Life After the Blue Box

This week marks four months of having Ellie home with us.  Four months since we stepped on that plane in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, with a little wide-eyed bundle, who was, I’m sure, wondering what on earth was happening.  I think back to that day, and it’s hard for me to wrap my brain around the fact that I was holding the same child that I rocked to sleep tonight.  I didn’t know her at all, and I don’t think I really even understood that.  This was a child with a personality, with likes and dislikes, with a history.  I knew none of those things.  Now that she’s home and some of the initial emotional adrenaline has worn off, I’ve had some time to think about how much she’s changed since she’s come home.  It was inevitable that she would change, because EVERYTHING in her world changed. 

Before we were reunited with Ellie Claire, and before we loaded her up in the van and took her from the transition home, her world was a blue box.  Yes, her “crib” was a glorified wooden box painted bright blue.  There were no slats to look through, and other than an occasional bath, almost all of her time, every single day was spent in this blue box.  She shared her room with 6-8 other babies and a nanny.  When she was hungry, a bottle was propped on her belly, and she stared at the ceiling.  There was a window on one wall, but the curtains blocked out a good deal of the light.  The light bulb in the ceiling dimly lit the room at night before it was “bedtime.”  But is “bedtime” a fair phrase when you really haven’t left your bed all day? 

I remember the first few times we had Ellie outside she was kind of awestruck, looking around with an expression that said, “Ummmmm, what???”  While we were at the guesthouse, she fussed when we would lay her down in the crib, if even for a moment.  At the time, I enjoyed thinking she really liked us and just wanted our company.  Maybe that was true, but looking back, I can also see that perhaps she was just afraid of her world becoming another box.  She liked what she was seeing and experiencing- and I am so grateful.  I know to some children, their new world is a scary, sensory-overloading place, but it at least seemed, to our Ellie, to be exciting and interesting.  We took her from a blue box to a guesthouse, to an array of stinky airplanes and airports, and then to our home, in a matter of a week.  She adjusted relatively well, but it was not all a bowl of cherries- she still struggles with her share of sensory issues- but she quickly loved toys, her baths, and Mickey Mouse (an important trait for any Baker).

When we took her from the blue box, we didn’t just open her world, we blew it up.  You know that “shh-shh-shh” sound you make to a baby when she cries?- The one that’s supposed to calm her?  Um, yeah, before I held her at nine months old, she had never heard that sound.  “Shh-shh-shh” is not a familiar, comforting sound to a child who’s listened to a “Ts-ts-ts” sound her entire life.  The familiar sounds of children laughing, singing, playing, and shouting in Amharic, the sounds of huge, rickety trucks on a poorly paved highway, the sounds of random donkeys walking down the street- were all replaced with the sounds of our relatively quiet home in rural Kentucky.  One day, I had a really hard time getting her to sleep.  I laid her in the floor of the den with a couple toys and went to the kitchen to clean up lunch and load the dishwasher.  I was clanking away, singing, and busy getting the chore done, when I peeked over the sink into the den, where Ellie lay, fast asleep in the middle of the floor.  The noise I was making had finally lulled her to sleep.

The smells of Ethiopian spices, coffee roasting, air pollution, and a room full of babies (just use your imagination), were replaced with the scents of her daddy’s grill, various cleaning products, and my favorite apple room spray.  The beautiful dark skin that she saw each day was replaced with my own pale, peachy skin.  There was nothing familiar to her.  Even her inner clock was completely flipped, as she figured out the eight hour time difference.  I’ll never forget Billy looking at her on one of her first nights home and saying, “Go. To. Sleep.”  She just grinned and laughed.  Nothing familiar- not even the time of day.  So many people, with kind intentions, told me “Babies adjust so quickly.”  They said, “She’ll do great with you all, after all, she’s so young.”

Let me ask you to consider something for just a moment.  Many of you reading are mothers or grandmothers.  Many of you have your babies and toddlers on pretty rigid routines.  The thought of missing a nap-time makes your head spin.  We did more than miss a nap-time.  We turned her schedule upside down and inside out.  Now, imagine leaving a baby all day in her bed.  Imagine never holding her while you feed her.  Imagine letting her lie in a soiled crib while you tend to six other children who also need you.  Imagine having only a toy or two to pass around to those same kids, and having no time to play with that toy with the kids.  Imagine no heater or air conditioner to keep the temperature the same in a baby’s room.  Imagine a baby goes many, many hours a day with no diaper on for the first nine months of life, only to wake up one day to a world where diapers are always worn, with the exception of bath time.- Bath time- imagine a baby lives in a room where seven babies need to be bathed, so an assembly line of sorts is made to get the job done.  Imagine this baby, after she’s bathed, is put back in to that blue box.  She’s not rocked, she’s not sung to sleep.   She doesn’t lie down and look at pretty painted walls with pictures framed above her crib.  Above her crib is simply a yellow sheet with her height and weight, both of which are way too low for her age, and a big ominous blank by “family name.”  A sheet that just serves as a reminder that before this blue box, there was just horrible, painful tragedy in this sweet baby’s life.

If this description is the day of your sweet baby- asleep in the beautiful nursery in your nice, clean, warm house, the baby whose schedule you kept perfectly today, the baby who received the very best of your time and love- if that baby described above is your baby, are you okay with how her day went?  Are you okay with the blue box? 

Please, don’t tell me, “She’s so young- she’ll do great.”  First of all, to say that, is to (although I’m sure unintentionally) take her history and turn it into just “not that big of a deal.”  Again, I ask, if her history was your child’s history, would it be “not that big of a deal?”  Secondly, let me reiterate, we are talking HUGE changes for her.  HUGE.  Changes to EVERYTHING.  Thirdly, there is a reason you have that routine with your baby.  There is a reason you snuggle her close and rock her.  There is a reason you hold her while you feed her a bottle.  A reason for those rattles you place in her hand.  A reason for the songs you sing to her.  A baby learns healthy attachment and security so very early in life.  A baby’s brain develops so rapidly in the first year, it’s hard to keep up with all the ways she grows.  Children in orphanages miss out on all those things.  My sweet Ellie was loved and cared for by saintly women at her transition house- women to whom I am forever indebted- but they were not her mommy.  No matter how kind they were, they did not love her with the love only a mother, whether biological, foster, or adoptive, can give.  They could not protect her from or prepare her for the changes that were coming her way.  They could not get her ready for the world beyond the blue box. 

Here is the thing though, Ellie was quite content in her blue box.  Compared to where she was prior to the blue box, it was actually pretty cozy and warm.  It was secure.  It was safe and familiar.  She had no desire to leave that blue box- until she experienced the world outside. 

Now that she has seen the great big world our Father created, she is a completely different girl.  It has been absolutely amazing to see her personality blossom.  She is giggly and dramatic.  She has more facial expressions than a cartoon character and is always on the go.  I look back at our first pictures of her at home, and I’m a bit saddened- she is so passive and just there… along for the ride, but not really enjoying any of it.  Now, I see a baby soaking up every bit of every minute she’s awake.   Sometimes that means she is passionately letting me know she is unhappy.  Sometimes that means she is laughing hysterically at her big sister.  She is no longer content with a blue box.  She knows there is more.

When I write “more,” I’m not referring to the new foods she’s trying each week.  I’m not speaking of the cute clothes she’s inherited from her sister and cousin.  I’m not talking about the shelves filled with toys in her room.  Those are good things, but they are not what make her a happy, personality-filled baby girl.  Nope, that’s her family that's changed her.  She has a family.  She has a mommy and a daddy and a sister that all adore her.  We kiss her a thousand times a day.  We tickle her and sing to her.  We- okay, one of us- tries to pick her up and scares the mess out of her.  She belongs, and we are beginning to see that she knows that. 

Her once rigid body in my arms now conforms to my shape as I rock her.  She looks in our eyes.  She “kisses” our faces.  She no longer sucks her middle fingers constantly or shakes her head feverishly in an attempt to comfort herself.  She lets us comfort her- in fact, she seeks us for comfort.  She actually laid her head on my chest three times today.  Ahhh.  That was the best ever.  It was as if she was saying, “Yes, I know.  You’re my mommy.”  She was expressing a kind of contentment- not one that came from ignorance that there was more, but one that came from the express opposite- there was more,  she knew it, and she found it.  

I am not naïve enough to believe that all of the “stuff” that comes along with adoption is over.  I know that there may be days in the future when Ellie subconsciously considers that maybe the blue box wasn’t so bad.  But, there have been huge steps to us molding into what the Baker family should look like.  We are finding our new normal and we’ve actually arrived at a place where it’s hard for me to remember what life was like without her.  The baby I brought home four months ago couldn't even sit up, and she is now walking holding on to my hands.  She is experiencing freedom.  She is experiencing life!  I am so thankful that she never has to go back to that blue box.    

Here’s my question for you.  Are you in a blue box?  If you don’t know Jesus as your personal savior, you are in a figurative blue box.  You may feel like you’re doing pretty darn well, but my Jesus came and died and rose again so that you could have abundant, full life- more than pretty darn well.  You’ve already seen through our story that He doesn’t promise easy or happy.  He promises that when life’s not easy, when it’s everything but happy, it has purpose.  Please, don’t be content in life without Jesus- life in a blue box.  There is a huge plan for your life outside that box!  When you ask Him to forgive you of the sin in your life and choose to live for him, your eyes are opened, and it’s like the walls of that box are blown off-  Blown off to reveal peace, joy, hope,  and never-ending love.  Life with Jesus is about the King of Creation walking through each and every day before you and with you.  Life with Jesus is about realizing that everything you chase in this life fades- everything but Him. 

One year ago today, a baby girl named Mihret was made a Baker, legally by the Ethiopian court.  She was ours.  She was Adelaide “Addie” Mihret Baker, but now, she is no longer legally ours.  That dream was taken away.  There are days, like today, when the questions of “why?’ tempt me to doubt my Jesus, and search for my blue box… But then, that different kind of contentment comes- contentment like Ellie laying her head on my chest… contentment that happens when you know that a sovereign God orders your days and gives reason and purpose to everything in your life- even the big huge question marks.  That is a contentment I would not trade for anything.  That’s not a blue box contentment- that’s a family contentment.  After all, I am His child.  He is my Father- the source of every ounce of peace and contentment possible.  I am content because I know the Source of true contentment.  I hope with all that I am that you know him too.

"...I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of." 

 John 10:10, The Message

One Year Past "Good-bye"

I hate mice.  I. HATE. MICE.  I spent my evening cleaning out and loading up my pantry into Rubbermaid bins for the second time in three months.  “Why?”, you might ask- Mice.  Yuck yuck yuck. 

I had this moment tonight where I felt like screaming as I swept up more mouse poo,- “Why in the world do we need mice?! There can be no purpose for mice!”

Upon googling “what are mice good for?” I found one response that indicated that mice play an important role in both the food chain and in controlling the growth of natural grains.  Hmm.  Not totally satisfied, because I could do without the snakes that eat them, too.

Sometimes there is crap in life that feels a bit like mice.  What in the great big world could be the purpose of said “crap?”  (Sorry if you’re not a fan of that word, but it’s honesty a tad nicer than what I’m thinking.)  I serve a God that promises to have a plan for my life.  He promises to use all things for my good, even the crap,- to give purpose where there is seemingly none.  It is this promise that I cling to this week,  and no, not because I am ready to go on a mouse-killing expedition (sorry PETA friends…), but because of some outright C.R.A.P. that has made its way into our lives this year.

One year ago today, I said good-bye to a tiny, beautiful, smiley baby girl named Mihret- you know her as our Addie.   On this day, I sat in a dirty court waiting area with a seventeen year-old girl and her three year-old daughter, with hopes that Addie would be made a Baker.  I held this teenage girl as she cried.  I told her that she had given me the greatest gift imaginable and that I would love her child with all that I had.  I assured her that I would pray for her daily.  My words weren’t much, but it was all I had to offer this hurting young girl that day. 

We left that courtroom with the wonderful, bitter sweet news that Addie would most likely be made ours.  The judge had ruled the father didn't have to be found, and her mother wanted us to adopt her.  All we were waiting on was a letter from MOWA (Ministry of Women’s and Children’s Affairs.)  We went back to the transition home and ran to get our girl.  I must have kissed her little face a thousand times.  I remember the next few hours so vividly that I have a hard time believing a whole year has passed.   We introduced Addie to my dad via Facetime, and all he did was cry and laugh.  He had no idea what we had said when he got off the phone with us.   We took Addie up to our room to pack up the last few things, and we took photos of her with a picture Payton had drawn of our family.   As we walked her back to her itty-bitty, dark room, I assured her a million times that I loved her dearly, and I promised her I would be back for her. 

It takes all I have to keep writing after that last sentence.  I told her I would be back.  November 7^th, 2012, she became legally ours.  She got her passport and birth certificate that said William and Jodi Baker as mother and father.  She was ours.  We were two days from submitting our case to the US Embassy.  I was going to go back to get her.

And then it happened.   Crap.  Crap happened.

Most of you don’t know exactly what happened, and that’s okay.  You know the bottom line.  On December 31^st, 2012, the Ethiopian court decided to renounce the adoption and hand Addie over to her birth father (who by the way, we have been told, is most likely not raising her…)  And just like that, I was not going back to get her.  My promise was broken, and my heart was shattered. 

Please, please, don’t write to me and tell me that we should rejoice when an orphan is reunited with her family.  Please don’t tell me that it all worked out the way it should.  First of all, I would like to say that I’m with you- it is a wonderful thing when a child is reunited with her family- some, if not most of the time.  But, I’ve said it before, I’ll say it now- we live in a world completely messed up and broken by sin, and it is NOT always best for a child to be with his or her biological family.  Please, don’t make a judgment about our situation- there are only a handful of people who know our whole story regarding Addie, and we have our reasons for that. 

No matter where you stand on what happened to us, believers are called to rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those that weep.   When Lazarus died, the scriptures tell us that “Jesus wept.”  For a long time, I thought that meant that Jesus was really sad that his friend died.  Upon further study of the passage, I came to realize that although we do not have an inside track on what he was thinking, it wouldn’t make much sense for Jesus to be crying that Lazarus had died.  Jesus knew better than anyone where Lazarus was going now that he had died, and quite frankly, Jesus knew that Lazarus wasn’t going to stay dead.  So, if that’s the case, why did he cry?  My study Bible suggests that it was for one of two (or both) reasons- First, it could have been because he was grieved at the effects of sin.  He saw what sin caused- in this case the ultimate consequence- death.  Secondly, it could have been because he was grieved over the sadness of his friends.  Jesus hurt when he saw his friends hurt.  

For those that have cried with us, prayed with us, lost sleep with us, and felt the pain with us, “Thank you.”  We have discovered that despite your care, however, grief can be lonely.  It can be overwhelming.  It can be depressing and isolating.   

This Sunday, the grief hit me hard.  That was the day that marked one year since we met Addie.  That was the day I was screaming, “What in the world is the purpose of all this CRAP?!”  I could see my Ellie, and of course that provided some comfort, but if I’m perfectly honest with you, I prayed everyday for a very long time that God would give us both girls.  I begged Him to do things my way- it made sense to me that Ellie was supposed to be ours and Addie was supposed to be ours, but in order for us to have both girls we had to lose Addie first.  Then, God was supposed to gloriously sweep in and miraculously bless us with two sweet baby girls.  In case you’ve missed it in reading, that didn’t happen.  Sunday I was angry.  I was defeated.

We headed to church that morning, and the tears were already flowing.  We went to Southeast Christian, and Natalie Grant was leading worship that day.  The second song she sang was “Your Great Name.”  Back in September of 2012, I posted the lyrics to that song, and a video of it on this blog- the blog where I announced we would be going to court for Addie on October 20.  Despite my girl being thousands of miles away, in an orphanage, I found immense comfort in the fact that “the fatherless, they find their rest, at the sound of Your great name…”  Hearing those same exact words sung one year later, in the midst of my grief, was like a knife at first.  Then, by His grace, I recognized that the truth of those lyrics had not changed, and they became like healing balm.  Addie can still find her rest in the Father.  By this point I was on the verge of hysterical- sorry to my brother-in-law, Josh, who had the joy of sitting next to my blubbering self. 

The Holy Spirit wasn't done speaking, though.  The next song was a new one called, “In the End.”  Here are the lyrics:

Can’t catch a break, you’ve had your fill of old clichés,

Like ‘life is hard but God is good,’

And even though it’s true,

It won’t stop what you’re going through,

I wish that I could say it would-

BUT HE’S OUTSIDE OF WHAT YOU FEEL.

It might not make sense,

BUT ONE DAY IT WILL.

There’s coming a day, the sun will always shine.

He’s gonna wipe away every tear from your eye.

So hold on, my brother,

Things are gonna get better,

You’re gonna smile again.

‘Cause we win in the end.

You’re standing still,

Life has handed you a bitter pill,

 And once again you’re on your face.

You’ve got questions, 

plenty of secret confessions,

Wondering if you’ve run out of grace…

But He’s outside of what you feel.

This life is just a moment,

BUT OUR FOVEVER IS SEALED.

There’s coming a day, the sun will always shine.

He’s gonna wipe away every tear from your eye.

So hold on, my brother,

Things are gonna get better,

You’re gonna smile again.

‘Cause we win in the end.

It won’t be about the streets of gold or pearly gates,

Harps and wings or diamond lakes,

All I know is that He’s gonna hold you, hold me,

Heartache will disappear,

These questions will become clear,

LIFE WILL ALL MAKE SENSE,

IN THE END.

There’s coming a day, the sun will always shine.

He’s gonna wipe away every tear from your eye.

So hold on, my brother,

Things are gonna get better,

You’re gonna smile again.

‘Cause we win in the end.

Thank you, Jesus, “we win in the end.”  We win because He wins.  There is nothing about our journey with Addie that makes sense, but one day it will. 

Later that day, we went to the pumpkin patch with a big group of friends from our former church.  I sat at a table with Ellie Claire, Payton, and my niece and nephew, while my sister, Angie, and Billy waited in a line to get us a snack.  Angie looked over and wore a funny expression.  “We sat right at that table  when you Facetimed us from Ethiopia last year.”  Again, the pain washed over me.  I kissed my Ellie, and wept just a tad before remembering, “We win in the end.” 

There is CRAP in this world.  We can’t say that everything works out the way it should, because it doesn’t.  If it did, Eve wouldn’t have eaten that blasted apple, and we would walk hand-in-hand, face-to-face (quite literally) with the Father.  If things worked out the way they were supposed to, there would be no hungry kids, no shootings at high schools, no war, no hate, no orphans.  Things are MESSED up all the time, but our God shows His great grace and mercy and care for us in how He daily redeems all that CRAP.  Full redemption won’t happen until we are back face-to-face with Him, and we wait eagerly for that day.

In the meantime, I’m beyond thankful for the way He speaks to us.  He used music, like He often does, to speak to me on Sunday.  On Monday, He used the devotional book, Jesus Calling.  That day’s text said, “Be prepared to let go of anything I take from you, but never let go of my hand.”  Okay, Jesus, I’m holding on for dear life.

Then, Payton and I opened up the Jesus Calling Storybook Bible, which we’ve been reading through, and turned to the next story- Job.  (If you don't know the story, God allowed Job to lose EVERYTHING precious to him.) This was the same story Payton had turned to the day we lost Addie. 

I didn’t write much on the blog the day we lost her, but I did write this-

"The Lord gave, and The Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of The Lord."  Job 1:21

We're still blessing His name.  We will bless His name until He comes back for us, and then we’ll keep blessing His name for eternity. 

I don’t know what kind of CRAP all of you are experiencing, but I know the God who redeems it.  I know the God who redeems messed up, crappy people like myself.  There are “mice” in all our lives, but if you know the Creator, Savior, God Eternal, your “mice” will have purpose.  If not, drop me a message- I’d love to introduce you to the One who “wins in the end.”

For those of you who know the Redeemer, I have a challenge for you- There is an awesome ministry, based here in Louisville, called Eyes that See.   Go check out the following link, and I am asking those who are able to make a donation in honor of Addie.  This is one of many ministries in Ethiopia that seeks to help hurting women, and it makes it possible for these women to provide for their children and themselves.  May Addie's and her sweet Mama's lives compel us to do something.  Thanks, friends.

www.eyesthatsee.org

………………………………………………………………………

Here’s a link to Natalie Grant’s new album, with a sampling of “In the End.”  http://nataliegrant.com/music/

It’s a GREAT song, and I highly recommend heading to iTunes now and purchasing it.  And, no, she did not pay me to say that. :) 

FINALLY.

Hey Friends!

So, it’s been a bit (like since June) since my last blog, but we’ve been a tad busy J.  Last I wrote to you, I was asking you to pray that our finder interview would go well at the US Embassy in Addis.  The following morning, at VBS, I was watching the clock, checking my phone every few minutes.  Nine thirty rolled around, and I resigned myself to the fact that we wouldn’t be hearing our coveted news that morning.  Then my phone rang.

We cleared Embassy!!!! Thank you, Jesus.  Within a few hours, our plane tickets were booked, and we were all set to head out on June 27.  After years and months of waiting, and hope after hope being crushed, something had finally gone the way we had wanted.  Honestly, I was stunned.  I think I had begun to believe that “His ways are not our ways…” meant that we never are blessed with that for which we have asked.  This huge “Yes!” to our prayers floored me.  I was going to get my girl.

We packed as quickly as possible and prayed we had everything that we could possibly need.  Let me just tell you, this was a ridiculously difficult task.  Packing for a week in Ethiopia for yourself, your husband, and a baby you really don’t know, and preparing for a 17 hour flight home with said child is just plain overwhelming.  Amazingly, we got it all done and only managed to forget a few essentials- which, by the way, somehow were less essential when we finally had our baby in our arms.

A huge blessing on this trip was that we were able to travel there and back with some wonderful friends we met on our second trip.  We arrived in Addis with our friends, the Smiths, and headed to the guesthouse where we would be staying.  Although we were filthy dirty after flying for what seemed like days and days (actually 2 days), we loaded up the bus and began the trek across the city to the transition home where our girls lived.  Who has time for a shower when you haven’t seen your baby for months?!  (I was thankful for the dry shampoo my sister had given me before we left- even if it did explode ALL over the bathroomJ).

As we pulled up to the transition home, my heart began pounding in my chest.  Could this really be happening?!  Was I here to bring my child home?!  We went inside and waited eagerly for the nannies to bring us Ellie. 

And then, after what seemed like an eternity apart, we were together.  She was ours, and we were hers.  Forever. 

She was a little overwhelmed and shed a few tears when we were first reunited, but it didn’t take her too long to warm back up to us.  We greeted several kiddos who remembered us by name from the previous trip, and said a few tearful good-byes to the precious women who had cared for our children.  These ladies give their lives to care for the fatherless, and they watch as countless children leave them to go to the United States with their new families.  They are so happy for the children, but the pain in their eyes reveals their heartache as they must say good-bye.  I am forever grateful to these women for the love and care they selflessly gave both Ellie and Addie.  “Thank you” is nowhere close to being an adequate expression of my gratitude. 

After good-byes, we headed back to the guesthouse to begin our new life together.   As we drove back across the town, Ellie slept in my arms- no, car seats are not considered essential or even slightly necessary in Ethiopia- and I just stared at her in wonder.  How was this finally happening?

We spent the next several days at the guesthouse, without power, and tried to pass the time as best we could.  We were told that we could not leave the guesthouse with Ellie, so we stayed there most of the trip.  One afternoon we went to the market and to the Sheraton to eat dinner, and left Ellie at the guesthouse with a nanny.  Another day, we went to Woudneh’s new home for lunch.  What a privilege to be welcomed into his home and to listen to the incredible stories of his amazing life!  West Sands and Lifeline are so blessed to be able to trust that their children are in this man’s hands.

The one time we were able to take Ellie Claire out with us was when we went to the Embassy.  I wish I had some grand story of our experience there, but it was so uneventful and un-ceremonial and quick that I barely remember it.  We walked up to a window, answered a handful of questions, and were on our way.

We waited a day or two for Ellie’s visa, and then the long awaited day came.  It was time to go home.  We piled our bags into the van and prepared to leave.  Then, it happened- my most stellar mommy moment ever- All the bags were loaded, and I headed out to the van, thinking, “Shoo, can’t believe we’re finally leaving.  Hmm… seems like I’m forgetting something." ….....“Billy!  Where’s Ellie?!”  I ran back inside to find my girl lying on a mat on the floor, looking around like, “Ummmm Helloooo?” The folks inside just laughed as I scooped her up and ran out again, assuring her that of course, I didn’t forget her. J

The trip to the airport was one of the most bittersweet moments of my life.  I stared out the windows trying to etch pictures of Ethiopia into my memory.  I was overwhelmed with joy that I was finally bringing my daughter home, but saddened to be taking her from this country that I had grown to love.   I was also overcome with grief as I sobbed to Billy, “She’s somewhere out there, …and I’m just leaving her.” 

Addie.

She’s there.  I’m not. 

One year ago today, Billy and I boarded a plane to Ethiopia for the first time.  As I consider all that has happened since, I am somewhat paralyzed by the various emotions that flood my heart.  I do not understand every reason why Addie was a part of our journey, but I am thankful that she was.  I am thankful that even if it was only for two short months, I was legally her mother.  I ache when I consider what we know of her current situation, and then ache even more when I realize how little we know or will ever know about where she is. 

I allowed myself just a moment to grieve that day- just a moment, because this day was supposed to be about joy.  This day was about getting on a plane and going home so that two of my girls could be together- so that our family could be together.

We got on board the plane and settled in for what was to be a loooooong flight.  The Smith’s and I sat in one row with the girls in bassinets, and Billy sat behind us.  Between the four of us, we managed to keep the babies happy for most of the trip.  As we finally touched down on US soil, I felt my whole body release a deep sigh of relief.  She was home.  We were home.

We went through customs and immigration, and on July 4^th, 2013, our country’s birthday, Elloree Claire Yetnayet Baker became a citizen of the United States of America.   Glory, glory, hallelujah!

We waited for a flight from DC to Charlotte, and then flew from Charlotte to Louisville.  Ellie did great, but was not too thrilled with us for putting her on two more planes.  As soon as we got on the flight from DC to Charlotte, she threw up EVERYWHERE.  That was super fun.  Super fun.  We were exhausted, filthy and now covered in baby puke.  Super. Fun.

When we arrived in Louisville, I cried like a baby before we even got off the plane- mostly because I was so thankful that my family was finally about to be together, but there were a few tears that definitely fell out of pure exhaustion and relief that the world’s longest trip was finally over. 

We changed out of our baby puke clothes and began the walk through the airport.  The anticipation was enough to kill me.  As we neared security, we could hear our friends and family and see a few faces straining to see if we were coming.  And then…

THAT WAS A GOOOOOOD DAY!  Holding my girls in my arms at the same time for the first time was a moment I will never ever ever forget.  I remember my exact thought as Payton jumped into my embrace- "Thank you, Jesus.  Thank you, Jesus."  He is just so good.  So very good.  And I am so ridiculously underserving.

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This morning, in the car, I told Payton I needed to listen to some music about Jesus, because I was feeling a bit sad.  She asked “why?” and I explained heavy-heartedly that I was thinking about Addie.  Payton sighed and said, “I miss her, Mommy.  I wish we could have two babies.”  Me too, baby.  Me too. 

His ways are not our ways. I know this.  If they were, we wouldn’t have waited a year for our first referral.  We wouldn’t have lost our Addie.  And then I would never have known this face- this face that I absolutely adore…

I wouldn’t know that wrinkled nose.  I wouldn’t know that funny lambie laugh.  I wouldn’t know her slobbery kisses.  I wouldn’t know those arms that now reach for me to hold her.  I wouldn’t know that hysterical army crawl.  I wouldn’t know that beautiful smile every time I sing “Jesus Loves Me.”  I wouldn’t know her AWESOME dance moves. 

Let me be clear, Ellie did not replace Addie.  Children are not replaceable.  She did however, bring immense joy in our sorrow, and she continues to do so each and every day.  To say we are thankful to have her home is the world’s biggest understatement. 

I’ll update you on life with Ellie Claire and post more pics of our trip and time at home soon.  Thanks so very much to those who have prayed for us and encouraged us in this journey, and a huge “thank you” to the over one hundred people who were at the airport to welcome Ellie home.  I know that one day she will be overwhelmed that that many people were excited to finally meet her.  Please don’t stop the prayers simply because she’ s home.  The adoption is complete in the sense that she is legally ours and finally in our house, but the healing of her little heart has only just begun, and the adventures that come along with adoption are only in the early stages.

 I hope this blog finds you all well!

Blessings!