - there was no way I could be sick. Absolutely no way. Other people got sick, but not me. I couldn't be sick.

I went through the morning doing our normal activities, but when we got back to the church later, I couldn't even eat lunch. I just collapsed on my mattress.

I knew I was going to throw up. I had that feeling. That feeling you get in your gut and you just know you're gonna puke.

Now, a little background info on me: I absolutely hate throwing up. I would rather have a hacking cough for months than throw up once. I hate it.

So, I'm in the middle of South America, in a strange country, with no Mama and Daddy to take care of me. There was no one. I sat in the bathroom for an hour and half, hyperventilating and tearing up because I knew I was gonna throw up. And I was absolutely terrified.

But, you know what? When no one else was there, when I felt completely alone, like I had no one to help me, I was on my own, God was there.

I threw up, sure. I felt like crap for the last two days in Peru, and even when I got home. But, no matter how crappy or how alone I felt, God was there.

God taught me that missions is a battle field. Satan will do whatever it takes to get you out, to take down God's warriors. He'll take out the people you love the most. He'll isolate you so that you feel alone. He knows your worst fears and will do anything he can to bring them to reality.

I was a part of a spiritual battle in Peru, and I was injured. Satan brought me down with some kind of gross stomach bug. But, even then, I could feel God as my leader, my general, sitting next to me, screaming not to quit, that I had to pull through, that my fellow soldiers needed me. And, with His help, I did.

But, Peru was only a battle. The war is going on every moment of every day. Every unkind word you say to your mom or your little brother, every selfish thought, every time you lash out in anger, that's Satan's spies trying to infiltrate our camp.

Every time a family member dies, or your house burns down, or you have to go to the hospital, that's Satan trying to take down God's mighty warriors by taking down the things we care about.

But, through all that, God is right next to us with a giant sword, cheering us on, screaming at us not to quit. When everything else is gone - your house, your family, your friends - God is still there.

God fought to the death for us. Let's see if we can do the same for Him.