When Normal Feels Broken - the long process of grief

We are nearly two months removed from the phone call we received indicating the end of our adoption process of Hamdali and Masad. During that time, we have experienced a rollercoaster of emotion. The grieving process requires time, and it often involves intense and sudden vacillation of sentiments. We are grateful for God’s peace in the process. Yet, a void remains. Becky summed it up this week as we were talking about the start of school and everything carrying on as usual. Right now, “normal” feels broken. Our "normal" is good and beautiful, but right now it feels broken.

The Gift of Community: For the last 30 years, we have attended a Christian Family Camp called Northern Pines. This year, we thought we might miss because we would be in Ethiopia finalizing the adoption, or perhaps back at home in the “cocooning” stage with our boys. However, in spite of the ache within our souls, we were so grateful for the gift of community in the midst of grief. I cannot count how many people approached us and let us know they cared for us and felt our loss. They did not try to offer advice or make it all better. They simply offered a hug, encouragement, and their prayers. We have experienced that same feeling from other friends and family, but camp happened to be an intense time with many friends – many whom we only see once a year – who offered the great gift of community – life together (to borrow from Bonhoeffer) during our time of lament.

Revisiting the Questions: As the school year begins, we have realized that we are re-engaging a new group of people who have waited, hoped, and rejoiced with us in anticipation of the adoption. Many of them had not yet heard that the adoption had fallen through. At the back-to-school picnic, we experienced many who asked if the boys had arrived or would be coming to school this year. Each time someone asks with great anticipation, “Are the boys home yet?”, we realize they had not yet heard our sad news.

In all honesty, I am grateful that so many ask. I am sad that our story does not have a happy ending right now. But this is the process of grief. We don’t have answers to the questions we ask. We still don’t understand why this has happened. This too, is part of the journey.

Two common questions have emerged, and we will attempt to answer them here:

What will happen to the boys? Can we keep in contact with them?  As we shared previously, the government required all the children from the orphanage to be returned to their families or villages in June. We do know that Hamdali and Masad’s birth mother came to meet them. Beyond that, we don’t know what has happened to them. Through two different sources, we attempted to see if we, or other organizations, could offer support to their family. In both cases, we were informed that the local government has made it clear that no one is to ask questions, seek contact, or try to interfere with the birth families, on threat of arrest. Sadly, in the near term, we cannot find out more. We will keep hoping and listening. We have met some missionaries working in the area, so, hopefully, we will know if the situation changes.

What will you do next? This question is largely related to what we will do next in the adoption process. Will we start over? Will we change countries? Will we stop all together? For now, we have reinstated our application and place on “the list” for adopting from Ethiopia. We have invested the last four years in connecting our heart and our family to the country. We do not feel called to change. However, we also know that adoptions from Ethiopia are becoming even more difficult. Only a couple of states in the country now allow them. The current political unrest is not helping the situation either. But, for now, we are back on the list, waiting and praying.

Prayers:  As a family, we continue to pray regularly for Hamdali and Masad. Their situation is not good. Unless circumstances change dramatically, their mother will continue to struggle to provide for them and help from other family members or the community did not emerge in the past (which is why they were at the orphanage). We pray that, somehow, their needs will be not only be met, but that they will thrive in life. We pray that, somehow, their mother will have the resources to care for them in ways she could not do previously. We pray for each of the other 27 children we met at the children’s home in Assosa. So many stories, so many smiling faces, so many needs.

If you are a praying person, please join us in those prayers. Pray for us as well, as we continue the slow journey of grieving a loss in our family. We had such a different idea of what this fall would look like. Those dreams will not become realities (at least not with Hamdali and Masad). What is normal does indeed feel broken. Yet, we are grateful for God’s peace as we continue this path. Pray too for what comes next.

Thank you for your fellowship in the journey.

Therefore, let those who until now have had the privilege of living a Christian life together with other Christians praise God’s grace from the bottom of their hearts. Let them thank God on their knees and realize: it is grace, nothing but grace, that we are still permitted to live community” – Dietrich Bohnhoeffer, Life Together

Our Hearts are Breaking

Our Hearts are Breaking …

We are grieving. The boys will not be coming to our family.

Ten months ago, we got “the call” that brought two wonderful boys into our lives. The referral brought our adoption process into the final phase, and we prepared our hearts and our home to receive these two brothers. In November, I visited them. In March, we took the rest of the family to meet them. On Easter Sunday, our family of seven was together.

On Monday, we received a different call. The adoption process had ended. The regional government had forced reunification, returning the boys to their birth relative. It is among the most heartbreaking moments of our lives. Like a miscarriage, the pain of loss, the pain of unfulfilled hopes, the shift from joy to sorrow, and the feelings of confusion and questioning dominate our grief.

To summarize a much longer story, the government has determined that it is best for all of these children to remain in their region. While parents have a right to relinquish children, and have made the incredibly difficult choice to do so – even explaining their decision in multiple interviews – the officials have seen it differently. At this time, the regional entity has stopped all adoptions, regardless of where they were in the process, and mandated reunification.

We grieve our loss – and we pray for Hamdali and Masad. We pray that somehow, this birth mother, overwhelmed and under-resourced, can find a way to care for them. We pray that they will be safe, that they will somehow have even the most basic necessities that were previously impossible provided for them. We pray they will know they are still loved and they have not been abandoned, even as political agendas have taken precedence over the care for these particular children.

In our grief we have dozens of questions. What? What will happen to them, what happens if … what happens next … what happens to the children’s home and the caregivers …. what did they tell them … what did the children keep with them as they left … what do we do with this experience? What, what, what?

Who – who will care for them, who will advocate for them, who is watching out for them? Who, who, who?

Why … why have these decisions been made … why is this the position the officials have taken … why these kids .... why us … why now? Why, why, why?

These questions may never have answers.

What should we do next? Do we look into ways to advocate for them and make sure they receive the care they need?  What do we do with this experience? What comes next in our adoptive journey?

But mostly, we are grieving. We are grieving the loss of this version of our family. We are grieving. We are praying. We are praying for a broken system, for two little boys to know love and have their needs met, for a mother who is overwhelmed, for a future that remains uncertain.

We grieve. We pray. We ask for the grace to trust when we cannot see the reasons why nor the next steps to take.

We welcome your prayers in this journey.

The Last Wait (we hope)! (or let's go to Ethiopia anyway...)

The Hardest Part: They say the hardest part is the waiting. I'm not sure who "they" are, nor am I sure exactly for what they were waiting, but waiting is hard. That's not new. From your first cognizant Christmas, or for a visit from Grandma, or the end of 5th-period math, we learn early on that waiting is hard. Even Tom Petty agrees, sometimes the waiting is the hardest part.

For us, the waiting continues. Two months ago, we hoped our timeline would be 2-16 weeks. That timeline seems to have extended. Realistically, we are still 4-6 months from having the boys come home. In the meantime, we wait. That's the hard part.

But we do have good news. We are (theoretically) in the final wait. In January, we were waiting for two final pieces of paperwork from Ethiopia so that we could submit all the papers to US Customs and Immigration (the PAIR) process. That process took a little longer than expected in part because the Ministry of Women, Youth and Children’s Affairs underwent reorganization. For nearly a month, they were without a director or anyone who could sign the approval letters to complete the paperwork. However, things started to move again two weeks ago.

We received the final documents and signatures, and USCIS has received our paperwork. We are now in the final wait (we hope). If all the papers are approved, our next step will be a court date in Ethiopia – hooray! Unfortunately, PAIR approval by USCIS is taking an average of 4 months – (ughhhhh). The wait could be longer if USCIS requires additional documents or seeks to clarify materials in our packet. Such requests for evidence are not uncommon. They usually resolve but add to the timeline. Hopefully, we won’t need any more documents.

So that puts our court date most likely in summer. With another 4-6 weeks from court date to embassy date, it is probably another six months until the boys come home. While it is still a long time, it should be the final wait.

Going to Ethiopia: From the beginning, we had intended to take Austin, Caleb, and Micah with us on the court date trip in order for them to meet their brothers and experience Ethiopia. (I've been saving all those frequent flyer miles for a few years - one perk of international travel). However, as this process has dragged on, we realized that the court date is going to be unpredictable. We may have only a few days to get to Ethiopia once we get the news. So, in light of the changed timing, we decided to head to Ethiopia for Spring Break. Traveling now gives us a known timeframe and a chance for Becky and the boys to meet Hamdali and Masad much sooner than the 4+ month wait.

To say that everyone is excited is an understatement. We will spend 12 days in Ethiopia. We will visit the rock churches and ancient monasteries in Lalibela. (The background photo on this blog is one of these famous cross churches, carved out of solid stone). We will visit friends in Addis. And, most importantly, we will see the boys. It will be a glorious Easter for the Hunter family. We will share all about it in our  next blog post - it should be quite exciting.

Prayers and Thoughts Appreciated:  First, keep Hamdali and Masad in your thoughts and prayers. Just as we decided to go to Ethiopia, we received another piece of difficult news. The boys had been moved out of the Transition Home, back to the orphanage in Assosa (far western Ethiopia).  For our visit, this adds a minor complication of travel as we will have to add another trip to see them. For the boys, however, this is the fifth time they have moved since July. It is the third time they have moved to this orphanage. The reason for the move is purely political and tied to the pressures against international adoption in the country.

Legally, the orphanage is responsible for them until their court dates. Historically, they would transition children who are being adopted to the agency run homes. These moves were generally good for everyone. For example, at our agency’s home, the boys received better care, had daily access to nurses and a doctor, had better facilities and more education opportunities. Because of some of the political maneuvering, the orphanages required that all the children in process be relocated back to their original place.

This is hard as it is a step backward in both care – and I’m sure the boys’ sense of the process. However, we see a couple of positives in the negative. First, as with their move back to the orphanage in October, they are with a group of children who have been moved together each time. Therefore, they have some friends in the journey (in addition to each other as brothers). Second, the orphanage in Assosa is a place they know. This is the same place I visited in November. At that time, I was pleased with the care they were receiving. The facilities are spartan but adequate. While not as nice as those in Addis, we know they are receiving care. Finally, for our family, it will give us all one more window into their world. Becky, Austin, Caleb, and Micah will get to travel to their region and see a little more of their part of Ethiopia.

Pray for their hearts as they undoubtedly struggle with being moved around, as they try to understand the process, the wait, and what is happening to them at this time. Pray for their health as they live in the group setting, with all the challenges of so many kids together.

Pray for us as we travel. Pray that our time meeting Hamdali and Masad will be a special one for building lasting bonds and beginning the connecting process as a new family of 7.

Pray for all of us as we wait. It is hard. But, hopefully, we are truly in the final wait.

With gratitude,
Evan, Becky, Austin, Caleb, Micah, Hamdali, and Masad

Last Christmas Without You

Melkam Gena – Merry Christmas! Today is the holiday of Gena, or Ethiopian Christmas, celebrated according to the Ethiopian Orthodox calendar. For several years now, our family has celebrated the holiday sharing an Ethiopian meal with friends. This past Sunday night, we did that again with our small group. Becky has learned to make a number of Ethiopian dishes, and even makes her own injeera (Ethiopian flat bread). The meals are always amazing.
This year, it is a special Christmas – our last Christmas as a family of five. Here are a few updates and thoughts as we pray that sometime in the next 2-12 weeks we will hear from the courts in Ethiopia and make a trip that direction.


Visiting the Boys in Ethiopia: It has been two months since I was able to visit our boys in Ethiopia. Two days before I left, we learned that the boys had been moved back to an orphanage in the city of Asosa, a ten-hour drive from Addis Ababa. After a whole series of logistical hoops, I was able to find a flight to Asosa and visit the boys there. How does one share the rush of emotions from something as special as that moment in a format like this? But suffice it to say, the time with them was amazing. What joy to see them, to hug them, and to begin getting to know them. Leaving Asosa that Monday morning was a feeling of sadness I had not felt in quite some time.

After the initial hesitant awkwardness of meeting someone for the first time (with 20 other kids all looking on), we found some ways to communicate and bond, despite the lack of a common language for conversation.  I shared small gifts with them; we were able to FaceTime with Becky and the boys back in Chicago, we played soccer. The kids danced and sang, we shared oranges together; they showed me their room, shared with the all the other boys in the orphanage. We looked at the photo books of the family (with their pictures interspersed on the pages), we read together, and we took silly photos together.

I have so many questions for them and look forward to the day when they can share in words their own thoughts, fears, and dreams.  I loved watching them interact with each other. I love the impish grin of one as he posed for selfies on my phone; the other, with a slower to come, but radiant smile that can light up a room.

What joy it was to play, to begin the long process of bonding together.

Last Christmas without You: Eight years ago, we purchased Dawn of Grace, the Christmas album by Six Pence None the Richer. On it was a song called The Last Christmas without You. That song became dear to our hearts as we would listen to it, anticipating the birth of Micah in February. We listened with tears in our eyes as the song depicts both the birth of Christ and the waiting for the birth of a family’s own child. This year, we did the same again. While we do not feel the heartbeat of a babe in the womb this time, we look at smiling faces in the photos we have. We watch videos I took on my visit in November, and we pray. So grateful this will be the Last Christmas – without them.

From The Last Christmas Without You  -by Six Pence None the Richer

I feel your heart beating inside my own skin
And I think of Mary in BethlehemThat night in a stable our Saviour was bornYes, we have so much to be thankful for
On the last Christmas, the last ChristmasThe last Christmas without you
They're choosing the colors, preparing your roomFor one day midsummer the advent of youTogether we wait for a heavenly giftIs winter a wonder? Enchanted that this is
The last Christmas, the last ChristmasThe last Christmas without you
See the stars shining from aboveHear the Seraphim singingPraise to the Giver of life and loveMaker of beautiful things
I feel your heart beating inside my own skinAnd I think of Mary in BethlehemWhen darkness was shattered the dawn of God's graceAnd the journey began to the first Easter Day
On this last Christmas, the last ChristmasThe last Christmas, the very last ChristmasThe last Christmas, the last ChristmasThe last Christmas without you

Hear the song at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YUXjB1XL0AE

Process Update: Since I visited the boys in November, we have seen some of the details progress. The boys are back in Addis. Two critical official steps have happened. We are now waiting for the Ministry of Women Children and Youth Affairs to offer their positive recommendation, match the boys paperwork with ours, and then (finally) receive word to come to Ethiopia for a court date.
We will likely make two trips to Ethiopia. The first will be the court date. Once that is complete, it often takes 6-8 weeks to get an appointment with the US Embassy to complete visa applications so the boys can travel to the US and become US citizens at that time.  So, our current window is somewhere in the next 2-16 weeks. It’s getting closer.

In the meantime, we wait and pray - grateful that next Christmas they will be part of our Gena celebration.

Happy Referral Day - Reflections on the great joy - and hard realities of "The Call"

It is three years to the day since we announced our adoption journey. It's also been 18 months since we last blogged. I guess that says something about how slow the process had been going.

Things have changed.

Today, I stepped off a plane in Asosa, Benishangul-Gumuz, a town in far western Ethiopia, to meet my sons. I'm still sorting through that.

In the meantime, here is a blog about our referral and hopefully a little insight into the great joy - and hard realities that are adoption.

Grateful for the support of many,

A family in transition

We Got THE Call

We got “the call.” This is the one we have been waiting for, dreaming of, longing for. Actually, we missed the call the first time. We got “the message” – “this is your agency, call us back.”

To be honest, I did not think it was going to be “the call.” I truly thought it was a call to say the agency was pulling out of Ethiopia. For the last three years, things in Ethiopia have become more difficult for international adoptions. Over the summer, individual states pulled back on or terminated overseas adoptions. (In Ethiopia each state has its own set of family laws – it adds to the fun – and bureaucracy – and probably has done wonders to curtail corruption …).  Wait times increased regularly. For months, the agency gave people the option to switch out of the Ethiopia program and into another country based program.  The Ethiopia program was in a financial bind as their revenue came primarily through processed adoptions – of which there were very few.

I had spoken with a friend the night before about these challenges and wondered if we would continue in the process if Ethiopia closed down.  I was not sure we would start over. Three years is a lot of time. But still we hoped and we prayed. We had determined to stay with the program until it shut down or we got the call.

Now, we had each missed a call from the agency. Becky and I spoke on the phone. She had great hope. I had great fear that this was the end (Rorschach tests need not be done).  She was at work. I was about to walk into a meeting at the library at Trinity. We made a three-way call to the agency.

“Happy referral day.” Those words ring in your ears for some time. The agency had a referral for us. This was the day. This was the call. This was like seeing the little pink + on the stick. It was giggles and deep breaths. This was amazing.

Then the coordinator said “they.” There were two. Two brothers. Two more boys to join our family. Five. Five boys. Oh wow. We had put openness to a sibling pair on the sheet. And now they were coming our way. Wow. Five.

We received their information. Prayed. Talked to the boys. And said yes. Happy referral day.  Five. Five boys. Lord, how exciting. Lord, please help us. Lord, please protect them.

“Happy Referral Day”

Those words are still amazing. I can find the email with the boys details in a heart beat. I have read and re-read it a number of times. I have stared at the picture of these little guys (pictures cannot be posted online during the adoption process for protection of the children and the fact that they are not legally part of our family yet. But be forewarned they will come. These guys are incredible).  I have laughed. I have cried. And I continue to pray – for them, for us, for this new family of 7 – 5 boys – plus a mom and a dad. I feel overjoyed. I feel whelmed.

For us, this day is truly happy. We have dreamed, longed and waited. But what is it like for them? For them, this is still a moment of loss. Adoptions happen when things break. That is a hard reality in the process. Adoptees have experienced pain. We pray that joining our family will be part of God’s redemptive healing in their lives. However, we do not forget that when someone says how lucky these boys are, that this part of their journey began with loss. Happy referral day only comes when the kids have lost something near and dear – their family.

 We have received part of their story. We have received a small idea of their loss. Their father passed away two years ago. How do young boys process that? The youngest was only two; the older perhaps five or six. Losing a father at such a young age leaves a permanent mark on one’s life.  How do they handle it?

They came to the orphanage earlier this summer. After trying to make it work for a couple of years, their mom could no longer do it. Apparently, extended family could not help either. They became wards of the state. They entered the orphanage. How do they make sense of that? What do they understand of this process and what is happening to them?

By the time they were referred to us, they had been moved from their home region – in far western Ethiopia to the orphanage in Addis. From what we have learned, theirs is a poor region, a fairly remote part of Ethiopia. We assume their life was one of agrarian subsistence. They speak a local language, not the national language of Amharic. They have not yet been to school. Passing any grade will likely eclipse their parents’ education.

Moving to the capital was already a significant change in their world. How will they even conceive of moving to another country and becoming part of another family?

Do they feel the same “happy” feelings for this adoption? Are they scared? Do they just want to go back home? Do they have hope?

When someone says to them that God had a plan for them to be part of their family, how will they hear and understand those words? Will it communicate that God somehow took their family away so that they could be part of ours? In adoption, we often view the process through the eyes of the adoptive parents who have waited and hoped; and for whom it is truly a happy day. But for the kids, it is a time of real loss. Someone has died. Someone has decided that the best thing for their child is to be given to the orphanage – perhaps in hopes of an adoption.  Someone has moved far from home and family. Someone has been deeply wounded. Adoption comes from a hard place.

In that hard place, I hope that our boys will also come to see it in a redemptive way, It is not so much God took their family away, but rather when things fall apart (to borrow from Achebe), God finds ways to make beauty from the mess. In God’s grace, there is a new home for these boys. The loss is real, but we pray that they will also embrace the hope.

As we celebrate, we do so with great concern for these boys and how they will make sense of this event. This will not be a one-time thing, but rather an ongoing process. In many ways, we are all doing this, trying to make sense of our lives – whether we have very clear and direct wounds and scars, or we just wrestle with our own existence and purpose. However, for adoptees, there is much that can make this happy day a very hard day as well. In our joy, may we not forget that it comes because these boys are in a hard place.

We have so many questions; so many prayers; so much love for these boys. May God’s redemptive grace be near.

A Little Girl Will Have a Forever Family Next Month - rejoicing with friends in their adoption

Sitting at breakfast during a consultation last past week, I became acquainted with a new friend who is completing an adoption in Ethiopia. In fact, he and his wife hope to pick up their daughter from an orphanage in Addis Ababa next month. They are so excited that after a year of waiting, the day of her coming home has finally drawn near. I rejoice with them and join them in prayer for this great day. 

In the course of our adoption journey, we have met many adopting couples and rejoice with each of them in the growth of their families. What makes this story different from the adoption stories of many of our friends is that Anwar and his wife are Ethiopian. They are part of a small, but growing number of Ethiopians pursuing domestic adoption. This is a great thing in helping more children  know the love and security of a forever family.

Domestic adoption plays a vital role in caring for the children whose lives have been disrupted through the loss of parents through disease, poverty, war and the realities of a broken of our world. International adoption agencies lead much of the work in in-country adoption and in-country adoption awareness overseas. My friend and his wife are in fact conducting their adoption with the help of an international adoption agency. 

Recently, our own agency, America World, shared this photo of an ad they sponsor in Addis Ababa promoting in-country adoption. 

Earlier this year, much was written about the “market” created by foreign adoption that fuels corruption in the system. First, let me be clear, all corruption must be eradicated wherever it is found. However, corruption is not the norm. Most adoption agencies want to care for kids, who through the circumstances of their lives are now up for adoption. Parents motivated out of love, no matter whether from within the country or from without, have a great love for that child they will adopt. It is so great to see these agencies partnering with parents - international and in-country - to provide loving families to children. Far from a "market," most involved with adoption really do want to care for kids as best as they can.

For us this is a long process with lots of waiting.This morning, we met with our case worker to update our home study and renew several items of paperwork.  As we talked with her, updated and confirmed things about our family that have happened in the last year, it continued to make us think of this little one out there.

 Beyond that, there is not much new to report. Our paperwork has been in Addis Ababa for about a year. It could be up to two more - or we could receive a call tomorrow. We don’t know. But we do know that we love this little person already - whoever they might be and look forward to a time, like Anwar and his wife, when we are counting the days until that special someone’s arrival.

For now we wait - and celebrate with friends in their time of joy!