The Widow and the Oil
God loves each of us as if there were only one of us.
ST. AUGUSTINE
After bringing Ezekiel home, things continued changing, and Ben and I soon realized a big move was in our future and we needed once again to pray hard. We’d both felt for a year or more that San Antonio was no longer where the Lord wanted us. We were being released of this city with its River Walk, Mexican food, loving friends, and where my family had followed us.
As I mentioned earlier, after deciding he wanted to be where his nephew was, my brother, Erik, had transported his life in Washington and moved in with us the week Anton was born. Then came baby Laith. Meanwhile, Erik met the most incredible girl whom he (so wisely) married, and they became a family. My grandmother also moved to the heat of San Antonio, followed by my parents.
How could we leave a family that had moved across the country to be closer to us and our children? How would we listen to God when once again He didn’t make sense? My family had all uprooted their lives to be with us in Texas, and though we told them we didn’t think we’d be in San Antonio forever, at the same time, once it became real, it was scary. And more than a little sad to start all over again.
But Colorado became our future. Specifically, Denver. God was exceedingly clear about it.
Conversations were had. Tears flowed. And boxes were packed. With a heavy heart about who we left behind, my soul soared knowing we were listening to the voice of our Father in heaven, knowing He had been preparing our family for this new adventure.
When I was a child and our family prepared to move to Guatemala, we spent a few days at Disneyland with my grandparents who wintered in California. I remember so clearly them hugging us good-bye, eyes willing away the tears and forcing smiles, trying to be brave.
Those days flashed before me, and I knew that just as my parents were called away from what was comfortable, so were we. We opened our hands to release all we desired to hold tightly, allowing the Lord to work in our lives, to direct us to where He wanted us to go.
It’s hard. It’s scary. And sometimes it’s as painful as it is exciting. But this is the life we want: Unordinary. One where our ears are in tune to Him. One where He asks and we answer. Or really, we ask and He answers.
Ben crossed the state lines in my car, accompanied by our chocolate lab, Thatcher, and my folks drove Ben’s truck. I flew alone with all four kids. Thank You, Jesus, that this is a direct flight, I silently prayed as I searched for dollar bills in my wallet, preoccupying our giddy children with snacks and chocolate milk as we waited for our plane.
God was gracious that day. It went smooth as silk. The Crazies (which we lovingly call our kids), though buzzed with this new adventure, settled nicely into their seats, playing quietly together and giggling sweetly as turbulence jostled their little tummies. We stood together at baggage claim, eyes searching for our oversized luggage. Tears came to my eyes as I thanked Him for His goodness.
Bags in tow, I stopped at the nearby Starbucks for a (much needed) latte. The barista smiled at me traveling alone with my brood of small children, and as we chatted lightly, I asked if he was from Ethiopia. The twinkle in his eye as he looked at me in surprise told me he was. The kids, making a flaky mess on the floor with their croissants, waited for me with surprising contentment as my new barista friend told me I’d just moved to a city with one of the largest Ethiopian communities in the entire country.
“What?” I breathlessly asked him.
He laughed as he told me that if Ethiopians took a strike, the entire airport would shut down. “We run the place,” he told me, that twinkle still in his eye.
He told me about all the Ethiopian restaurants, Ethiopian markets, Ethiopian churches, and on and on.
Oh Lord God, You answer prayers I didn’t even think to pray.
We went from a city with not a single Ethiopian restaurant to one with thousands upon thousands of people with our children’s heritage. I was speechless, a lump in my throat growing as I silently praised our heavenly Father.
Oh Father, thank You for opening our hearts to listen to You and where You wanted us to go. Let us always follow Your leading, for You will take abundantly better care of us than we could take of ourselves.
God knew we couldn’t go with Him and stay where we were. Christ knew, far before we would, that the Ethiopian community in Denver would be like a lifeline for our family.
It had been a few years since Imani and Ezekiel came home, and since we moved from San Antonio to Denver. Though we felt fairly settled with our expanded family, we still waded through hurts and fears, trauma and loss. We were in the middle of completely remodeling a home we had recently bought that was deemed “uninhabitable.” We had rented a house, sight unseen via Craigslist, before moving to the Rocky Mountain state, and we unpacked as little as possible knowing we needed to search out this beautiful land, not knowing where within its borders we should ultimately spread roots. When we finally moved to a house of our own, we were excited about the idea of this rundown and unlivable house.
Once again, friends and family thought we were crazy as we shared that the home we had purchased in our new city was falling apart at the seams. Shoddy construction and second-rate updating barely held a candle to the devastation the home withstood after its previous owners took out their anger on the kitchen and other spaces when told their home was no longer theirs, somehow blind to the fact this was inevitable after many months of not paying their mortgage.
But within the pumpkin-orange sponge-painted walls, crumbling staircase, and dry rot, Ben and I saw potential. We saw what could be. We love tearing down walls and building things back up. This would be our sixth house in about as many years. These projects of perseverance and creativity, of breathing life into what had previously been unsightly or dirty and distasteful brought us extreme joy.
I am an aesthetic kind of girl. I have a deep affection for all five senses and love to add a little romance into life. I don’t mean necessarily with a beau, but with life in general. I’m the kind of girl who watches a movie with candles lit and cooks while listening to the Andrea Bocelli channel on Pandora. I buy flowers from the grocery store on a weekly basis, arranging them in vintage cups and placing them throughout the house, knowing somehow these little acts of appreciating beauty bring me closer in relationship with God because they fill my heart. I’ve realized through the years that a home doesn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful, and remind myself of it often as I pour through my favorite design books again and again. Just like our scars, houses often bear character from the past and embracing it brings a uniqueness we wouldn’t otherwise have.
I think God was using this house to show us He was going to do the same within our hearts, and this love of refurbishing our home became a metaphor for what He was doing to us and our family. He would continue to tear down expectations and plans, building up something better and more beautiful.
The building and remodeling process of homes had always brought Ben and me together, and the building of our family (though certainly tough at times) brought a strength between Ben and me that we didn’t know we had. Apparently we had learned how to use stress to better our marriage. Can you hear me laughing at that statement?
We know now that learning to lean on Christ first and each other second was in preparation for bringing another child with hurts and fears and a life of tragedy into our family. We knew we’d never feel fully prepared, fully groomed for this calling. And yet, here we were. A few short years of experience tucked into our belts, we readied for more mess in construction and the challenge of erecting a solid family, reinforced in the strength of a most gracious heavenly Father.
We had saved our pennies when contemplating the adoptions of Imani and Ezekiel. We’d known for many months that our hearts were being tugged in that direction before accepting either referral. We’d had time to save.
But Abreham’s story came out of the blue; our knowing he was our son was unexpected.
It was a typical midweek afternoon. Lunch had been enjoyed, and the kitchen was momentarily clean, rid of the ever-constant stream of dishes and crumbs that seemed a permanent fixture on our countertops. I had cozied into the couch with a gloriously hot cup of coffee for a few moments of brainless me time. As I scrolled first through Pinterest, then through Facebook, I paused. Breathless.
A fellow adoptive mom had posted a story about a teenaged boy from Ethiopia who was in need of a family. I read and reread the words she had typed into her feed and read them again as my heart beat out of my chest.
This is my son.
Lord, I think this is my son. Why do I think that? Is he ours? This does not make sense. No. He’s a teenager! What?! No, Lord. No—I’m not telling YOU no—I’m just saying, well… THIS IS MY SON, isn’t it?
I went back and forth, half-arguing but mostly putting up a pretend fight with the Lord, mind blown at the sudden change in direction our life had taken in a split second. I felt as strongly as I’d ever felt anything in my entire life, that this boy named Abreham was mine. And I was his.
Me, the non-crier, cried on and off most of the rest of the afternoon in acknowledgment that my son lived in an orphanage. And we needed to get him home.
As the afternoon bled into evening and Ben walked through the door from work, the kitchen no longer bore any signs of having been briefly spotless. Instead, the makings of dinner were spread across the gray countertops. Crayons, coloring books, and small children sprawled out on the wooden floor behind me. The kids, suddenly on their feet with squeals of “Daddy’s home!” interrupted Ben’s stride to give me a kiss hello while I stirred dinner on the stove.
When the little ones finally had their fill of kisses, hugs, and giggles from tickle fights, my happy yet tired husband came my way. As he neared, knowing it’s my favorite, he kissed me on the forehead, and said with resolution in his voice, “We need to chat.”
Quickly and without hesitation, I verbally spewed, “Is it about a boy named Abreham? Because I think he’s our son.”
Ben paused and stared at me, his eyes momentarily growing wide. Then as a smile slowly spread across his face, we knew God was at work again. Ben had seen Abreham’s story on social media that same day. Different social media outlet, different person posting, but the same message that this boy needed a family. And the Lord had opened my husband’s heart wide throughout the rest of the day, just as He had mine.
Head swirling and randomly giggling at the insanity of it all, we joined God in what He was asking of us.
Several months later, after Christmas ornaments were snugly packed away and daffodils and tulips took their place, our heavenly Father would rock our boat once again.
As we ushered our children out of church on Easter morning and toward the car, the boys clad in matching seersucker shorts and Imani donning lace socks and a frilly frock, I helped buckle in those who still struggled to do it without help. As Ben climbed in, waiting patiently for me to click my own seat belt into place, he checked the e-mail on his phone. Seeing the director of our agency’s name in his in-box, he opened up the message, expecting to find a short update on Abreham or even some new photos of our oldest son. What he found instead was a string of a dozen or so photos of a tiny infant girl, the last few of Abreham holding the little girl. As I turned to Ben, wondering why we had yet to drive out of the quickly emptying lot full of hungry families headed to brunch and egg hunts, he handed me his phone, tears beginning to spring up into his eyes.
Confused, especially at the sight of his damp eyes, I took hold of the phone he held out and saw her beautiful face staring back at me. I scrolled past the awkward photos of Abreham and this little girl both wearing ridiculous plush bunny ears and the one of her face red and scrunched up in the middle of a wail. I scrolled slowly past the one of her staring contently with eyes as dark as night, noticing right away that her tummy bore no evidence of malnutrition and looked perfect and healthy. As I continued scrolling and scrolling, my mind continuing to scream, Who is this? and Could she be mine? Finally, I paused on one of the last photos, stopping to peer at Abreham’s face as he held her. His hands looked clumsy, as if he wasn’t yet used to holding an infant. But his eyes bore truth in the joy of doing so.
I looked at Ben. “Who is this girl?” I could barely murmur.
Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, he urged me to read the e-mail.
“This is your daughter,” it read. There was more, of course. About how it was our turn on the infant waiting list and that they had already told Abreham this was his sister because they knew we would say yes. But all I could read and reread were those words: This is your daughter.
We’d had a surprise pregnancy with Anton. We’d also been a bit taken aback when the Lord unexpectedly revealed His bringing Ezekiel and Abreham into our family. But this. This somehow felt different. Like the biggest and most unexpected surprise of my life.
I genuinely don’t remember putting ourselves back on the infant waiting list. Ben says we did, so how I don’t remember confuses me even still. I think maybe back when I was swaying back and forth, praying and pondering for God’s discernment and wisdom in the growth of our family, He made the decision for me. Instead of giving me the responsibility of figuring out His will in becoming pregnant or adopting an infant, the Lord prompted Ben to contact our agency and somehow allowed me to have blinders regarding it.
Our newest and youngest child, Milki, was soon to be ours. Like Imani, her name didn’t hold much significance, it was given to her at the orphanage. We searched and searched for the origin meanings of her name, and found that Elsabet was of Hebrew origin (the equivalent of Elizabeth in English). When we shared the news of our family gaining another sibling, Ezekiel asked if we could name her Hannah, after his dearly missed older sister, who still lives in Ethiopia. So she became Elsabet Hannah Anderson.
This gift of another baby girl was more than I could ever hope for or imagine. Imani would have a sister. I would once again be blessed with the gift of having someone fall asleep on my chest. This time, somehow unlike the others, I looked forward to the idea of being coated in spit up, looking frazzled and unkempt from sleepless nights. This felt right and whole and big. I will never forget that Easter, never forget bursting into irrational laughter, like a madwoman, in the middle of serving eggs Benedict and lemonade.
Mind still swirling gleefully days later, a sobering thought took hold: How are we going to pay for all this?
While sitting down with the Lord during my quiet time one morning, I felt Him prompt me to read in the book of 2 Kings. I recognized that if God wanted these children to join our family, somehow He would make it happen. Clenching my eyes tight in prayer, I brought my tiny sliver of trust before Him. A part of me knew He would bring it all together, just as He had before. But at the same time, my so-called rational mind glimpsed at the uncertainty of it all as doubts of, But what if He doesn’t come through this time? buzzed in my mind.
Leafing through my Bible searching for the passage, I quickly realized there was a big learning opportunity for me in regard to how much I trusted Him with something as cliché sounding as our finances. Our heavenly Father reminded my weak faith that He would care for our family just as He had for the dear widow in 2 Kings.
One day the widow of a member of the group of prophets came to Elisha and cried out, “My husband who served you is dead, and you know how he feared the LORD. But now a creditor has come, threatening to take my two sons as slaves.”
“What can I do to help you?” Elisha asked. “Tell me, what do you have in the house?”
“Nothing at all, except a flask of olive oil,” she replied.
And Elisha said, “Borrow as many empty jars as you can from your friends and neighbors. Then go into your house with your sons and shut the door behind you. Pour olive oil from your flask into the jars, setting each one aside when it is filled.”
So she did as she was told. Her sons kept bringing jars to her, and she filled one after another. Soon every container was full to the brim!
“Bring me another jar,” she said to one of her sons.
“There aren’t any more!” he told her. And then the olive oil stopped flowing.
When she told the man of God what had happened, he said to her, “Now sell the olive oil and pay your debts, and you and your sons can live on what is left over.”
2 Kings 4:1–7 NLT
Reading these words comforted my questioning heart, and as I handed my fears over to the Lord to toss away, He settled my heart that He would stretch our finances. I didn’t ask how; I merely felt a certainty about it. Somehow His will would be done; I was simply to move and do what I could while He would do the real work.
As I shared the message I felt God give me while chatting with my mom the following morning, I could hear her smile over the phone as she reminded me, “What is money to God, anyway?”
God sent us on yet another adventure of faith. We applied for grants, petitioned for endowments. But we weren’t to receive any.
Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.
Hebrews 4:16 NIV
We began an online fund-raiser through an amazing 501(c)(3), where friends, family, and generous people we had never even met began to give $5, $10, $50, and some even donated thousands. The money began adding up, at first incredibly slowly, then the speed of it all began to pick up.
But if He calls you to something, have faith He will see it to fulfillment. Even if it makes absolutely no sense to you how it possibly will.
My sweet cousin Katherine began an auction through Facebook. Sharing our story, she asked acquaintances and even merchants on Etsy to donate items. Again, every little bit helped.
Ben’s youngest sister wanted to contribute but was still in college and didn’t have much to donate. Thinking outside the box, Sara decided to have a house party. Sharing our story with her friends, a donation jar was passed through the rooms and with a few crumpled dollars here and crisp, just-out-of-the-ATM dollars there, we were astonished by the number she ended up contributing. College kids eating ramen and saving their quarters for the laundromat ended up being a big reason our children are home with us today.
Our new home had no kitchen, walls had been ripped out to the studs, and the stairs were being replaced because they were so wobbly and dangerous. The list of our home’s projects went on and on, and our resources were already stretched thinner than normal.
How the Lord worked it all out, I have no idea.
But if He calls you to something, have faith He will see it to fulfillment. Even if it makes absolutely no sense to you how it possibly will.
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.
Romans 8:28 NIV
And as always, God was orchestrating things to work in His good and perfect timing. It looked like we would be able to bring our children home together.
And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:19 NIV
School let out, and soon weeks, then months passed. Once again we became discouraged, knowing the rainy season was quickly approaching. Changes and rumors of changes for adoptions in Ethiopia began to emerge. We were getting nervous that we would have to wait until mid- to late fall to bring them home.
I began, once again, to pray very specifically for the timing of our children’s arrival to the US. I felt a deep importance in getting Abreham home before the school year began. Ideally, we wanted him to be with us for a handful of weeks to settle in and begin to bond with the family before the whirlwind and overwhelming task of school began. We also desired that our new son have a few English words in his vocabulary.
Again, I prayed fervently, I prayed specifically, and I prayed in faith that the Lord was listening as I laid my requests at His feet, and laid my fears and worries alongside them.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
Philippians 4:6 NIV
For months leading up to when we hoped we’d be able to travel for our Ethiopian court date, Anton, then six years old, asked if he could join us. We gathered the children together one evening and asked if everyone wanted to come. Ezekiel had no desire. We’ve always said when he turns sixteen, we will take the family and try to find his mother and sister. He said that was what he still wanted, but he wasn’t ready to go back yet. We felt Laith (not quite five) and Imani (nearly three) would be hard to travel with when all attention needed to be on the newest two children. They didn’t particularly care to come anyway. I think they liked the idea of staying with Grandma while we were gone.
So we sat Anton down and had an honest and grown-up conversation with him, explaining what it was like, what he’d see. We talked about how important it was for this trip to be about his newest siblings and to help them feel loved by us. We spoke of the length of the plane ride and the lack of American food.
He understood. And he was in.
Finally, we received “the call.” We were to leave in a few days and looked forward to Skyping with Abreham that Saturday and telling him about our trip. He seemed thrilled, as he now expertly held baby Elsabet to the computer’s camera so we could see her better. We all smiled and laughed lamely through the screen, wishing we could understand each other more, Ben and I aching to bring them both home.
During that conversation, we were told the orphanage was out of formula for the babies. We were stunned. They rely heavily on families who come in for their court or embassy dates to bring formula, diapers, etc., with them, and because of changes in the country and the adoption process slowing down, less families had come through, and the abundance of these necessary items had also slowed. I was panicked, remembering how malnourished Imani had been when we brought her home, and I refused to allow that to happen to any more babies (if I had anything to say about it). We are big advocates for purchasing needed items in-country, to wrap our arms around individuals working so hard to provide for their families. If we can help the economy, even in the tiniest of ways, we always strive to do that. In this situation however, the nannies were very specific in what they asked for. They knew the brands of items they wanted because they desired specific nutrients for these babies in their care.
With that in mind, we told friends through Facebook and e-mail that we were only bringing carry-ons for ourselves and had purchased six of the largest suitcases we could find at Goodwill to load full of formula, clothing, diapers, and anything else we could get our hands on for the children who had spent the past months with ours.
We were PayPaled money, checks came in the mail, and an abundance of cans were dropped without notes at our doorstep. I’m choking back tears typing this, remembering the generosity of those in our community and throughout the nation who stepped up for those who couldn’t help themselves.
Pure and genuine religion in the sight of God the Father means caring for orphans and widows in their distress and refusing to let the world corrupt you.
James 1:27 NLT
The community around us acted as the hands and feet of Jesus. And because of that, bellies would be full. Funding for our adoptions was like the widow’s oil, and so was the amount of formula donated. We squeezed every last canister into the suitcases. With no room to spare.
Do not think that love, in order to be genuine,
has to be extraordinary.
What we need is to love without getting tired.
Mother Teresa
Knowing God had so obviously orchestrated our family coming together as one, Ben, Anton, and I sat giddy while bumping along over potholes and dirt roads, taking what seemed like forever to get to the orphanage and to our children. We pulled into the orphanage and as we parked, I noticed Abreham shyly waiting for us just inside the gate as other children rushed down to greet us. It was awkward for a moment as he held out his hand for me to shake it. “Shake your hand?” I laughed. “Child, you’re my son,” I said quietly in his ear as I hugged him close. I knew he didn’t understand my words, but there was no doubt he could sense our elation and love for him.
After a round of nervous hugs, Abreham took us upstairs to meet baby Elsabet. On our way up the stairs and through the beautiful mansion turned orphanage, Abreham stopped us briefly to show us his drawings. He had turned many of the scenes from photos we’d sent of our family and life in the US into brightly colored pieces of art on scraps of paper. He was so proud of the work he’d done and grinned from ear to ear while pressing them all into our hands, obvious gifts from his heart.
Continuing on to the nursery where Elsabet was, I melted into her tiny frame as her nanny placed my daughter into my arms. She was so perfect and beautiful. Her tummy was flat and healthy, showing no signs of being malnourished like Imani. I shot up a quick, yet emphatic prayer of praise.
Spending the week together was amazing. We frequented the market, restaurants, the museum to see the famous fossilized bones of Lucy, drove around sightseeing, and discovered a favorite donut place and a street vendor who made the most wonderful lentil and meat filled samosas.
Ben and I swayed back and forth trying to decide whether I would just stay in Ethiopia for the few weeks between our court trip and when the US Embassy completed the paperwork, granting our children permission to come home. Ultimately, though, I knew I needed to come home, the children needing me since Ben was unable to take the several weeks off from work and we didn’t have family instate. I mourned leaving Abreham and Elsabet, just as I’d mourned coming home after being with Imani and Ezekiel. At least, I tried to console myself, I knew they were being well-loved and cared for at the transition house in our absence.
Days and weeks passed, and finally we got word that I possibly had an Embassy appointment. In and out of sleep that night, I groggily listened to the light tapping of Ben on his laptop. Cuddling closer to him as I squinted at the clock on my bedside table, I saw it read 2:00 a.m., then it was 4:00 a.m. and he was still typing away. As the sun just began to peek into our windows, I felt a nudge and a hug while dazedly trying to figure out what was going on.
“You’re going tonight!” he excitedly whispered in my ear.
I bolted up. “What?! The embassy finally e-mailed you?”
Since Ethiopia is ten hours ahead of us in Colorado, my sweet husband had stayed up all night, anticipating the embassy’s confirmation e-mail to come through. Meanwhile, all through the night, he worked on our side with a travel agency, trying for all his worth to get me on a plane that evening and back home four days later. Plane tickets were skyrocketing and it was looking like our tickets would be thousands of dollars more than we could ever afford. With literally ten or more hours of searching flights, talking with different travel agencies, and tons of prayer, Ben was able to somehow acquire our tickets for several thousand less. Thank You, Lord.
I vividly remember standing near the snack shack at our neighborhood pool talking to a few friends while the kids splashed at swimming lessons, mere hours after I had packed my carry-on and slid a couple prepared meals in the fridge. I couldn’t stop shaking, the excitement and adrenaline taking over. We were so ready to get Abreham and Elsabet home, yet still not totally ready at the same time. The whole day we were switching beds around to fit the right number of beds in various bedrooms, finally configuring it so everyone fit: two kids in each tiny room. While standing at the pool, I realized I needed to release my hopes of having every detail perfect and complete like I had obsessed about when Ezekiel came home. Abreham and Ezekiel’s new room had gone from lavender to a pale army green, but remained empty, paint-speckled drop cloths still on the ground awaiting one last coat of paint. I was thankful once again to have an incredible husband who was willing to check off the silly-yet-important-to-me things that remained on my to-do list. Things like putting up drapes, pictures, and moving the boy’s furniture back in.
My time in Ethiopia raced by. I was on the ground for thirty-six hours before boarding a plane with a five-month-old infant and a nearly fourteen-year-old boy who spoke no English. I remember our lawyer, Dereje, coming sit with Abreham and me in the living room of the guesthouse I was staying in. I asked Dereje to translate a few details to Abreham about what this trip would be like. I told him what an airplane ride was like, how the turbulence would sometimes shake us but it didn’t mean we were about to crash. I also described, and this was very important, what it meant to have a connecting flight. I was terrified about losing him between flights while I stopped into a bathroom to change Elsabet’s diaper or use the facilities myself. I made sure he understood it was imperative to stand right outside the bathroom and to not walk away.
The flights were long but they went fairly well, though it was definitely an adventure to do it alone. We watched loads of movies and sweet Ethiopian women gleefully took darling little Elsabet here and there so I could get a few moments of sleep. On our final leg of the trip home, I’d randomly burst out with the giggles, recalling Abreham’s first ride on an escalator at the airport in Addis Ababa, the two of us watching the video I’d taken of him over and over, shaky though it was because I was laughing so hard while filming it (it was exactly like in the movie Elf if you need a good visual).
Finally we landed in Denver and my stomach was in absolute knots.
This was it.
Our lives would forever be changed as our two newest children came into the reality of our every day. The party near baggage claim was epic, though the balloons and signs and whooping and hollering were a little much for Abreham to absorb. He stood there in shock, looking with wide eyes at the many people who had prayed for him months upon months. Clinging to Anton because he was a familiar face, we eventually walked to the car … and life was never the same again.