Asha

We met on an unremarkable night. Bible study had finished at Panera and we were driving back to hang out and talk at one of our houses. It was just another day. Rain was pouring down in fistfuls with the warmth of a mid-west spring as I drove the back roads.  As I turned a corner and rumbled over some train tracks in a seedy area of town, I noticed a woman bundled against the rain pushing a baby stroller. My heart stopped a beat, and I kept driving. Was she homeless? What is in the baby stroller? Her stuff? It couldn't be a child, could it?

My heart raced as I felt the old familiar tug of compassion and heard the Lord's voice, clear and gentle, in my mind, Go back. 

I turned my car around and wrestled through my thoughts. What if she wasn't there anymore? What if I scared her by stalking her with my car? Where could I even pull over?

I saw her on the left side of the road and looped around again. The poor woman had just seen my car pass her three times. I prayed she wouldn't be afraid as I parked my car directly in front of her line of sight. As I stepped out into the pouring rain, I walked towards her trying to communicate gentleness in my body language. 

"Do you need a ride?" I yelled towards her direction, as she was still some distance from the parking lot. She hurried faster towards me and that's when I saw the beautiful baby in the stroller. Warm dark skin, curls that could twine around your little finger, dimples like sunshine, and the most beautiful deep brown eyes peeked out from under the stroller. 

My sweet Asha

As they came closer, I realized the woman wasn't young enough to be this child's mother. 

"Do you need a ride?" I asked again, softer now that they were closer. "I saw you walking in the rain and thought I would offer."

"I'm not sure you'll want to, when you know where I'm headed," she replied. 

"Where are you going?" I asked, trying to remove any judgment from my voice. This wasn't my first friendship with an addict, and my heart knew the answer before she responded.

"The liquor store, down the road," was her response followed by some embarrassed explanations. 

"Hop in. I'll give you both a ride."

"You got a car seat?" 

We began to talk about my kids and about Todiasha, her granddaughter, the beautiful chubby baby in the stroller. I scooped the sweet girl into my arms and buckled her into my youngest son's carseat. My heart immediately skipped a beat as I fell in love with her big eyes and fluffy curls, and the smallest trace of a smile that skipped across her lips. 

We drove to the liquor store and the woman left this precious baby in the car with me as she went to buy booze. I played peekaboo and cooed at the bundle in my back seat, wondering how she could leave her granddaughter with a total stranger. I recognize that I don't intimidate anyone, so I can see why she may have felt comfortable leaving her with me, but my heart ached at the lack of care it showed in her parenting. 

Our conversation continued when she got back and she shared that her daughter was homeless, living on the streets, and she was raising her grand baby. This woman had no money, no food, and little to live on, and Todiasha was sick and needed medicine. Medicaid would pay for her medicine, but she didn't have a way to get to the pharmacy to pick it up. 

I asked how old Todiasha was and she said, "18 months." At this point, my concern turned to fear that this child was neglected. She looked no older than 8 months old.  Was this child severely neglected? Was she not being given solid food to eat? She had a bottle of milk that she was drinking from - were they mixing her milk with alcohol to get her to sleep? Concerns played through my mind and as I dropped them off at their home, I wondered if I should called CPS.  I walked them inside and their home was tidy and another elderly woman was living there (who I found out later was Todiasha's great grandmother). 

I offered to drive them to the pharmacy in the morning when the store was open, so we exchanged phone numbers and said goodnight.

The entire drive back, I kept wrestling with whether I should call DCS. Was it considered neglect to walk to the store in the middle of the night in the rain with a baby? What other options do moms have that don't have cars? Was the child really 18months? Could she be neglected? 

I drove up to my friend's house, now extremely late for the rest of our girls' night, and shared my crazy story. What should I do? 

After we talked it through together, we all decided that since I was going to see them in the morning, I could re-evaluate at that point. Calling DCS is a pretty big accusation for simply walking in the rain at night.  

I went home and prayed and prayed for that little girl and her grandma. Little did I know, that night would be the beginning of our journey towards adoption. 

The next morning, I picked up Todiasha and her grandma (we'll call her Debi to protect her privacy) and took them to a CVS pharmacy. On the drive, I asked again how old Todiasha was; "8 months" was her sober response. My heart released a heavy sigh as she looked like a perfectly healthy 8-month old. Perhaps I had overreacted last night in my worry and concern. Todiasha had strep throat and a bad diaper rash, so she was picking up a prescription to treat those, but outside of that, she seemed healthy and content.

"Will you buy my mom a lottery ticket?" she asked me on the drive. "She really wants me to get one for her."

Personally, I loathe lottery tickets. I think they are called "the poor man's tax" for a reason, but I try to say 'yes' as often as possible when it comes to loving on people and blessing them when I'm able. I went to buy her a lottery ticket while we were at the store and she responded, "Oh not that one. She wants a specific one."

"Okay, which one does she want?" 

"Well, it's not at this store. It's at a store across the street." 

At this point, I knew I was being taken and she was trying to scam me out of something more than a lottery ticket.

"What store?" I asked.

She hemmed and hawed around her answer until admitting it was the liquor store. 

"I'm not buying you alcohol."

"No, no, no, sweetie. It's not for alcohol. She just has a specific lottery ticket she wants from that store. It's only $2.50."

"I don't have any cash on me. Sorry."  

"Well, can't you get some here?" 

Her persistence paid off and I did grab cash, against my better judgment, and we drove over to the liquor store. I kept kicking myself as I let her lie to me. I gave her the cash and she disappeared into the store to get the lottery ticket. She made a show of having just gotten the lottery ticket and gave me $2 change, but I'm confident she bought a small bottle of liquor to tide her over for a bit and stashed it in her bag.

Normally, I know better than to get manipulated into situations like these, but somehow I did. On the way home, I shared my concerns with her and she tried to soothe my conscience by repeating that she only got the lottery ticket. I was very honest with her and said that I would be happy to help with any physical needs, but I would not be driving her to a liquor store or giving her cash again. 

She mostly accepted that statement over the course of the next year, although at times tried to convince me to buy her liquor. However, we developed something of a friendship over this time period. I would pick her and Todiasha up for appointments and help them pick up food from the foodbank. Occasionally, I'd buy them groceries or pick up a pizza and soda for dinner after an outing. Todiasha began to spend time with my kids and I'd babysit her from time to time. 

Debi nearly got a job at one point and I offered to watch Todiasha full-time, if she needed. Her new job would start at 4am, so we talked about having Todiasha sleep at our house so she could be to work on time. Throughout this year, it became apparent that Debi was an alcoholic, but she also loved Todiasha and made sure she was clean, fed and, hopefully, cared for. I wasn't sure how bad her alcoholism was, but she was mostly sober during our outings, so I refrained from involving any government agencies, unless I had something solid to base my concerns on. 

One night, she called drunk, crying and sobbing and asked me if I could pick Todiasha up and bring her alcohol. Tonight was the night her son had committed suicide years ago. I said no to the alcohol - something she hadn't asked me for in a long time - my heart breaking for her as I rushed over to pick  up Todiasha.  

We sat on the kitchen floor together as I held her crying body, shaking with sobs. Todiasha's mom was there and angry that I was there to take away her baby. She came at me aggressively and I reached out to hug her. 

"I'm just here to give you a bit of a break. Being a mom is hard. I can stay here with Todiasha and you can just have a bit of a break." 

She crumpled into my arms as I held her sobbing body.  "Take care of my baby," she said over and over. "Promise me, you'll take care of her." She continued sobbing and I prayed my heart out over those two women.

Todiasha toddled up and jumped in our laps, snuggling close and giggling, as I prayed for life and freedom and God's love to fill up these two women. We huddled on the kitchen floor, a tangle of arms and hugs and tears and prayers.

When we were done praying, I gathered Todiasha into my arms and carried her out to the car. Debi walked us out and asked if she could stay for the night. I said, "of course," and hugged her tightly and reminded her of how much God loves her. 

Todiasha stayed several nights after that. Debi was still drunk the next morning and the morning after that. About five days later, I brought our sweet girl back to her grandma. Debi was sober and I kissed Todiasha goodbye with a heavy heart. This little one felt like my daughter already. And it hurt to give her back. 

The next evening I got a call from Debi crying that the police were going to take Todiasha away. 

"Hurry, please come. Tell them you're her aunt. Don't let them take my baby away." She repeated over and over. I rushed out of the meeting I was hosting, apologizing to my guests, raced over to where they were and went up to the officers at the scene.  Much like our original meeting, a warm rain was pouring down in torrential sheets in the same parking lot we had met in a year ago. 

Debi was with Todiasha's mom, Angela (her name is also changed to protect her privacy), who had been arrested. They had been walking home from the liquor store and Angela passed out on the side of the road. The police had pulled over and found out that she had a warrant out for her arrest.  Angela's Breathalyzer test showed a blood alcohol content that was over 2.6, and the officer suspected that it was closer to 4-something, in actuality. He said he had never seen a blood-alcohol test come back this high.

They took my name and told me that Debi and Todiasha could leave with me. I hugged Debi close as she sobbed into my arms and said, "This is just like the night I met you. It was raining then too. And we were even in this same parking lot. You are the only one I know who would keep my baby safe. Ohhh, they were going to take away my baby. I've lost all my other babies. I can't lose my baby." I drove Debi home crying and dropped her off at home. She was obviously drunk, so I said I would take Todiasha for the night. 

The next morning Debi was still drunk, so we kept Todiasha for another day. And another day. And more days after that.

Andy and I began to talk about the future. Was it possible for us to raise Todiasha? Debi had just told me that she was dying of cancer (something I later found out was not necessarily true). What happened if she was too sick to care for Todiasha? Todiasha's father was in jail and her mother was MIA. We already loved her and have known her since she was a baby. Maybe we could co-parent with Debi. 

Thoughts filled our heads, but we just had to take one day at a time. I had a busy week coming up, so I messaged Debi to arrange to bring Todiasha back on Sunday after church. 

Asha after she came to live with us

I swung Todiasha by the house and carried her inside. She began to cling to me and cry, screaming uncontrollable and trying to claw her way up my body. She pulled away from Debi as far as she could get and my heart broke inside. Maybe I shouldn't have offered to bring her back to Debi's house. Maybe I should have just let her stay with us as long as Debi would have allowed her to stay. I tried to calm her down and she settled in my arms a bit. When I set her down, she started to whimper a little. I gave her a hug and said goodbye and she started crying uncontrollable, breaking my heart a little more with each tear. 

"It looks like you spoiled her," Debi said, trying to make sense of why she was having hard time transitioning.

By loving her and caring for her, I thought silently in my mind. "I think she may be tired. This is when we've been putting her down for naps recently," is the reply that came out of my mouth. 

I left their house to the sound of her tears, feeling my heart rend into pieces. How could I love this little girl so much already?  What was God doing here? How could I leave her? Was there a way for us to raise her and be her family? How would that even happen? What horrors would she have to experience before that was even possible?

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I pulled away, leaving a piece of my heart in that small little person.

I drove home and called my mom, pouring out my heart. Did I make the wrong decision? Should I call Debi back and offer to keep her longer? Why, oh why, did I even offer to bring her back in the first place?

My mind swirled with doubts and wondering what to do. I hung up the phone and curled up on my couch to pray. I poured out my heart to God -what should I do? 

Wait until tomorrow. His still small voice calmed my worry and anxiousness. I would call Debi tomorrow and offer to watch Todiasha again. God could be in control of how long we would keep her. 

As it turned out, I never had to call. The next morning I got a phone call at 7am. Debi was crying into the phone again. "CPS is here. They are going to take her away. You have to come get my baby. Please come get her. They're going to take her away." 

I tried to get the details of what had happened, but her words weren't clear and things weren't making sense. All I could tell was that Todiasha was in the hospital and CPS was removing her from Debi's custody. I texted the caseworker, whom I had met after the incident with the police in the rain, and tried to get more details. She said she would meet me at the hospital and we could finish our conversation there. I got my kids to VBS that morning and rushed over to the hospital. Debi had already been removed from the room and the police had escorted her home.

I won't go into all the details here, but CPS deemed it prudent to remove Todiasha from the home at that time. My heart was so relieved that Todiasha was okay; truly it was the best possible situation for a child to be removed from a home. She was placed in our care as an emergency kin placement after a preliminary background check. 

My heart soared that our girl was home, with us. It felt like the Lord had orchestrated all these pieces together just for this purpose and this moment. It was as if He had allowed all these things to happen to bring her into our home and our family for good. Could this be forever? Could she become our daughter? 

We snuggled her up and brought her home from the hospital and took care of her as her health slowly improved. Each day falling more in love with her laugh, her smile, her independent-spirit, her bouncy walk. It felt like she was the missing puzzle piece of our family. 

We brought her to church one Sunday before all the craziness began. At the time I didn't know her last name, so when we signed her in, we used our last name and the nickname that we've been calling her since she arrived in our home - "Asha Catts."

A woman who is a missionary in Nepal was visiting our church and saw her name tag while we were talking. "Did you know that Asha means Hope in Nepalese?" The moment the words came out of her mouth, I heard God's voice make a promise over Asha's life, straight from scripture:

"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

This verse shot into my mind like a declaration of her future. A proclamation of what God was planning to do in her life. He has plans for her. He is going to prosper her and not harm her. He is going to give her a hope and a future.

At that moment, she become Hope to me. The promise of what God will do. "Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen." Hebrews 11:1 

When God put adoption in my heart over a decade ago, I never imagined how the story would unfold. There is a fear in my heart that she will be ripped from my arms. I love her like a daughter already, but legally, I'm a placeholder. There are so many unknowns in our future with this precious girl, but I'm confident in God's goodness towards her and us in this process. 

Like the post I wrote a year and a half ago (only a couple months after Asha was born), adoption thrums in my heart still. My heart longs to be her mommy and have her be my daughter. This tentative place is painful for everyone involved, but it is a privilege and a joy also. Each day, I grow more in love with her. Each day, I wonder what God is going to do in all this. 

I wrestle with the knowledge that someone could take her from me - her father when he is released from jail, Debi if she meets all the court's requirements, her mom if she turns her life around. At any moment, the place she holds in my life, and I in hers, could be taken away.  

I've determined to love her with all my might for as long as she is with us. Whether God lets her become a daughter in truth or whether he redeems her family legacy, she will always be a daughter in my heart. I don't have any promises about whether I will get to raise her, but I do know that God is going to pursue that little heart for the rest of her days. I do know that I will pray for her day and night for the rest of my life. I do know that she is loved, and always will be, by me and a God that is more powerful than any other force in the world.

I believe, with all my might, that He is giving her a hope and a future.

Isabel & Asha

-Elisha

It's been a while since I've shared what's been going on in our lives. It's been a hard year for me, but God has been bringing me out of the desert and my heart feels ready to process some of the things He's been teaching me over the last couple years on this blog. 

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Wonder

Wonder.

His grubby little fingers pulled piece after piece of bark from the tree; his little body focused and intent, nestled in the leaves amidst towering trees. Sunlight glowed warm on his soft hair, and he disappeared into his own private world, imagining, creating, exploring.

My middle child held my hand and balanced on fallen trees and searched under leaves for hidden treasures of acorns and bugs.

My oldest climbed logs and made forts, invented machines out of trees and sticks in her mind.

These woods held private worlds for each of my children to disappear into. They wove in and out of each others' imagined worlds and invited us in to play too. Together we wandered and dreamed and drank in the sunshine and the smiles and wonder.

Sometimes I wonder if adults can find wonder in the busyness and the weight of responsibilities. There are so many heavy things that lie on our hearts, and yet somewhere deep inside even grownups are desires and dreams and passions and imagination and wonder. Too often, those things are laid aside in favor of what needs to be done and what should be done. The sleepless nights caring for a baby and the dreary days doing mundane work in a job that sucks the wonder right out of life can often leave us grown people feeling wonder-less.

But recently, a tug in my heart keeps pulling on my imagination and asking, is wonder possible here in the midst of the sacred mundane? Can I find wonder while doing the dishes? Or can my imagination delight in possibilities unseen while still finding contentment in the duties of the here and now?

My heart has been wrestling with the question, "Can I live each day full of joy and wonder?"

And an echo in my soul says yes. Yes, I can wake to piles of laundry and children demanding food and needing diapers changed and beds cleaned and floors swept, and school to be taught. Children who need love and attention and nurturing and practical care and so much more, and the constant worry of "Am I doing this right?" And yes, somehow in there somewhere, I can find wonder and joy.

I'm tumbling along this journey, sometimes stumbling into wonder by chance and other days searching for it and finding it illusive. Perhaps wonder isn't something you can create; perhaps it must always be something you stumble upon. And yet, my little wonder experts show me that there is something we can do - no, we must do - if we are to wander into the garden of wonder.

As I watch them, I marvel at the ease with which they slip into imaginary worlds, and I follow them down that path to wondering. As I balance on the log behind my sweet Melody, I wonder to myself, "What will happen if I do a cartwheel? Can I do it?" I raise my arms in front of me and angle my body and throw myself into a wild turn and land, laughing on the ground next to the log, in unexpected laughter and dishevelment. Wonder, it returns slowly, like an once loved teddy bear feels in your arms after many neglected years. Can I live this way? How do I find this again?

I inhale the crisp air in my lungs and let the sun soak into my skin, turning towards the beauty and the light and taking time to savor the moment.  I watch them play and learn from them, as they lead me back down paths in my heart I'd allowed to become overgrown.

My children have been leading me in this journey of wonder and I find the door to enter in is simply choosing to say yes. Saying "yes" to the people and the moment in front of me, rather than pushing it aside in my mind and choices in favor of that which is to come.

This new year has brought changes to my life, resolutions if you could call them that, and one is to say yes to my children as often as a I can; to say yes to the moments that will slip out of my fingers like running water if I don't just immerse myself in them and let the flow carry me off on wild adventures.

I don't mean this in a way that I won't tell them "no" to the things that are unhealthy for them or the boundaries they need to flourish, but I mean saying yes to them. When they run circles through the kitchen while I'm doing dishes, I want to join them instead of shooing them away so I can finish the job in front of me. When they jump on my laundry piles, I want to tickle them and laugh with them and bury them in piles of clean clothes and play peek-a-boo, rather than sending them off to play elsewhere. When they ask me to play dollies, I want to say "yes," even if it means setting down an important task at hand.

Wonder isn't such an illusive place, but perhaps it is difficult to find because it is a garden we can only see when our eyes aren't constantly looking elsewhere.  Mankind's first step away from God was the moment when they believed that the moment in front of them was not enough and that there was something more they could attain for themselves.

Perhaps, if they had kept their eyes fixed on the wonder and the beauty all around them, they would have been too busy to fall into the trap of believing there was more they needed to pursue and get for themselves.

My children are not constantly thinking about the things that need to be achieved or accomplished - they are delightfully just living in the moment in front of them, embracing the people right in front of them.

CS Lewis wrote, "It is easier to be enthusiastic about humanity with a capital "H" than it is to love individual men and women..."

Perhaps that is the heart of missing out on wonder. As we constantly look towards doing big things and accomplishing great feats or even just keeping life afloat, we miss out on the wonder of just loving the person in front of us now. We miss out on living the life we have now.

We may be passionate about loving People, but it means very little if we don't actually embrace and throw ourselves fully into the act of loving the faces right in front of us. And while life certainly comes with pain and challenges, I believe we can look around and find wonder even in the midst of those things because we believe in a God who makes all things new and who gives us His vision of hope in a world that is full of pain and suffering.

As Christians, we have a secret weapon of hope through which we can see the pain in the world. We can look around us at the hardships and know that God will make all things new. We have the hope that death is just the beginning of something beautiful. We have the hope that people can be rescued out of addiction and depression and hopelessness by a God who loves them more than they could ever imagine. We have the hope that all the painful things we've experienced or will experience can be so beautifully redeemed by a loving Father that we need fear nothing and regret nothing. We have the promise that there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, so we need not live in shame or fear or insecurity, but we may walk confidently in relationship with God and people.

These lenses give us the ability to look around us and see the world through eyes of wonder, marveling at what God has done and will do.

I don't want to miss the wonder of seeing my children's grubby hands in mine and laughing with them about the slippery wooden bridge we are crossing. I don't want to miss digging for worms in the mud right next to their little bodies. I don't want to miss snuggling in close to my husband as we watch our children play and hearing his heart beat beneath my ear. I don't want to miss these things because I'm too focused on the things that need doing or the worries and plans for the future.

That day as I scampered the forest trails with my precious people, I realized wonder had been there all along; I simply didn't have the eyes to see it. I'm learning, slowly, that wonder comes when we are willing to shift where we are looking. So I'm determined to begin looking around, instead of just forward, and seeing what is right in front of my eyes and loving there. I'm praying for eyes to see not just responsibilities, but people, and a willingness to set aside that which must be done for the future in favor of that which already is.

Wonder is found by looking around and not just simply moving forward. It is seeing the beauty that already is and marveling in each detail, entering fully into each precious second of life we've been given.

May we all find wonder again and rediscover the beauty of seeing clearly the gifts that are right in front of our eyes.