Tomorrow’s lecture, in the Medical Ethics class that Ken and I are co-teaching, discusses beginning-of-life issues, which are exceedingly complex. To examine the technicalities of the events of conception compared with the ethical and theological issues of original genetic material is dizzying. To acknowledge that life begins at conception is a given for most, but the more intriguing and difficult question is when does biology encounter the eternal?

• When does God impart the soul?
• If life begins and the soul is imparted at conception, do identical twins share a soul?
• If the soul leaving the body and cessation of brain activity defines death, how to we conversely define life?

 These questions are not so easy to answer, but the answers have terribly important implications– not only for the issue of abortion, but for stem cell research, and even contraception.

I’ve always been pro-life. I’ve even worked at a Crisis Pregnancy Center. But even within the pro-life movement, there are many different beliefs and definitions. That doesn’t even include the pro-choice side of the debate. The sanctity of life has been debated for nearly 40 years now, and the end of the dispute is nowhere in sight.

During adult Bible study last night, the issue of abortion came up as we were discussing the role of politics in the life of a Christian. Ken pointed out that when Mother Teresa visited the United States, and spoke at the National Prayer Breakfast, she cut to the issue of abortion when she said of unwanted fetuses, “Please don’t kill the child. I want the child. Please give me the child. I am willing to accept any child who would be aborted.” Rather than casting out caustic words of judgment, she simply answered the question of what to do with unwanted children with open arms and with a heart of love.

For me, at the heart of the pro-life movement is a connection to adoption– adoption of infants, adoption of children from other countries, adoption from foster care. I believe that life is precious. I believe that every child deserves a forever family, regardless of how old they are, what country they live in, or how much it costs to unite them with a family. I believe that God loves each of the children of the world every bit as much as He loves you and me. And I believe that orphanages break His heart.

God, help me to see the things that break your heart, and react not with judgment or harsh words, but with open arms and a heart of love.

On four Wednesdays in August, Chick Fil A is going to allow us to keep a portion of the proceeds made from sales from our friends who eat at Chick Fil A from 5:00 to 9:00 p.m.! Perfect timing for heading to or from church! You can eat in the dining area, or get food in drive through!

The more friends who participate, the greater percentage of sales we’ll receive to help us in our adoption from the Democratic Republic of Congo.

The dates are:

August 10^th, 17^th, 24^th, and 31^st at the HERMITAGE Chick Fil A.  

In order for us to get credit for your purchase, you’ll need to put your receipt in a basket at the front counter.

We drive past at least a dozen other restaurants to go to Chick Fil A, usually at least once per week. Why do we love Chick Fil A? Let me count the ways:

1. Your food is delicious. Always.
2. Your customer service is not only quick, but accurate, and pleasant.
3. You offer me several choices of diet beverages, and I enjoy them all!
4. Your restrooms are clean.
5. Your employees offer to take my tray, bring me refills, or offer me mints. In short, I feel like you want me there.
6. I’ve never heard a former employee say anything but great things about working in your restaurant, and they continue to eat there too.
7. You’re quick to make your customers happy – whether it’s giving kids ice cream instead of toys with their kid’s meals, giving extra dipping sauce, or handing out coupons.
8. You invest significant money into foster children, college students, marriages, and Christian leadership principles. All things that I care deeply about as well.
9. Your corporate purpose is: “To glorify God by being a faithful steward of all that is entrusted to our care,” reminding us that we can glorify God, no matter what our vocation.

But you know why I love you most, Chick Fil A?

You’re going to help us raise money for adoption!  

Would you consider Gettin’ Chikin’ for Adoptin’ those nights? Would you help us bring our children home?

Ken and I spent a fun afternoon chasing down our newest-to-us food truck. Fortunately, we didn’t have far to go. Happy Eating was parked out in front of Happy Japan on Bransford Avenue in Berry Hill.

We don’t consider ourselves well-versed in Japanese cuisine, other than sushi, but we were willing to try some new flavors and foods. Happy Eating was a great choice for Japanese-inspired fusion cuisine.

At first the menu looked a little bland, until we saw the specials of the day. The Hiro Tacos immediately caught my eye: terrayaki chicken with asian slaw, rice and a side of grilled pineapple. And sweet potato curry fries with a side of wasabi mayo? Yes please! Ken chose BBQ steam buns, gyoza (vegetable-filled dumplings), and another order of sweet potato curry fries.

The hero of the meal was definitely the Hiro Tacos. Great Japanese flavors in a crispy taco-shaped wonton shell was music to my happy tastebuds. The sweet potato fries had a great sweet heat — especially with the wasabi mayo. Ken’s BBQ rolls were light and delicious, and the gyoza was very good as well, especially the sauce, which I’m fairly certain I could drink a whole bowl of.

The most fun part was the soda. I got a Japanese strawberry soda and Ken got “lychee” flavored soda. When we asked what lychee flavor was, the vendor explained it tasted like what would happen if a grape and a peach got married and had a little baby fruit. If for nothing but to support a blended family, Ken had to try it. Both sodas were delicious, but the best part was trying to open them! We had to peel off the wrapper, pop off the top, push the center of the top out, and then plunge it into the top of the bottle to dislodge a marble, which then allowed us to drink. This is clear evidence that the Japanese must be highly educated — otherwise they would always be thirsty!

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Overall, we LOVED our Happy Eating experience! The food was great, the service was awesome, and even outdoor dining was tolerable in the shade. When we mentioned that we were from the Donelson-Hermitage area, they said that they regularly get asked to come to Hermitage, but aren’t sure where to park the truck. They were completely open to suggestions! Hermitage peeps, would you be interested in getting some food truck traffic? Where would be a good place for them to park? Does anyone want to join us for our next food truck adventure?

I’ve watched this video many times — looking for their faces, inspecting the facilities, searching for smiles. This is where the children I hope to bring home soon are living.

I wonder:

Do they know that we’re coming?

Are they afraid?

Are they losing hope that no one will ever come for them?

Do they know that we love them — even though we’ve never met?

Do they know that we have every detail of their pictures memorized, right down to the stains on their shirts and the braids in their hair? 

Do they know that we’re working hard to bring them home as fast as we can?

God, keep these children safe — all of them who are waiting for their forever families.  

But could you whisper to those who will belong to us? Hope is on the way.

Lamentations 3: 21-26, NIV

Yet this I call to mind
   and therefore I have hope:

 Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed,
   for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
   great is your faithfulness.
I say to myself, “The LORD is my portion;
   therefore I will wait for him.”

 The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him,
   to the one who seeks him; 
it is good to wait quietly
   for the salvation of the LORD.

Last week, I had to renew my adoption physical, so I was back to see my wonderful physician. This was not the first . . . or even the third time I had seen her in the last year for something adoption-related. When I told her of our recent frustrations and joys with adoption, she was very candid with me about her own struggles with infertility, and how when she was patient, God allowed her to conceive. Though she had considered adoption, she was so thankful that God had blessed her by being able to give birth to her own children. She talked to me some about local infertility specialists, and she encouraged me not to give up hope of conceiving and to know that God had a plan.

Over the last year as we’ve talked about adoption with friends, many have told us stories of surprise conceptions after submitting adoption paperwork, or made statements of sympathy regarding our infertility. While I so appreciated stories of inspiration, and feelings of empathy, I have to be honest. Our adoption has nothing to do with infertility. For us, adoption is not a plan B.

Adoption is our plan A.

While it may be difficult for others to understand, to me it has been clear since I was a child: I was to leave my home open, so that when the time was right, we could open it to a child or children in need. Sure, it’s taken us a long time to finish our education and find stable employment to create a good atmosphere for having children, but we eventually arrived at the point where we were ready to start building our family — through adoption.

I find the cause of the fatherless to be echoed throughout Scripture — that we are to care for foreigners, orphans, and widows and that turning away from them bears serious consequences. A passage that has consistently inspired us has been in James 1:22-27, NIV.

“Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says.  Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. But whoever looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom, and continues in it—not forgetting what they have heard, but doing it—they will be blessed in what they do.

 Those who consider themselves religious and yet do not keep a tight rein on their tongues deceive themselves, and their religion is worthless. Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”

We cannot read the consistent theme of caring for orphans that is present throughout the Bible and then turn away as if we havn’t read it. Scripture has been clear, and my calling since childhood has been clear. Making room for orphans in our home is God’s mandate to care for others in the same way He has cared for us.

Recently, a book I’ve been reading confirmed some the same sentiments that I’ve been feeling.

“We look back on slave-owning churchgoers of 150 years ago and ask, ‘How could they have treated their fellow human beings that way?’ I wonder if followers of Christ 150 years from now will look back at Christians in America today and ask, ‘How could they live in such big houses? How could they drive such nice cars and wear such nice clothes? How could they live in such affluence while thousands of children were dying because they didn’t have food and water? How could they go on with their lives as though the billions of poor didn’t even exist?'” — David Platt, in Radical

I’m glad I was able to explain to my physician that our plan to adopt was our first choice. She didn’t need to feel bad or refer me to a specialist. In a sense, God Himself is our fertility specialist. We are expecting children — children on the other side of the world whom God is preparing to bring into our lives at His designated delivery date.

And we couldn’t be more excited about our Plan A.

No, you won’t find Fair Trade coffee in the large bargain-priced cannisters, but you will find it if you look for it. Most grocery stores now carry at least one Fair Trade line of coffee.

Who knew one bag of coffee could make a difference in the lives of so many?

It was May 6^th, just over two weeks after we had found out that our dreams of adoption had been nothing but a delusion.  We had been deceived. Defrauded. We had spent thousands of dollars to bring two sweet babies home.

Only those babies had never existed.

The “birth mother” was never even pregnant.

It was all a part of a deceptive scheme to rob of us not only our money, but of our pride.

We were humiliated that we had been taken advantage of, even as we were trying to help others in need. We had fallen hook, line, and sinker.

Along with the humiliation and loss of money came an incredible sense of guilt. So many people – hundreds of people – had supported us, prayed for us, and given us some of the most fabulous baby gifts known to mankind. Our church, where the “birth mother” had found us, had prayed for her in the main Sunday service for weeks on end, as they do for all expectant mothers. We had arranged for time off, asked other people to assume our responsibilities during maternity leave, and had been the recipients of one of our church’s biggest baby showers in its history.

And all of it was based on a lie.

It was a lie that we certainly believed wholeheartedly ourselves, but I was pierced with guilt for garnering the support of so many people who loved us, and the twins— the babies who never even existed.

The guilt weighed on my heart nearly as much as the grief of the loss. How could I ever go back to church and face the people who had been a victim of a scheme that we brought them into? How would they ever forgive us for our role in the deception that robbed so many?

On the evening of May 6^th, my husband Ken and I snuck into the back of our church’s sanctuary for a homeschooler’s production of Peter Pan just after it had begun. Many of our church’s middle schoolers played several different roles with fun and flair. For a while, I escaped our painful reality and laughed at the antics of some of my favorite kids. They did a fabulous job of not only acting and singing, but of ushering me out of the darkness that had surrounded my heart. Escaping the reality of our grief and guilt was refreshing – even if it was only for an hour.

I managed to return to church that Sunday, thanks to some very gracious friends who walked me through the church halls to make sure that I wouldn’t have to talk about my grief with passersby. The emotions were still too raw to engage in any discussion about the events of the previous two weeks.

Finally, after the last service was over, and Ken and I stood at the front of the sanctuary talking with others, two homeschoolers, Lydia and Kailey, approached us.

“We took up a love offering for adoption at our Peter Pan play,” Lydia said, “and this is for you – for your adoption.” She handed me a ziplock bag of dollar bills and change.

I was stunned.

And then I burst into tears. I hugged both of their necks, as I’m sure they stood there confused by why I was crying, but I had no words to explain.

Rather than asking for our shower gifts back, or pretending the defrauding of all of our hearts didn’t happen, the children and their leaders had taken up an offering for us.

The money was so greatly appreciated, but the sentiment behind it was so much more: it was a gift reminding us that we have a future in adoption, that we were loved, and that we were forgiven for what we unknowingly took part in.
 
Later on as we were driving home, Ken remarked, “It was like Lydia handed us a bag of Grace.” We don’t deserve such love, such forgiveness, such sacrifice. Really, none of us do.

That’s what grace is all about.
 
I’m so thankful for the “bag of Grace” that we were given that day. It was unmerited kindness from those who owed us nothing, had already been generous, and yet chose to give more. I knew that day that our adoption story was not over, but that God was continuing, and still is continuing, to write a new chapter in our lives.

A chapter that started with a Bag of Grace.

A guest post by Ken

Growing up I took seven years of French classes. SEVEN Years! And I’m pretty sure EVERY DAY I said to myself, “This is so stupid! When will I ever need to know French?!”

Now I know: “When I adopt two children, in Africa, who speak French.”

Stupid. Stupid! STUPID! Why didn’t I pay better attention to Madame Tweedie?! (Yes, that really was her name. You can imagine the Looney Tune cartoons running through my mind during class. It’s no wonder I never learned the language.)

Now I am trying to revive a (dead-to-me) languauge. Never have I prayed harder for the gift of tongues.

It’s not as easy as it once was.

No more French classes.

No French channel. Although now I have Telemundo – Nashville.

No bilingual cereal boxes announcing their prizes. “On peut gagner!” [You can win!]

Even the stop signs in Tennessee are monolingual.

However, this time I have motivation! There’s a reason for butchering a language. Stumbling over verb tenses. Fumbling for correct prepositions.

There are two angels in the Democratic Republic of Congo who need to hear me say:

My name is Ken. What is your name? [Je m’appelle Ken. Quel est votre nom?]

Can I be your father? [Puis-je être votre père?]

I love you. [Je t’aime.]

Would you like to come live with us in America? [Aimeriez-vous de venir vivre avec nous en Amérique?]

I promise to protect you, feed you, and read to you every night… in French. [Je promets de vous protéger, vous nourrir et de vous lire tous les soirs… en français.]

In the end, I know that love covers over a multitude of translation errors. I know that the message will get through even if I sound like a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.

And most of all, I am sure that Robin and I are adopting two children who just want to hear the words “We love you and we want to take you home.”

In any language.

And I can’t wait to say those words.