A Christmas Defiance

A few weeks ago Billy and I took the plunge.  We went to Toys ‘R’ Us to look for a few presents.  Y’all, I HATE that store- and for more than the fact that we were there for about an hour and left with one tiny stocking stuffer.

Three years ago (and a couple of days), I stood in the front corner of that dreadful store amidst all the video games, with my back turned to the other customers, while I tried to hide messy, messy tears.   I remember it like it was yesterday, and even remarked to Billy when we were there, that visiting this particular spot in the store was like reliving a nightmare.

It was on that day, in that store, that Billy called me with news that Addie’s case was re-seen before a judge in Ethiopia.  It was that day that our world began to fall apart at the seams.  There was no decision that day, just uncertainty and fear of what the future held (or didn’t hold).   I met Billy at home, and Mom went to go pick up Payton from preschool.  We sat in the kitchen typing a letter that still haunts me- a letter explaining to the judge that “Mihret” (Addie) needed to be with our family and why.  Dates were set.  The judge would re-hear the case, but we were assured that our adoption was final- Addie was already a Baker. 

The days ahead were the longest days of my life.  I glued my phone to my side, waiting breathlessly to hear any word from Ethiopia.  The date of the hearing came and went.  No news.  Then we found out that our case wasn’t heard.  It was "rescheduled."  That happened a couple times, and we were beside ourselves with frustration and desperation.  I remember thinking that I couldn’t let something that hadn’t happened yet ruin Christmas, so I put on mostly fake smiles and made it through the day with a pile of unopened presents addressed to Addie under the tree.  We waited several more days, through a few more delays, and then received the news we dreaded on New Year’s Eve. 

Addie would not be coming home.

That sentence.  It still pains me to write it.  Do you have a memory that is so vividly painful and horrific, that years later, it still nearly takes your breath away?  That’s December 31^st, 2012 for me.  We had lived in such uncertainty for two weeks, and I hated the unknown, but now that we had a conclusion, I would have given anything to go back to the uncertainty- when she was still mine.

Every now and then, the memories of the pain hit me, and I relive the agony of losing her.  Then my imagination goes wild, and I picture getting a call from our beloved friends at our agency with news that they’ve found our girl- that I’ll get to see her beautiful face again.  The reality that that is totally, completely unlikely to ever happen stings worse than you can imagine.    The selfish part of me wants my girl home with me, with her daddy and her sisters and brother.  Then I remember that if she ever came home, that would mean she has experienced more anguish, more trauma, and greater loss than I ever have. 

I just want to see her face- to know she’s okay. 

...................................................................................................

I have the privilege of singing with the worship band at church this weekend, and leading people I love in worshipping our Lord- more specifically, given the season, remembering and celebrating the coming of the Messiah- God with Us.  We were rehearsing this afternoon, and I just felt like the enemy was attacking me- throwing what I know are lies at me, and then drowning me in memories of our girl.  I was angry with the enemy and really just wanted him to get lost- but honestly, I was a little miffed at the Lord, too, if I’m going to be 100% real.  The tears came, and I couldn’t hold them back despite my best efforts.  I wanted to just go sit down and call it a day.   I remember standing before the congregation at our previous church, helping lead worship the weekend after we lost Addie- standing and singing, hands raised, “Here I am to say that ‘You’re my God.'”  I remember feeling like I was lifting my hands in an act of defiance to the enemy- telling him that he didn’t win- that I belonged to Jesus- that my heart was crushed, I was hanging on by a thread, but My God held that thread, and that there was NOTHING that could separate me from Him and His goodness, faithfulness, and love. 

Y’all.  I wasn’t so much feeling the defiance today.  I was feeling defeated and exhausted.  I hate that these memories come flooding in at Christmas, and I know that some of you are right there with me- you’re in a place where it seems the enemy is having his stupid way, and you are so very tired of the battle.

Let me encourage you with this… Here’s the thing I KNOW- don’t always feel, but KNOW- which is far better, more valuable, and more trustworthy than feelings… 

King Jesus, himself, didn’t even have a bed, and then spent many of his early years basically running for his life- (I wonder if some thought the enemy was winning then…)  Then he was questioned, hated, betrayed, mistreated, and physically destroyed. Doesn’t sound like much of a “winner.”  But y’all, that baby in the manger wins.  He wins.  He was crucified, dead, and buried, and in the ultimate act of defiance and the biggest victory ever, he was raised to life.

Tonight, I forced myself to put those hands up again, and sing “Joy to the world, the Lord is come,” “Glory in the highest,” and “You’re a good, good Father,” and in that moment of willful defiance against the enemy I remembered that the baby in the manger whom I was praising died so that I could have victory- I could have peace- I could have hope and joy and love.   He’s a “good, good Father,” and “I’m loved by (him.) It’s who I am, It’s who I am, It’s who I am…”  

Listen to the words of carols you've sung countless times- "Long lay the world in sin and error pining, 'Til He appeared and the soul felt its worth.  A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, For yonder breaks, a new and glorious morn!"  His arrival shows my worth.  His arrival gives a thrill of hope, even amidst tears and heartache.  His arrival brings new morning...  I can praise and claim the victory because that baby boy became a man- a sinless man- who died for sinful me.  I pray that you know that baby like I do.  I pray that together we can raise our hands and say, “Not tonight, Satan. Not this Christmas.  Not ever.  We belong to Christ.”  We will of course still feel the pain, we will still fight the tears, and we will still ask questions, but we will do so with the knowledge that He is Emmanuel.  He is God with us, and God for us, and He is love personified.  And there is nothing better than Him. 

"Defiance" is defined as "bold resistance to any opposing force," or "willingness to contend or fight."  Tomorrow morning at church, I'm going to stand up and by the power of the indwelling Holy Spirit, defiantly lift these hands and sing out with all my heart once again.  Join me in remembering that the Christ child reigns in victory over us, and His love is better than life and all it has to offer- or take.  Lift up your defiant hands in praise and "Come let us adore Him, Christ the Lord."  

"Because your steadfast love is better than life, my lips will praise you.  So I will bless you as long as I live; in your name I will lift up my hands." Psalm 63:3-4