One More Home

On this first day of Spring, it seems like the widespread panic of the Ebola virus and the way it filled every news feed was so long ago. Friends would post the most recent articles and warnings of how Ebola could possibly have found its way to the U.S., and people chose sides about quarantine issues and expressed their outrage about the threat to our personal safety. Borders closed, travel plans were cancelled, and even as I planned a trip to Kenya, a location thousands of miles from Liberia, friends and family worried for my safety. Not surprisingly, I was questioned extensively by customs upon my return to the US about who I visited in Africa and if anyone I came in contact with was ill. It's understandable that we choose to protect our own, to make sure we we do everything to keep those we love from being at risk. But now that the chaos has started to die down, in my own little self-centered way of only thinking of how things concern me, I really haven't given much more...

I got a call from my social worker yesterday. Miss Carol Ann is busy revamping our home study, and she needed to ask a few questions regarding the changes we're making in our adoption. See, back when my husband and I filled out our original paperwork and started this journey, we had to ask ourselves what kind of parameters we would set for the child we would welcome home. And I'll be honest, I designed a neat and tidy little box that I felt comfortable with. If God wanted to me to follow His lead and adopt a child, that's just fine, but how about we make this a joint endeavor? I'd say yes to His call to adoption, and in return He'd give me the control the rest of the way. Country? I pick China. Number of children adopting? 1 Age? I think we're okay with up to 4 years old. Sex? Little girl, please. Special needs? We feel we can handle minor special needs. Check, check and check. We're good. Right, God? Now, if you'd like, we can debate thought...

I can remember the popping sound that the tin roof made as the Kenyan sun high above started to heat up the metal. The day was bright and sunny and filled with the excitement of being back on red African dirt, and I was able to push past the reaching fingers of jet lag that were trying to drag me down. I hadn't expected to wake up that Saturday morning and hit the ground running, but when God gives you the opportunity to witness the work He is doing, you don't decline the invitation.  In fact, I always find great delight in the unexpected gifts He has, the ones that aren't on the trip's agenda. That first morning spent in Kenya was just that - a beautiful gift. I followed my guide up the hill towards a school house located at the back corner of the property, my lungs getting their first chance to try and breathe while climbing the elevated hills of Tigoni. Our visit happened to fall on a Saturday when the Neema girls were meeting, and we were getting the chance to s...