Amy Medina

Camp was amazing, as it always is.  Every year as we are getting ready, we say we won’t ever do it again, and then afterwards we admit that it’s worth all the stress and fuss and hassle.  Kids opening up in conversation who never do at school.  Kids singing worship songs who usually sit with their arms crossed at school.  So much laughter.  So many forever memories bonding us together with our students.  The Facebook posts the day they get home: “Camp was the best week of my life!”  And of course, the addtional ministry to the team of teenagers from the States who come to put on the camp.  Seeing their eyes opened; their lives changed.  And we know we’ll do it again.

My days were spent taking care of the First Aid campers.  Making arrangments with the kitchen staff.  Making sure the rooms got cleaned.  Spending time on the beach talking with students.  Watching for Grace and Josiah’s little heads, making sure they didn’t get lost in the shuffle.  They never did, of course, since they were being loved on by 50 teenagers.

But my nights.  I would put my kids to bed and wait for them to fall asleep.  And then I was Jacob, wrestling with God.

The police report just needed a cover letter and an envelope with a stamp.  A week after the social worker got it, she told us she mailed it.  Ten days after that, we found out that it had yet to be mailed. 

Two more weeks, wasted.

And so I wrestled in the darkness of that little cabin at the beach.  Dark moments of doubt.  And worry.

Worry….because every day that passes, our little girl inches closer to the age of 3, which is the “magic” age psychologists say by which time a child must make a permanent attachment or risk attachment disorder.

Worry…because every week that passes, our chances diminish of the adoption being finalized in time for us to visit home next summer.

Worry…because every month that passes is a greater assurance that our home assignment plans will be screwed up two years from now.  Lily will not receive American citizenship until she has lived with us for exactly two years…not a day less.  Thus every day that passes is another day we will have to push back our home assignment. 

And I hear her scream.

This is not a good plan!  I told my God.  I don’t like your timing!  We were not supposed to wait this long; we already went through this with Grace, why are you making us go through this again?  Don’t you see my carefully laid out plans?  Don’t you understand that my plan is the best one?

Lean not on your own understanding.

Lean not on your own understanding.

You would be very ashamed if you knew what the experiences you call setbacks, upheavals, pointless disturbances, and tedious annoyances really are.  You would realize that your complaints about them are nothing more nor less than blasphemies–though that never occurs to you.  Nothing happens to you except by the will of God, and yet [God’s] beloved children curse it because they do not know it for what it is.  (Jean-Pierre de Caussade, quoted by Ann Voskamp)

God showed up in both Grace and Josiah’s adoptions.  I’m waiting with expectation for how He will show up in Lily’s. 

Cheer up if your world is crashing at the moment and you are abiding in Christ’s will.  Tomorrow or next year will look completely different.  We see but middles. … The eyes of faith are more reliable than the eyes of sight.  (Andree Seu)

In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make your paths straight. 

The text message came about 11:00 this morning:  The social worker has received your police report!

Finally, finally, after all these weeks!  Blessed, blessed news!

There is still one more step.  The police report gets sent down to Dar, and then we wait to receive one final letter from social welfare telling us we can bring her home.  With Grace and Josiah, that only took a week or two.  We have friends who waited eight.  You just never know. 

BUT the exciting part today is that now we can introduce her to you.  The police report was the key, because that’s the letter that releases her for adoption.  Up until that report, it’s just speculation.  

Anyway, what am I wasting time for?  You want to meet her! 

So here she is:

Her name is Lilly Zawadi Clement.  Her mother, Zawadi Clement, died two hours after she was born, and no one ever came to claim the baby or the body.  She was a premie and stayed in the hospital a number of weeks.  Now she is almost 2 1/2 years old.

We are going to keep her name but spell it Lily.  This was an endless debate between Gil and me, because I really like the significance of giving any adopted child a new name when she enters a family.  But she does already know her name, and Gil and I both really like the name Lily, so Gil won out in the end.  She will one day be Lily Zawadi Medina.

And there was great joy in the Medina household!