See, I Am Doing a New Thing
It has always seemed to me that broken things, just like broken people, get used more; it’s probably because God has more pieces to work with.
BOB GOFF
In the beginning months after bringing each child home, it seemed that every time we finally felt like our family was settling in, they were beginning to comprehend the depth of our love, things suddenly took a drastic and dramatic turn that left Ben and I bewildered.
A few years ago, shortly after one of the routine check-ins with our social worker, Ben received a call from Child Protective Services. A woman was phoning to inform him that his wife (ME!) was being investigated for child abuse and they were coming by our home to interview all the children and open a case against me because of something a child had said during our recent session.
I cannot even begin to explain to you the loss I felt at that moment.
After meeting with a pastor friend at the Ethiopian Evangelical Church nearby to try to understand the thoughts and intent of this child, I drove home alone. Leaving the stereo off, needing the quiet, I talked to God. In pouring my heart out to Him, I felt Him whisper, Do not fear. I am allowing you to go through this for a reason. My soul stilled as I absorbed these words.
Do not fear… I began to tear up. This is such a good example of my fears. I hold on so tightly to my family. The idea of anyone being taken from us frightens me to my very core. I was reminded of the overwhelming fear that had consumed my heart the past few years, just waiting for my “when.” When will we experience firsthand the evil in this world?
Well, I supposed this was one of those times.
What will you do with this fear? I felt the Lord ask me. Will you let it consume you? Or will you trust Me?
What a blessing it is that I have a Helper who knows more than I do. How good my God is, and how glad I am that He is God and I am not. I will not be afraid. I will allow this storm to swirl around, encircling me. Though my hair may whip in the wind, my soul will be still, knowing His supreme protection surrounds me. I may be bent, but I most certainly will not break. I refuse to break—I’ll instead hold onto Him white-knuckled.
“The Lord is my helper; I will not be afraid.”
Hebrews 13:6 NIV
A few days later, two ladies from the state came to talk with our family. They were pleasant and friendly, and our children enjoyed answering their questions. Not knowing the real reason of this time together, they giggled and cuddled, their sweet and loving personalities shining through brightly. All but our little love who had cried wolf, that is.
By the end of the several-hours-long meeting, our Hurting One began to soften and wanted to speak with one of the women alone. Because I was helping a few of the other kids get out the door so they could ride their bikes to school and not miss the entire day, I didn’t hear their conversation. Finally returning from the other room, the woman spoke to me while shrugging into her coat, mentioning that she would return again. “It is obvious,” she said, “the child has more to say.”
Thanking her for her time, I closed the front door and leaned my head against it. My head throbbed, as did my jaw. I must’ve been clenching it the entire time. Going over the meeting in my head, I wondered why they were investigating me, yet they barely asked me any questions. Everything was aimed toward the children or Ben, and though he did his best to steer the conversation to me, they didn’t seem all that interested in what I had to say. Defending myself at this time wasn’t an option.
I hoped they left seeing what Ben and I saw: a happy and thriving family and a wounded child who needed help and love. A child who had experienced so much tragedy and trauma that only now that they lived in safety could they begin to comprehend what it means to trust.
My confidence was in the Lord, and with sweaty palms I reminded myself that I was not going to give in to fear, and thus refused to be afraid of the outcome. There was nothing more I could do and knew praying was the extent of actionable direction I had available. I knew I needed God to step in and do the rest.
This book is many years in the making, so all my thoughts and feelings of this bewildering experience are documented in very raw early drafts. I mention this because it’s important to understand I’m not saying things years later with a different disposition. I have been able to see, as I have worked on this book, where my heart was at the time. It’s simple to feel one way after the fact, to believe falsely that my faith didn’t begin to wobble. I could have blamed God or begun to second-guess having brought this child into our home. But the truth is, my faith didn’t wobble and I never wanted to give up on my child. It’s only by the strength of God that I could genuinely say, “I understand that at this point I cannot do anything more, and I trust the Lord enough to know that He will somehow bring beauty from ashes, even if my children are taken from my arms.”
True, I had nothing to hide, and I prayed this important fact shone through. But my body was exhausted. After the meeting, I fell asleep on our worn leather couch halfway through the day, only to wake to our chocolate lab kissing my cheek. I was weary. My body ached, my stomach was upset, and I didn’t feel my joyful self. I felt beat-up—body, soul, and mind.
Our Hurting One came home from school a few hours later, quiet and disengaged. By the time we had finished dinner as a family, however, our child began to thaw and their sweet self began to emerge once again. Ben took some of our other loves on an ice-skating date, and I was alone with the one-whose-heart-was-in-shambles. Pouring a cup of milk, the Hurting One sat at the table where I was reading and seemed comfortable and at ease. My happy child had returned. And I took advantage of the good mood.
“Would you go get your Bible?” I asked. “Sure!” my lone child for the night responded, grinning at me. Back in a flash, the precious Book held under a thin arm, our child seemed excited that we were going to discuss something to do with the Bible: a favorite topic of conversation. Bible in lap and flipping to 1 Corinthians 13, we read the entire chapter together:
If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate.
If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing.
If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love.
Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
Love doesn’t want what it doesn’t have.
Love doesn’t strut,
Doesn’t have a swelled head,
Doesn’t force itself on others,
Isn’t always “me first,”
Doesn’t fly off the handle,
Doesn’t keep score of the sins of others,
Doesn’t revel when others grovel,
Takes pleasure in the flowering of truth,
Puts up with anything,
Trusts God always,
Always looks for the best,
Never looks back,
But keeps going to the end.
1 Corinthians 13:1–7 MSG
I explained to our sweet child that if they truly wanted to be a follower of Christ who desires to bring others into relationship with Him, love is the most important characteristic we can possess. If we have not love, we are nothing but noise. No one will look at us and want what we have if we treat one another poorly. Especially if we are unloving to family members, to those who are closest and who love us the most.
“You prayed for an education,” I continued. “God heard you, and understanding the deep whispers of your heart, He answered by setting you into a family as well. We are the family that He thought was best for you.” Our child was just beginning to learn and understand English, so I tried my best to share my heart with them while keeping it simple. I reminded our Hurting One that I knew it wasn’t easy … everything was new and different, and they were being asked to live with a group of people who they had only just begun to get to know and yet was told we were their family. I wanted this one to understand I knew their heart and mind were in a whirlwind, being in a household with a language they didn’t yet speak well and that had idiosyncrasies they had yet to grasp. I concluded with, “But, my sweet, please know we’re doing our best and you really can trust us. This is so new for us, just as it is for you. But I can tell you one thing for certain: we love you and won’t give up on you. Ever.”
Our child’s eyes were focused on me while nodding, actively engaged in what I was saying. There was so much more I wanted to say, but I knew in that season our child could only glean a pinprick of what I desired to breathe into such a hurting heart. I peered into aching eyes that seemed to be taking it in, letting both my and the Lord’s words sink into the deepest parts of their soul.
All I could do was silently petition the Holy Spirit to use words I could not and that our Hurting One would be willing to let us in. That day or someday.
It took us a while, but we realized later that our Hurting One didn’t hate me as this made-up story whirled around us like a bad dream. Our child believed if things became hard enough for us that we’d put them back on a plane to Ethiopia.
It makes me so angry when people congratulate us for “saving a child,” saying “they must be so much happier in the US.”
“No!” I want to yell in their faces. “You have no idea what you’re saying, how difficult it is to bring a child from one culture to another. There is no better, there is only different.” Life in Ethiopia may have its struggles, but it is an incredible country with so much joy and beauty, whose people have strength and perseverance we can barely fathom.
When Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt and into the wilderness, they didn’t feel “saved” every moment of the day. Life was difficult and it was different. At one point, there was grumbling over the type of food the Lord had provided for them to eat that some actually regretting leaving slavery, saying, “At least we enjoyed meat.” (Exodus 16).
It’s so easy to forget hardship once we’re out and on the other side of it. It doesn’t mean we’re completely void of difficulty; it simply means we have come into a different type of struggle. Our child no longer slept on the streets in a home made from discarded wood and metal. Yet in that life, they understood their lot. In that life, they might have been on a lower rung of society, but at least they knew what that looked like. In that life, our Hurting One knew where they belonged. In this new life with this new family, everything was so confusing that they didn’t feel they belonged anywhere.
The language was different, the food tasted strange, sights, smells, experiences—everything was new and unfamiliar. Our little love was just like the Israelites who were taken out of captivity, and like them, sometimes it felt easier to go back.
How are we not just the same? When have we taken a leap, suddenly finding ourselves in unfamiliar territory? Motherhood, for example. You want children, pray and pray to become pregnant or to adopt … and then screeeeech! Chaos and exhaustion rumble over your life as you wonder what you got yourself into.
Or perhaps your little side job became a full-time gig and you think all your dreams have come true as your entrepreneurial venture soars with success. Yet shortly after, reality crashes in with the realization that it’s difficult. As all the extra hours pile upon your shoulders in an attempt to keep up, you wonder if it would had been easier to simply stay small where you were.
Everyone with a passion or calling will feel this way at one point or another. The important thing to understand is what to do with this feeling. Do we push through on our own? Do we become depressed and fearful? Or do we cling desperately to Christ through the struggle, praying that somehow there’s Purpose with a big capital P behind it?
Friends asked if I was angry with this child. Simply put, no. Not for a minute. Rather than anger, sadness was all I felt, that and the knowledge that God was in charge and He knew the end of our story. All I could do was continue to pray for my Hurting One and trust that God would open this wounded heart to the gift of family.
I stood determined and put a stake in the ground convincing myself over and over that I would not let fear grasp me.
Around this time, Ben flew out of town, and I was faced with dressing up six kids and driving them to church alone. Knowing I needed someone to spoon-feed life and wisdom into me, I tossed breakfast dishes into the dishwasher with relief in my eyes. Church is my second home. I haven’t always felt this way—sometimes Starbucks felt like they doled out more joy than sitting in a pew ever could—and yet I thanked Jesus as I buttoned those little shirts and tied those dirty laces because these words in 1 Peter seemed meant for me:
Who is going to harm you if you are eager to do good? But even if you should suffer for what is right, you are blessed. “Do not fear their threats; do not be frightened.” But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect, keeping a clear conscience, so that those who speak maliciously against your good behavior in Christ may be ashamed of their slander.
1 Peter 3:13–16 NIV
Sitting at the very back of the sanctuary, allowing myself to be alone with God among hundreds of worshippers around me, the words God had stilled me with days earlier rested again on my heart: Do not fear. I am allowing you to go through this for a reason. I smiled slightly as calm washed over me once again.
For it is better, if it is God’s will, to suffer for doing good than for doing evil. For Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, to bring you to God. He was put to death in the body but made alive in the Spirit. 1 Peter 3:17–18 NIV
When we’re doing good, doing what God has asked of us, we don’t typically envision suffering or being slandered because of it. We expect to be praised, affirmed, or held in high esteem, right?
But what if we’re not? What if we suffer? What then?
The words of our pastor felt like they had been written with my ears in mind, and I listened intently to every word. “Have confidence God will bless you,” he said. Referencing 1 Peter 3:14, he continued, “God’s favor will be upon you as you live in a counter cultural setting. If when you do good, and yet suffer for it, you endure. This is a gracious thing in the sight of God.”
“You’re blessed when your commitment to God provokes persecution. The persecution drives you even deeper into God’s kingdom. Not only that—count yourselves blessed every time people put you down or throw you out or speak lies about you to discredit me. What it means is that the truth is too close for comfort and they are uncomfortable. You can be glad when that happens—give a cheer, even!—-for though they don’t like it, I do! And all heaven applauds. And know that you are in good company. My prophets and witnesses have always gotten into this kind of trouble.”
Matthew 5:10–12 MSG
The Lord told me, Do not fear, and both 1 Peter 3 and Matthew 5 reminded me once again that I need not do so. Peter certainly experienced suffering for his faith, and for doing good for the kingdom, he suffered much more than I likely ever will. Yet he had confidence because he had an eternal perspective, a bigger picture.
“Don’t be bluffed into silence by the threats of bullies. There’s nothing they can do to your soul, your core being. Save your fear for God, who holds your entire life—body and soul—in his hands.”
Matthew 10:28 MSG
Like I had to do when this case was filed against me, Peter instructed his readers to be prepared to defend what they believed (1 Peter 3:15), and to do it with gentleness and respect. As our Hurting One told their side of the story and what they had become convinced had happened, I had a choice. I could have gotten upset and interrupted, telling the ladies from Child Protective Services that what our child was saying was completely untrue. I could have gotten fire in my eyes or burst into tears. But even before I sat in the sanctuary listening to this poignant sermon, I knew in my heart what was right.
Grace. Gentleness. Respect. These things were much more powerful. So when my child spoke with the women from Child Protective Services, I sat quietly, listening to my child as they relayed a story that, if believed, had the potential to completely change the lives of our entire family forever. Because Child Protective Services likely wouldn’t be only taking this one child away, they’d potentially take all of them.
Exactly one week after these women from the state walked into our home, potentially loading not just our Hurting One but all our children into their cars and out of our lives, I sat on a hard chair at a round table in my Bible study, a hot latte in my hands. And the Spirit-led women who sat around me asked to pray for our family. The lifting of their sweet words to our loving Father warmed me to my core. Through their petitioning my pain to our Creator, I encountered a warmth that my coffee on that snowy morning could never emulate or compete with. What a blessing it was to open myself up, showing the dirt and pain in my life, letting others enter in to authentically see that my life was far from easy and eons away from perfect. By allowing them to join in and pray for me, they lifted up words to heaven that my heavy heart had a hard time mouthing. I believed every word they said, and yet I was too weary to whisper them myself.
If two or three of you come together as a community and discern clearly about anything, My Father in heaven will bless that discernment. For when two or three gather together in My name, I am there in the midst of them.
Matthew 18:19–20 VOICE
An hour after leaving these women who so graciously went to the throne in prayer for me and my family, I received a call from Ben. As I cut lunch into bite-size pieces for now one-year-old Elsabet, my husband read the simple and yet weighty e-mail he had just received from Child Protective Services. “We have no concerns about the health and safety of your family,” it read. “This case is closed.”
I breathed again for the first time in days.
My mind couldn’t decide whether to shriek in relief and excitement or to fall into the fetal position and sob. Truth shone through, I thought as I closed my eyes and quietly thanked God while picking up a piece of avocado Elsabet had just thrown.
The suggestion to “live in such a way that if anyone should speak badly of you no one would believe it,” drifted through my mind. I am far from perfect and I fail daily, but these employees of the state whose job is solely to ensure the safety and well-being of children could see in me—in our family—the essence of that very statement. Oh Lord, how I pray I continue to live in such a manner that light continues to shine upon Your truth.
Our Hurting One saw how we as parents didn’t give up on them. Our child, whose past is full of still-fresh wounds, wasn’t made a fool again for placing their trust in someone. There really was a thing called unconditional love; it wasn’t just something people said, or a hope, or a dream. It wasn’t merely a word. This dark time needed to happen for our sweet child to see that. It was deeply important for them to see we were willing to stand by them, even in the venomous hurt and devastation they attempted to cause. You really are doing a new thing, Father. I see it. I feel it. Our child saw our love would not be squashed, and we were now on the other side. For a while anyway.
Taking Elsabet from her seat, I cuddled her while walking toward the kitchen sink to clean the now-smooshed avocado from her face, fingers, and hair—when I stopped. Blinking, I saw our hardwoods turn to lush green grass, leafy emerald foliage sprouting from the baseboards, winding itself up the walls and around the doorknobs. Flowers ablaze in brilliant hues of lemon yellow, saffron, fuchsia, and coral opened and seemed to smile at me in recognition of His glory. It was as if the Lord was telling me the clouds had parted, and as they did, the heavy and oppressive blackness that pulsed through our house like the Smoke Monster on Lost was chased away. Christ’s light shone down onto our home and onto our family in the form of love and faithfulness.
God didn’t give up on us when we needed Him most, just like we didn’t give up on our child when abuse and neglect changed their view of what a family is.
I stood there silently, avocado slime from chubby one-year-old fingers being spread over my face, my arms, my shirt. Looking around, I smiled. But when I blinked again, real life returned. The scraped wooden floor once again showed muddy paw prints and misplaced Cheerios, the walls were soft gray, and the molding was bright white. My heavenly garden kitchen was gone. Carrying Elsabet the rest of the way to the sink, I acknowledged the vision in my mind’s eye to be a gift from the Lord as He gave insight into the fruit He was promising to breathe into the walls of our once decrepit home. No longer was it uninhabitable physically, but it also breathed new life spiritually.
As joy poured in through the baseboards and keyholes, I understood God’s promise that we needed to go through this pain for a reason. He was right, of course. I don’t know why I was surprised in the slightest. We had gone to war and won. To God be the glory.
Since meeting with these ladies from CPS, I remember so clearly how I asked for prayer on so many sides. I was not, and am not, embarrassed about these accusations.
Through allowing myself to be vulnerable, which I like the idea of and yet it still makes me enormously uncomfortable to do, I live outstretched as an example of how God invites us to draw closer to Him through imperfect and messy lives and yet still blesses with joy.
Encircling each and every storm, I learn to lean into Him harder and closer. It’s as if He’s bending over, reaching down with hands stretched toward where I stand, waiting for me to take joy from His strong hands. This joy is yet another undeserved gift He’s giving, and I need simply take and hold tightly. He tells me, Take this joy. Take it. It’s here to run your fingers over, to feel the realness of. It’s My gift to you. Take it. Take joy. And I have a choice to take this present—this too-good-to-be-true gift from my Father in heaven. He’s already bought it for me. It’s available and ready to be used; I need only to take hold of it and believe it’s mine. Sometimes, though, I reach out but draw my hand back quickly before touching it because the Evil One’s whispers are so loud I think this gift belongs to someone else and not to me.
But on this day I take it, realizing its depth and yet the way it feels light on my countenance, and I pray that He can use my experiences to support and comfort others as they go through their own darkness.
When CPS came and questioned our family, I was prepared to defend and fight for myself and my family. But in the day-to-day, are we prepared to defend Christ? I’m not talking about big, dramatic times like the one I was facing. I mean in our normal day, as we live in this cross-cultural world that is our home away from home. Are we ready to give an answer, a defense for the truth? And if so, can our hearts be so full of love that we do it with the gentleness and respect that Peter talked about? I pray that we are.
Your life as a Christian should make nonbelievers question their disbelief in God.
Unknown
While reading 1 Corinthians 13 at the table that evening with my child, as I explained that if we are brash, disrespectful, or rude, we will turn people off, I felt those words pour into my own veins as well. Would you listen? Would I? No, likely not. Instead, we need to respect the person. Not only in theory, but in action. Respect their views, their backgrounds, their religious beliefs. Respect them as individuals, because if we don’t, all they will hear is the sound of a clanging cymbal. Their mind and heart will turn away. And then, what’s the point of saying anything at all? We could do more damage to God’s work in them than if we had said nothing at all. Respect must be shown before truth can be given.
Only, live your life in a manner worthy of the gospel of Christ, so that, whether I come and see you or am absent and hear about you, I will know that you are standing firm in one spirit, striving side by side with one mind for the faith of the gospel.
Philippians 1:27 NRSV
Through the years, I’ve begun to learn what it means to endure well. Instead of praying that God would take away my pain and hardship, I’m understanding the importance of requesting that He strengthen me enough to walk through it. I could either be destroyed by this or I could fall to my knees, with tear-filled eyes turned toward heaven, and pray the words of Jill Briscoe: “Toughen me up, God.”18 We need to learn to pray for a holy toughness, so I’m stopping to pray for us now: Lord, help not only me but the heart attached to the set of eyes that pour over these pages. I ask that we learn how to endure and persevere. Teach us, Father. Do a new thing in response to this moment and any moment we experience that deeply hurts to walk through.