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.