Don't Judge

The past month has been a whirlwind of awesome, chaos and... well, let's just say that at this point I have four toothbrushes that could be mine but I'm just not sure. I mull it over every morning as we are already late for school. I have not cooked a decent meal for my kids in... well, so long I don't recall. They all appear to be functioning so I guess all is well in the nutrition department. I share the sweet and sensational snapshots of our one month as a family of five on Facebook because those moments should be celebrated. I just don't want any of you to think that everyday life is unicorns and rainbows. 

For example, this very morning I had to text my boys teacher and ask her to send them out of the classroom so I could apologize and ask their forgiveness for yelling at them this morning. Yelling at them to be kind. (I know. I know. facepalm) My point is, parenting is humbling, friends. HUMBLING. If your little one is still tiny and sweet, just wait. 

All of this to say, after much prayer, research and testing, we have decided to allow Leticia to have a left sided Cochlear Implant. Now, many of you are probably thinking, Right on! Great! Hope it goes well! My friends who are deaf, or are in the Deaf community are probably wanting to throw stones at me. I get it. I do. 

When we decided that adopting Leticia was something we were called to do, we knew that we loved her just as she is. That has NOT changed. Not a bit. Leticia is driving this train. She is a natural communicator. She wants to communicate with everyone, and not through some pesky interpreter. That might be wonderful for some kids, and Leticia needs to learn to accept interpretation in many settings, but she wants to HEAR, She has told us this so many times since she has been home. 

I know that some of my friends will be upset and may even be offended by our decision to allow her to have a CI. I get it. If you want to talk about it, we are here. The one thing I know about my daughter is that she is a girl who knows what she wants, so unless God throws up roadblocks. we are tentatively planning on proceeding in the next few months. 

I felt so conflicted leaving the audiologist today. This was never my plan. A man got on the elevator with us. He saw Leticia's hearing aids and asked if she was deaf. It turns out that he was also born deaf and was given a CI at the age of three. He went on about how he would never be a doctor without his CI and how thankful he was. He also signed and could communicate with Leticia in that way, as far too few can. For me, that was the confirmation I needed. I mean, what are the odds that a neurologist with a CI would be on that elevator at that moment when I was feeling such doubt. 

If you have questions about why the topic is controversial you an google or ask me. In the end, we all do what is best for our kids, even if it isn't what we had envisioned. Please pray for our family as we continue to pray and seek guidance and make decisions.

 

Home

It has been three weeks since Leticia finally was able to physically join our family here in the U.S.. In many ways it seems as if she has always been with us. We have fallen into a routine and are feeling our way through. There are so many thoughts swirling through my sleepy head right now but I wanted to share a few.

I am so proud of my boys. For eleven years, they have had my full attention. I have always been at the ready with a snack, a band aid, listening ear, a hug, whatever the situation called for. Since Leticia arrived on the scene she has been stuck to me like glue and most of my attention has been fixed on her. Have they been jealous? Sure. Of course. We talked about this many times before she came home and it was decided that when they had these feelings, they would let me know. And they have. Is it perfect? No. Far from it. But it is our family and we are a work in progress I am just so proud I could bust. 

The fact that God has entrusted us with these three (not so) little people to guide and walk through life with- it blows my mind. Stephen and Daniel have upped their game not only with sharing and learning how to play "girl stuff," their signing has also improved. What a joy it is to watch the three of them laughing and chatting. Seriously. I almost can't stand it!

Also, the small private school that our boys attend has allowed Leticia to be home schooled by me in their classroom. Being raised in an institutional setting, this is most comfortable for her, and for now it's working just fine. The best thing is that I have been teaching basic Sign Language to several of the classes. The kids are so excited to learn how to talk to Leticia and enter her world. I was so worried that she would be isolated and lonely. More proof that worry is a complete waste of time! Watching her run and play with her friends at recess is such a blessing!

When I add up how much it has cost to not only obtain guardianship but to fight the USCIS for her visa, there is no way that a mailman and stay-at-home-mom could have made this happen. No way. How did we do it? Between six visits to Uganda, five lawyers and four appeals... It is seriously a loaves and fishes type of deal. Thank  you. Thank you for believing that Leticia would come home. Thank you for not giving up on her. As I watch her sleep, it is still hard to believe that she is actually here. God is so good. He answers prayers. <3

This is what Leticia calls "Our Family Story"  Basically, Leticia, Kris, John, Stephen, Daniel, Love, waiting for a long, long time, family, it's true, it's true, FINISHED! 

A Sacred Gift

Adoption. The concept, the process, the idea, the beautiful child… It is something that has been a part of our every waking moment for the past two years. It wasn’t until a few weeks ago when I was invited to participate in the intimate details of a dear friend’s delivery and subsequent adoption that the reality of what adoption is truly began to sink in.

I had met with my friend, let’s call her Kate, throughout her pregnancy. For reasons that I will not go into in order to protect her privacy, Kate was adamant that adoption was the best thing for the child growing inside her. She never wavered. She never once considered abortion for her baby. We discussed her options. I was aware of a few families who I knew would love this child. Finally, Kate selected the family who she was most comfortable with.

I was honored to be by Kate’s side when she delivered. The doctor instructed me to stand at ground zero and hold her leg. I cheered for her as she pushed. Having never been a part of an actual delivery before, I was awestruck when Baby J left the safety of Kate’s womb and joined this world. The nurse expertly cleaned him and placed him on Kate’s chest. It was then that my heart began to break. I cut the cord with trembling hands. The last thing that physically tethered him to his birth mother. I still remember the feel of the scissors in my fingers and the sensation that shot through my hand as they slowly severed the rubbery cord.

He was beautiful. He was perfect.

Of course, we say that about every baby. We have to. There was something almost otherworldly about Baby J. Something beyond beautiful. Beyond precious.

The adoptive family, also very close friends of ours, were not able to fly in until the following day. The doctor finished attending to Kate’s immediate postnatal care while Baby J was weighed, measured and checked out by NICU staff due to his slight prematurity. They confirmed what we already knew. Baby J was perfect in every way.

Kate made the decision to pump to give Baby J the benefit of the colostrum that only she could provide. Her face beamed with adoration as she took him in. Kate would keep Baby J with her that night. Their first and only night together before the adoptive family would assume his care. I exited the room quietly and sobbed all the way home.

Kate was all smiles when I greeted her the next morning. Baby J’s first night had been wonderful and uneventful. He cried only when he was hungry or in need of a fresh diaper. Kate held him comfortably and glowed with pride.

For perhaps the hundredth time, I asked if she was sure. Was this really what she wanted? Her answer was the same. Yes. Not because Kate did not love Baby J. Actually, because she loved him with every fiber of her being, she needed to know that he was safe. Because of her situation, she could not be sure that he would be protected. She continued to nest and smile and admire her son. It wasn’t until a mutual friend who had agreed to privately shoot some pictures for Kate and the adoptive family arrived that I saw the dam of emotion break.

The photographer, Kate, myself… none of us could speak. So we didn’t. Our sobs and the camera shutter were the only sounds for a long time. The photographer, a lovely woman who had regrettably made a different choice when faced with an unplanned pregnancy years ago, sat on the edge of Kate’s bed and tried to relay a message of encouragement.

“You are so brave,” were the only words that she could manage to say.

Then came the moment of truth. The adoptive mother, Abby, had finally arrived at the hospital ready to meet her baby. While Kate was also eager to meet Abby, I noticed that she clutched Baby J a little closer at the news of her arrival. The photographer did her best to blend in with the background and capture the moment when birth mother and adoptive mother met.

I had no idea that sorrow and joy could be experienced simultaneously. Kate, Baby J still in her arms, and Abby embraced, their bodies shook uncontrollably as they wept. Abby finally sat next to Kate and took her hand.

“Are you sure?” Abby asked. “If you want to raise him, we will help you.”

The tears continued to roll as Kate answered. “I am sure. He needs to be safe.”

The next few days were full of joy and turmoil and emotion so deep that I don’t have words to attach to them. When it was finally time to leave the hospital, I watched as Kate slowly dressed Baby J in his adorable going home outfit. Her tears fell on him like a steady rain, baptizing him with her love.

I have never seen such love. Sacrificial. Selfless. Noble.

I have asked for prayers for Kate throughout her pregnancy. To those of you who prayed for her during this difficult time, I am so grateful. Some have sent cards and gifts anonymously. I can assure you that your gifts and words of encouragement have meant so much to her.

Unfortunately, there have been some negative responses as well.

“I could never do that,” is a common response. I get that. There were also comments demeaning birth mothers that I won’t mention. I do feel compelled to say this. If we do not provide support and encouragement to these selfless women who choose to give life to their babies, then what we are really saying is that abortion is a better option. A more comfortable option, at least for those of us on the outside looking in. We MUST change our attitudes and develop hearts of compassion and sensitivity toward birth mothers if we call ourselves pro-life.

Thankfully, Abby and Kate have decided on a very open adoption. Baby J will grow up to know the woman who carried him and made the best decision for him. Abby feels that her family has grown not only by one, but that Kate has been grafted in as well.

I don’t know if adoption has touched your life at all. It has been a part of our lives for the last two years, but until my experience a few weeks ago, I don’t think I truly got it.

Adoption is painful.

Adoption is beautiful.

That moment when a birth mother places her child into the arms of an adoptive mother is sacred.

I hate to over spiritualize things, but so many times my thoughts were drawn to God. How he gave his one and only truly perfect son. He did not give him into the arms of a loving family, but handed him over to be brutalized and murdered for a world that had nothing but hatred in their hearts. He did this so that WE could be adopted. So that we could be his sons and daughters.

What an honor it was to be a small part of Baby J’s life. What a joy to call the God who created him my Dad through the miracle of adoption.

And Then There Were None

This past weekend, I had the honor of participating in a healing retreat for former abortion clinic workers. And Then There Were None, the organization which held the retreat, was founded by former clinic director and one of my dearest friends, Abby Johnson. 

At first, I felt a bit intimidated. As one of the only ones at the retreat who had not worked at a clinic, I wondered if they would accept me or even want me there. My fears were put to rest very quickly. The former workers welcomed me warmly and received me into their circle. 

There are so many thoughts and revelations swirling through my head since the retreat. These women shared their experiences, thoughts, and struggles with shocking honesty. Some of them have been out of the industry for quite some time. Even their families do not know about their participation in the industry. They literally have no outlet to share their burden with, so when they come together, it all pours out. 

I am not going to go into their specific stories because they are not mine to share. I do want people, particularly people in the pro-life camp to understand a few things. 

1) No one is unreachable.  Consider the Saul-to-Paul conversion. Can you imagine the surprise of those early Christians when they learned that the very one who had persecuted and murdered them was now their brother in Christ? I think God was very intentional in choosing Paul. He wanted to show us that his grace is greater than any sin. That sin isn't broken down into tiers. 

2) No one can be shamed to Christ.  What I saw before me this weekend were repentant, heavily burdened women who know what they have done. No one can judge them more than they have already judged themselves. Several of them explained what the reactions of their churches or closest friends have been upon their sharing with them that they were a part of the industry. It was anything but grace-filled. One former abortionist was told not to mention her past to her "Forgiven and Set Free" Bible study. Was anyone else encouraged not to share about their past? I doubt it. If you don't know what to say, say nothing. Give a hug. 

3) Abortion clinic workers are not bad people.  I am not going to go into the grizzly reality of abortion. I think we all know that it is gory. It is hard for most of us to picture ourselves doing the things that these workers have done. If you were to sit with them and listen, or take their phone calls when they finally decide to leave, you would come to a place of understanding. This does not excuse their sin, but ask yourself, have you ever been a part of anything that you knew from the start was wrong, yet continue? Oftentimes, clinics will advertise for a medical assistant, say that they will train the right person, and offer a great benefit package. One worker described her interview. 

"It was a Friday, which was not a procedure day. All I knew was that it was a women's health clinic. I was hired on the spot," she said. "When I started on Tuesday, I was shocked to find that it was an abortion clinic. I went to the manager and asked her why she didn't tell me. She assured me that I would only be working the recovery room and doing administrative work."
Before long, she was piecing together body parts and holding the suction machine. When this woman's child died, she was sure it was because of the curse she had brought on her family by being a part of what went on at the clinic. 

Some women work at referral only clinics where abortions are not performed. Suddenly, they are told that they have to go to a different clinic to cover a shift and before they know it, they are in the middle of something they never imagined. 

The industry also does a good job of brainwashing these women and hardening them against the truth. I could write pages and pages about this, and may at another time. The bottom line is that no one wants to grow up and work at an abortion clinic. But we must know our enemy. They target idealistic college students and post-abortive young women in denial about their own abortions. They promise empowerment and deliver shame and death. When workers decide they want out, as pro-lifers, we must be there for them. 

4) The lives of the baby, mother, and worker are all of infinite value. If we truly believe in the sanctity of human life, then we must not place more value on one than another. Think if Paul had not been received by his new brethren because of his past? A good portion of the New Testament would be lacking. The loss of each child is a tragedy. The knowledge that one (or more) of her children is missing at her hand is a deep grief for a post-abortive mother. Experiencing a conversion and coming to the realization that you have been involved in the wholesale slaughter of children under the banner of "choice" is a burden that not many of us could bear. The babies, the mothers and the workers are all victims of the abortion industry. God created them all, and to him they are precious.

5) No one can do more to end abortion than former workers.  The abortion industry HATES former workers. Especially ones like Abby who refuse to be silenced. They can take her to court and threaten her, but they cannot shut her up. And they cannot keep her from helping people just like her leave the industry. To date, 139 workers have left the abortion industry through ATTWN. Several clinics have been shut down as a result of their testimony. There will be more. These workers know the industry's dirty secrets, and when they have had a conversion, there is NO ONE as on fire to end the evil of abortion than them. 

At the end of the retreat we decided to walk through a clinic that had recently closed and is in the process of being acquired by several pro-life organizations to be used for life. The clinic was left exactly as it was when it was in operation. There was blood on the walls in the procedure rooms and the POC lab. It was dirty. Walking through it had a heaviness that I cannot even explain. The thing that stood out to me the most were the quotes that the clinic had chosen to put on the wall in every room. 

This one was on the wall of the waiting room's restroom. I wondered how many women had stood there, looking themselves in the mirror wondering if they should go through with the abortion and been spurred on by this quote. 

I found this one to be particularly ironic. It was plastered on the wall of one of the procedure rooms. 

This one, on the wall of the recovery room, I thought was the saddest of all. What message was this sending to the hurting women sitting in that room who had just aborted their child? 

This weekend has taught me many things. It was intense and painful at times, but the way God chose to wrap it up was so perfect, so beautiful, only he could have orchestrated it. 

We had walked through the clinic. Some of us prayed together. The atmosphere was heavy and some needed to leave. As the workers loaded into the van, Abby and I watched as a crowd of people began to emerge from behind the clinic. There were children, teens, middle aged people and old folks of all skin colors. Suddenly, a tall black man belted out, "Abby!" 

The group of people were from a local church who had decided to come to the clinic to pray. They had been praying for the workers during our retreat, but they had no idea that we would be there. I love this picture taken in front of the clinic.

One other thing I would like to share. I wish I could name the retreat center that allowed us to come this weekend, but out of respect for the worker's anonymity, I won't. God knows, and I'm sure he will bless them. The chef was amazing and interactive, and the women serving us were sweet as pie. We didn't find out until later that these women, who we thought were employees of the retreat center, were actually part of a post-abortive Bible study and felt the need to come and serve these former clinic workers. Some of them drove four hours to do so.

Folks, if that isn't spiritual foot washing, I don't know what is. As Sanctity of Human Life Sunday rolls around, please pray for the evil of abortion to end. Pray for the babies, the women and men whose lives have been forever impacted, and for these brave, strong, former workers who I am proud to call friends. I am in awe of their understanding of grace and repentance and inspired by their determination to end abortion. 

Feisty Sheilas

The last month or so has been full of pretty awful news. First, the denial from the USCIS, then finding out that we have to hire an adoption agency and pay to do all of the things we've already done and paid for: home study, clearances, post-placement visits... The list goes on and on. For a few days, I allowed myself to wallow and had a pity party along with some hissy fits that were quite unproductive. Today, I have been thinking a lot about the amazing people that God has placed in our path.

More specifically, I have been feeling very thankful for the strong women who have been a part of this process. This is in no way meant to be offensive to men, but I have learned that sometimes, to get something done, you need a strong woman to get the ball rolling, or kick in the door, whatever the case may be. 

One of my dearest friends, Abby Johnson, comes to mind. Without this fierce one, I wouldn't have had that first and very special visit with Leticia. The visit when I fell completely in love with her and just knew. Abby was aware of how desperately I wanted to go to Uganda, but couldn't afford it, so she just booked a ticket for me. Just like that. Because that's how she rolls. Abby is a pro-life warrior and never shies away from a battle if she knows that she is on the side of truth. Even if it will cost her dearly. Sometimes, it does. Undeterred, Abby dusts herself off and fights on. She is indefatigable. Thank you Abby (and Doug) for being such a constant and incredible source of support for us from the very start. 

My lawyers, Christine Poarch and McLane Layton have given me renewed faith in the legal profession. I solemnly swear to never tell another lawyer joke for the rest of my life. Christine is fiery, bluntly honest, and relentlessly fights against injustice. McLane is relational, persistent, and despite the fact that she is insanely busy, she always makes time for my stupid questions and concerns. Both Christine and McLane are mental powerhouses, just absolute geniuses. Thank you both for tirelessly fighting for our little girl. 

Lastly, Greta Van Susteren. This woman has just blown me away with her kindness, compassion, interest in our case, and genuine concern for our family. I will never forget the way she leaned back in her chair after we completed our podcast and said, "This is just insane. Who can I call?" She snatched up her phone and started dialing. She has people on speed-dial who I have only read about and seen on TV. Powerful people. I can only imagine how busy Greta is and how much is on her plate each and every day. Yet, she takes the time to initiate contact with me on a regular basis. She asks what is going on, if certain people she has contacted have followed up with us, and as she told me today, "You know where to find me if you need help." Greta does this not because she will get anything out if it. Being involved with our case won't increase her ratings. Frankly, we aren't that interesting. Greta chose to be involved because she cares. 

I could list many more who have done much for our family, but I really felt the need to recognize these feisty sheilas. Their intelligence, zeal, and extravagant compassion are such a wonderful example for young girls like my Leticia. Abby, Christine, McLane and Greta, we can never repay you for all the ways you've blessed our family. All we can say is thank you and promise to teach Leticia to follow in your footsteps and be a strong, kind woman who goes out of her way for others and uses her gifts to fight the good fight. 

#BringLeticiaHome

An open letter to the USCIS

Dear USCIS,

I need to start this letter with an apology. I have said and thought things about you that were less than kind and charitable. The God who I follow commands kindness in all situations, so I am without excuse. 

I also need to beg your forgiveness for undoubtedly making your job more taxing. Since starting our adoption journey, we have made some really stupid rookie mistakes, including filing our I600 incorrectly. We are so sorry for the headaches that I'm sure we've caused. Three appeals and many thousands of dollars later, we have learned a lot. 

Right now, our third appeal to classify Nakafuuma Leticia as our immediate relative is on your desk, or more likely, your desktop. We have a team of brilliant, dedicated lawyers who have done a wonderful job undoing the damage done by our careless mistakes and pointing out why Leticia more than qualifies as our daughter. I can only imagine how many cases such as ours are in your queue. 

As you wade through the twenty-two page document that is our third appeal, there are some things that we want you to know. We don't have access to anyone at the USCIS, so our prayer is that this post finds the person who will be handling our appeal. 

First, we want you to know that there is no deception in our case. Although we were extremely naive as we stumbled into this adoption process, the blinders are off and we are now aware of the level of corruption involved with Ugandan adoptions. Mothers who are simply poor, but have a desire to parent their children are talked into giving them up by agencies who are looking for children for families instead of families for children. A dear friend has walked away from their adoption after discovering that the child they already loved had living relatives more than willing to care for her. It is heartbreaking that this happens, and we have learned that it happens often. Thank you for your vigilance in making sure that families stay together whenever possible and holding corrupt agencies accountable. 

Please know that this is not the case with Leticia. Her biological parents have been offered much help and resources to raise her. They have been offered sign language classes to learn to communicate with her, which they flatly refused. The judge berated them at length for parenting and caring for their hearing children and shunning Leticia. They were very clear. They do not wish to learn sign language. They don't want financial help to have her in their family. They don't want her at all, and seem quite baffled that we do. 

Leticia was left at a school for deaf children at the age of two. Normally, this school does not accept children of this age, but the director feared for this child's safety and well-being because of her abusive father. He believes that she has cursed him and has stated that he hates her, and she is a "kasiru" or "the stupid one." The biological mother has only been involved at the insistence of the school since leaving Leticia. They have never paid any school fees as they think it is a total waste to educate a deaf child. She has not been welcomed in their home. The few times that she did return to their home years ago when the school closed she was abused.

These people have willfully abandoned, deserted, and separated themselves from Leticia since they learned of her deafness. They do not want her. There is nothing anyone can say or do that will make them choose differently. I do not say this in judgement of them. Many Ugandans feel the same about children with disabilities. I say this so that you will understand that this child has no one in her country of birth that loves her, wishes to parent her, or appreciates the amazing little girl she is. 

We also want you to know how desperately we do want her and love her. Leticia is smart, strong, curious, brave, beautiful, and so full of potential. Her inability to hear or speak has not inhibited her ability to communicate. We have spent a great deal of time with Leticia in our four visits to Uganda. She understands that we love her and that we want her. On March 17, 2014 we were awarded Legal Guardianship of Leticia in a Ugandan court. She understands that on that day, she became Leticia Detrow. 

Please know that there is room in our hearts and our home and a place at our table for Leticia. She is our daughter. Her brothers pray every night that God would help their sister come home. Friends and family who are dying to finally meet her. We have resources in place to help her learn and grow and meet that potential. We see her deafness as different, not less. Leticia has a wonderful community of people here to welcome her home. 

Please keep in mind that there is a little girl in Uganda who doesn't understand why we aren't coming for her. I know you must be overwhelmed with cases such as ours, but please don't think of our daughter as a number, but a little girl who needs to be with her family. 

I don't know if you are a parent. If so, imagine being thousands of miles away from your child. Let yourself feel what it would be like knowing that your child could possibly be feeling that you are not coming for them because you have rejected them. I don't know if you can put yourself in that place. All I can say is that this mother's heart is broken and so heavily burdened with worry for Leticia that it is paralyzing at times. We have been advised not to visit because it would wreck her if we were to leave again without her. 

We are grateful for our Ugandan friends who are caring for Leticia during this time, but she needs to be with her family. We beg you to keep all of these things in mind as you review our appeal. God bless you. 

The Detrows

John, Kris, Stephen, Daniel and Leticia

#bringleticiahome

Nothing

I recently had major surgery at one of our nation's top hospitals. I am so glad that the team at Georgetown University was able to see me and fit me into their schedule, but it was not what I would classify as a stellar experience.

I mean, no one likes surgery, right? But I gotta say, this hospital was just old and creepy. Like, I kept expecting the lights to flicker and ghost children to appear. It had the feel of a hostel with Morphine, which I admit was my favorite part.

One moment in particular stands out in my foggy, post-surgery brain. I was thirsty. Like, after a hike in the desert thirsty. The tray with the white foam cup with bendy straw was about a foot and a half away. It might as well have been across the ocean. I could not reach it. The call button? Also out of my reach.

When the dietary staff came to deliver my "dinner" I was so relieved. I asked her if she could please push my tray to me so that I could have a drink. "We aren't allowed to do that," she answered as she fled my room to sling her hospital hash to the next patient.

So there I was. Hurting. Drugged. Helpless as a newborn kitten, and more thirsty than I have ever been in my entire life. A cup of cold water was there, just out of reach. I wanted to call out, but my voice, still extremely raspy from having the tube down my throat during the long surgery, betrayed me. I felt like Kate Winslet's character at the end of Titanic. "Jack? Jack?" That is how I squeaked. Not very effective for fetching the attention of the overworked nursing staff bustling by my room.

In that moment, I could do nothing to improve my condition. I could not quench my thirst. I was completely helpless. Can I just tell you how much I HATED that feeling? I am a doer. I like to do things. Make them happen. It was in this moment that I did, despite the drugs, feel God speaking to me. Telling me that this experience was no different than the last 38 years of my life, I was just thirstier.

John 15:15 says  "Yes, I am the vine; you are the branches. Those who remain in me, and I in them, will produce much fruit. For apart from me you can do nothing."

I cannot reach that cup and put the straw to my lips. I cannot make the USCIS apply the law correctly and issue my daughter a visa to come home where she belongs. I cannot live with the pain and gnawing ache of her absence everyday. I can't do any of it. Sure, I can be a shell with a smile on my face and hide and pretend that it is all under control, but that is such a lie.

We are devastated by the recent denial of our appeal to bring Leticia home. People ask if I am ok. No, really, I am not. But was I ever? Without God, I can do nothing. So, during this time I am trying to remember to cling to him and reject anger, bitterness, and worry. People we don't even know have offered to do fundraisers for us to pay for ANOTHER appeal, and we welcome all help. Because if there is one thing God has taught me in the last month, it is that I can do NOTHING, and that on my best day, I desperately need him.

We are grateful for the friends who have brought meals after surgery, prayed for us, donated toward our legal costs, and keep Leticia and our case in their daily prayers. What an encouragement it is to know that although I can do nothing without my God, nothing is too hard for him, and in HIS time, everything will be made right. Love you all! <3

The Zoo

Today was a great day. Our family visited the zoo for the first time and we had a wonderful time. Some of you will remember that my boys referred to Petsmart as "the zoo" until they were about four, so this was quite an outing for them. The weather was great. There were no crowds. The monkeys were playful and the birds were talking. There were no meltdowns. 

While I feel so blessed to have had such a lovely day, I found myself choking back the tears as I remembered my last zoo experience. In Uganda. With Leticia. 

I really am trying to avoid being whiny while still maintaining honesty when sharing about our adoption. I understand that we are blessed beyond belief and our gratitude list is darn near infinite. I do get that. Can I just be real right now? This wait is killing me. There are times that I can almost see her with me. The grocery store, for example, although I have no idea why. As I push the cart, I can clearly visualize Leticia sitting in cart kicking her legs and pointing to things on the shelf as she signs "sweet!" 

Or today at the zoo. What fun she would have had. As much as we enjoyed the time together, her absence was palpable. At least it was for me. 

People ask what is going on. What we have heard from our lawyers? The answer, unfortunately, is nothing. And this limbo is for the birds. I know she's in very good hands in Uganda, but I worry what she thinks and how she feels. This legal mess doesn't make sense to me, how is she supposed to understand it? Is she healthy? Does she know we love her and are fighting for her? We can pass the message on through others, but I'm sure in her heart she wonders. If we care so much, then where are we? 

On the bright side, we know that God is in this. A dear friend of mine is also playing this dubious adoption waiting game.  We have decided to ask friends to take time to pray and fast for our situations this week. Thank you for participating. If you haven't been praying, there's no time like the present! Prayer changes things. Please keep them coming. 

I trust that one day soon Leticia will be home and we may even understand and see the value in the wait. Until then, I have to agree with Stephen and Daniel's sentiments as they darted off for the exhibit they'd been eagerly anticipating. "Let's run to Africa!" 

To twine own self be true

I hate twine. And cotton balls. And burlap. Especially burlap. I hate them with an eternal, white-hot hatred. I have no idea why. I don't believe I was wrapped in burlap as a child, but who knows. The why isn't important. The point is, I cannot tolerate these things. 

Last night at VBS (that's Vacation Bible School for you unchurched heathen) I came face to face with my nemesis: TWINE. It all came about innocently enough. 

"Can you help with crafts?" 

"Sure. Why not?"

All the usual suspects were there: paints, Styrofoam plates, wooden treasure chests, sparkly jewels, pipe cleaners and roughly a zillion children. I was up for the challenge. Until I saw it. My Kryptonite. 

The idea was that each child would roll their precious Bible verse into a scroll to place within their treasure chests and then we would help them tie the twine around the scrolls. I stared at the pre-cut pieces of the vile little rope waiting in front of each child. I felt a little green. I tried to joke with my co-workers. I don't do twine, I told them. They chuckled. 

Inside I was screaming NOOOOOO!!! You don't get it! I don't DO twine. I CAN'T do twine. 

But this was VBS for goodness sake! And I love Jesus, and want these little guys to love him as well one day, so I soldiered on. When a sweet fourth grader handed me her scroll and asked me to please tie her t-t-twine around it, I jumped right in. I smiled sweetly, as VBS workers are required to do, grabbed the scroll and the t-word from her outstretched hand and got to work. 

I realize that people often use hyperbole and state that they do not have words for things, but I swear, I cannot describe to you the intense feelings that surged through my body after simply touching this heinous rope-like substance. It would be a bit dramatic to call it torture, but I have to tell you, it was physically painful. My arms turned to goose flesh. My teeth hurt. I could hear the twine touch my skin. I tried. I tried really hard. But in the end, I had to pass the job to a baffled friend and admit defeat. Goosebumps are popping up now just talking about it. 

If you are still with me, I do have a point. As the mom of a kid with ASD, (Autism Spectrum Disorder) I often hear of sensory issues. I have often tried to imagine what certain things are like for him. Or sometimes when he is really struggling, I try to take note of what is going on around him. But I have to say, until last night, I sympathized, but I didn't "get it." 

I watched as my experienced VBS co-workers tied those wretched pieces of twine around the scrolls like nobodies business. Easy peasy for them. I felt at that moment that God (not audibly, don't stage an intervention. But if you do, I insist on somewhere coastal for my  twine rehab) was talking to me through the discomfort. As an adult helper, I was unable to do what was expected of me. Why? Twine. But more specifically, because of my reaction to twine. My sensory issue. 

Sensory issue. It just sounds so made up. If you aren't familiar with ASD, it can seem like some kids are just controlling brats who want their own way and their parents are eager to slap a diagnosis on them to make themselves feel better. I have heard that from more people than I care to number.

I started to think about my son and all of his sensory glitches. Food being the most severe. It seems that almost since birth, this child has has a bologna sandwich on a Martin's potato roll for lunch. Sometimes, he asks for his sandwich at odd times, like in the shower. Who wouldn't want a bologna sandwich in the shower, right? Anything goes in our house, I guess, 

My sweet boy is as particular and specific about his dislikes as he is his likes. Apples are hated. Applesauce is acceptable. Carrots are unacceptable. Strawberries, grapes, oranges, completely beyond the pale. The lists go on. They are long and rather boring. 

Here is the point just in case you were wondering if I would ever come around to mentioning one. Because of ASD, my son feels that same intense feelings in reaction to many things in his everyday life.

Watching him break out into goose flesh of his own after eating a non-preferred food item has given me an enormous amount of empathy. I know how intensely uncomfortable I was for just a few minutes. I wonder what his life must be like. I am always demanding hugs that he doesn't care to give and requiring him to eat foods that he hates. The last time I saw him eat a carrot, his reaction struck me. I could see that it was literally painful for him. He wasn't being a picky brat, he simply could not tolerate a carrot in the same way that I can't tolerate twine.

I feel like my nasty encounter with my old friend twine has been a wake up call for me. A call to patience. What if someone expected me to use twine everyday and I HAD to do it? What would I do? I would meltdown, that's what.  I felt like I was in his place. It was uncomfortable, painful, and embarrassing.

The point (FINALLY! ) is this. We hear the term "sensory issues" and think that it is a load of crap. That people simply don't care to feed their kids good food or train them to do A, B or C. With the help of twine (ewwwww) I have learned that true sensory issues are HUGE. 

The positive is that I felt like it was God telling me that this is how many things feel for Stephen. Some kids just don't want to eat veggies. And then there are the kids who want their bodies to be healthy but would rather be hit by a truck than eat a carrot.

I pray that the Lord will give wisdom in parenting and discernment to know when our kids are just being themselves. May my old foe, twine, remind me to be sensitive and show me how to relate to my son.

To twine own self be true. 

You Can't Outbid God

So much has happened since my last update. Since we had to return to the states without our daughter Leticia. I am not going to lie. Some of our recent days have been dark. I mean, D A R K. If you are one of  *those* friends who've been fortunate enough to witness one of my breakdowns, you know. I have been tested, and one things for sure. Although my faith has been severely lacking, God has consistently shown himself faithful to me.

If we are friends on Facebook, our family may well have worn our welcome thin on your news feed. Three friends decided that they were going to host an online auction to support the mounting legal costs of our rather complicated adoption. These chicks were sent by Jesus himself. Let's just say that when these ladies join forces to get something done, well, you may as well hang your hat and take a nap, because it is DONE, sister. Wow. Over three hundred and fifty people participated in our adoption auction. THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY!!! 

Some of these people I don't even know. I might never have the opportunity to meet them in person or adequately convey our thankfulness. Not only for the goods/services that they donated and/or bid on, but just for caring and giving. For thinking about and praying for our family and our daughter during this time. You simply cannot put a price tag on that. 

Out of approximately one hundred items donated for our adoption auction, one thing in particular caught my eye. A beautiful, quirky antique barn wood organizer made by one of my favorite creative geniuses. I just loved it. I had to have it. I had a plan for it. But, I mean, the auction was being held for our benefit. I bid anyway. 

A sweet Facebook friend (and friend IRL) Randy also began bidding. Although I was ALL about the trash talk and grandstanding that drove some of the items sky high (Thirty dollars for a dozen eggs!) this was different. Darn it, I wanted this organizer. And Rocky, I mean Randy, obviously wanted it too. I bid $36, he bid $37. I bid in Aramaic, he apparently used Google translate. He was unstoppable. Eventually, I stopped bidding. 

But Randy had a secret. No matter how high I bid that gorgeous antique barn wood organizer, he was going to bid a little higher. And despite all of my smack talk and threats to pummel him like a side of beef in a Philly locker circa 1976, in the end I was down for the count. Randy's secret was that he had contacted my friends. He wanted to know what I wanted. He was outbidding me on my own antique barn wood organizer because he wanted me to have it. 

I have been thinking about how my bidding war with Randy is kind of symbolic. God has given us so much. We are blessed beyond belief. But sometimes, I want what I want when I want it. End of story. I bid. What I think I need is out of reach. I bid again. And again. My end game might be something that I feel will bring me peace. God might be trying to give it to me. Telling me that it has been mine all along and that I can stop the searching, or in this case, the bidding. That I need to just wait. Or ask him. 

I cannot put into words how devastating leaving Leticia has been. Honestly, it still is. Emotionally, financially... I fear the toll on her as she waits. She must wonder why we aren't coming for her. We pass messages as we are able and have Skyped, but how is she supposed to comprehend all of this red tape. I don't get it myself. 

Through the love, support and prayers of our sweet friends, we are able to hold on. To stop trying to outbid God on what we want and trust that what he has is best. We know that Leticia is our daughter. We do not like it one bit that she isn't here with us right now, but what comfort to know that God has us all right where we need to be. And trust that he is preparing us all as we wait. 

I am happy to report that my antique barn wood organizer is now hanging in the hallway, exactly where I pictured it the first time I saw it. Hanging on it are the flip flops that fell off of Leticia's feet as she was driven away the last time we saw her. I was sobbing too hard to even notice them, but John did and picked them up from the roadside. The necklace that I mailed her after the very first time we met. The little pink sunglasses she posed in that somehow ended up in my suitcase. A dress that I absolutely love on her. 

Everyday as I pass by these things, they will be a constant reminder that our little girl is in the palm of our savior's hand, and we have faith that she will be home with us soon. She will be wearing her flip flops, hamming it up for the camera in her pink shades, sporting her pretty dress and butterfly necklace.  But most of all, a reminder that we can never outbid the goodness of God. 

Thank you all so much for your support. We love you!

Leaving Leticia

Many friends have called, messaged and emailed me asking how we are doing and what is going on. Not feeling up to an extremely coherent post at this point, but here is what is on my heart. 

Since our departure from Uganda, the last few moments we were able to spend with our daughter have been running on an endless loop in my brain. Although much of the time we spent with her as a family in Uganda was so sweet, this reoccurring mental video is far from pleasant. 

As most of our friends know, because of an immigration denial to classify Leticia as our immediate relative, we were forced to return to the states early to appeal before their deadline. Looking back, we were so naive going into this process. 

After our intense nine hour stint in a Ugandan court, we were elated when the judge awarded us legal guardianship on the spot. I cried, our six wonderful Ugandan friends who showed up to testify on our behalf rejoiced with us, and we were sure that the hard part was over. When Leticia asked if she would finally be flying home to America with us this time, I nodded enthusiastically. 

"John, Kris, Stephen, Daniel, Leticia, Family, airplane, America!" I signed. We were all so excited that she was officially ours! She was a Detrow. We hugged our Ugandan loved ones and the five of us headed to our van, Leticia rolling her little backpack behind her, all of her little things packed and ready to go home to America. 

If only I had not been so presumptuous and answered a little more cautiously. I should have said something along the lines of eventually you will come home, or very soon, or let's pray about that... I could have said a hundred different things. But I told her yes. Essentially, I lied to her. 

The following week held some challenges. One of our boys developed a high fever that involved emergency care and we experienced  some significant issues with our accommodations. Although it was scary and frustrating at times, we were together. And in our minds, in no time at all we would be flying home as a family of five. 

Then we learned of the denial and the tight deadline we had to appeal. How do I tell her? I asked myself. How can we leave her? Already, she would not let me out of her sight. If I had to run to the hotel office or go outside to hang clothes, she was practically my shadow. It was so obvious that she was afraid of being left. Which was exactly what we were preparing to do. 

Over the next few days we gently introduced the idea that we were going to go back to America to "talk to the leaders" about letting her come home. This was the only way I knew to interpret what was going on. She would nod and smile, and then hop back in my lap or ask if we could resume our coloring or go for a walk. Once, when I was again explaining that she would go back and stay with her friends while we figured things out in America, she literally started petting my head and my face, and then proceeded to stroke Daniel, Stephen, and John's heads as well. As if she believed that if she was kind and gentle enough, we would change our minds and bring her home. 

With our immigration appeal deadline rapidly approaching, we changed our ticket dates and made arrangements for Leticia to return to school. Because we are now her legal guardians in Uganda, we had to find someone who would take custody of and be responsible for her on our behalf. Thank God for Pastor Joel. This man has loved Leticia since she was a toddler. He has traveled to remote villages on our behalf to start our adoption process, spent time away from his own family for the sake of ours, and has never stopped encouraging us in this journey, even as he ministers to deaf children in desperate circumstances. 

The day we were to leave Uganda, I remember sitting up in bed and looking at Leticia through the mosquito netting as she slept and wondering if she would ever trust us again. I could hardly wrap my brain around all of the red tape, how could she possibly grasp it? I remember Joel advising me not to show emotion. To be strong for her so that she could also be strong. 

We got up, had a bite to eat and packed our things. As Leticia emptied her drawer, I reiterated to her that she would be staying with Joel and her friends. That we were leaving for now, but I would be back as soon as I possibly could to bring her home. She nodded and smiled. 

Joel and I had decided that it would be far too painful for Leticia to go to the airport this time. Instead, we met at a cafe in Kampala. Traffic, always a nightmare in the capital city, delayed Joel and we sat and ate as we waited. Leticia colored happily. Our driver, all too familiar with the unpredictable congestion of Kampala's streets, started to express concern about getting us to the airport on time. 

Joel finally arrived, and after some brief conversation, he knelt and waited for her to meet his eyes. Again, he explained what was going to happen. Here is where the video that has been looping through my mind starts. I watched as the realization of it began to wash over her beautiful little face. Her lip quivered and tears gathered in her eyes. Leticia, who is tough as nails and does not easily cry, started to wail. 

Working hard to keep my emotions under control, I picked her up, carried her out of the cafe, and tried lamely to console her. I sat her down at one of the outside tables and tried to reassure her that this was temporary. I would be back. We love her. She is our family and we are not abandoning her. That I was so, so sorry. The tears rolled down her little cheeks and despite my best efforts, I lost all composure. 

I will never forget how it felt when Leticia wrapped her arms around my neck and clung to me as she sobbed. I sobbed with her. The boys tried to say goodbye and tell her that they loved her and then went to the van with our driver to wait. Joel led John and I down the street to the boda he had taken to meet us. Leticia held on to me so fiercely. Her body shook and she fought for breath as her cries intensified. 

Joel knew we should have been well on our way to the airport. He motioned for me to set Leticia on the boda between him and the driver. Her screams drew a crowd of concerned Ugandans. She would not let go. It felt like the ultimate betrayal to pry her hands from behind my neck and step away. Her arms flailed and she grabbed for me. The boda driver sped away with Joel and Leticia. All of the sudden, she was gone. John and I stood there for a moment until we became aware of the stares of the crowd that had gathered. 

I apologize if this entire post is a mess and comes across as a woe-is-me type thing. Since we have been home, our house has been flooded by a hot water heater, I have been on outpatient (thank God)IV antibiotics for a nasty infection, and Stephen has had an awful allergic reaction to something requiring medical attention. All of it pales in comparison to leaving Leticia. 

Updates from Uganda are sparse due to frequent power outages and the fact that they have to pay for their internet time. Yet another thing we take for granted. The first update I had was that she was crying when she spotted a plane overhead. Sigh. I don't even know how to process all of this. 

Pain has always drawn me closer to my God. I have to say that unfortunately, this seems to have been the exception. I love Him. I trust Him. I know that He is in control. I just feel numb and far away right now. Just honestly where I am. 

Many friends have brought food and sent scriptures. Thank you. Psalm 34 is my staple right now. Please pray with us that we will get the approval from the US that we need to complete our adoption. Please pray for Leticia's spirit and heart as she waits without understanding the details. Thank you for standing in the gap and loving on us. 

The Impossible

As most of my friends know, our family will fly out on Tuesday to be ready for court in Uganda on Friday. Many people have marveled at how everything has fallen into place, and through the lens of retrospection, I can certainly see that. But waiting for passports that came on the very last day, having to finally get our congressman involved with an immigration mess, and the threat of a zillion inches of snow before we take off, well, I guess you could say that we have been a tad bit stressed.  

I know God is leading us. He is teaching us through this to rely on him. That he is in control. That even he, and only he, can cut through the bureaucracy of the US Department of Immigration or the United States Postal Service. (Sorry, John.)

The last month has been filled with doubt for me. We love Leticia and are praying that she will join our family. To us, she is already our daughter. But the last year has brought some daily struggles that leave me feeling like I am not enough. That I can't do this. 

This morning in church, our pastor and friend quoted the late great Charles Spurgeon. "God doesn't want your best," he said. "God wants the impossible." 

Those words were salve to my anxious heart. I have been trying to do my best, giving up, trying again, pushing, pushing, trying, crying, pleading... And then I wonder why I am depleted and feel like a failure. God does not want Kris to try and try and try. He wants me to trust and trust and trust. And although I KNOW this, I get so stuck in a rut of self-reliance and effort. This is one of those lessons that I need to re-test on quite often I'm afraid. 

And by saying that God wants the impossible,  my pastor was in no way implying that everything always turns up roses just because you put your trust in an unfailing God. People get sick, and sometimes die. Way too young. Not because they didn't trust. Things happen. Life is brutal, both for believers and non-believers. Our circumstances in no way dictate our level of faith. 

What he meant by the impossible, to me, this morning, was that I need to stop pretending that I can handle those circumstances in my life that break my heart and make me want to quit. Instead of white-knuckling it, I can walk in his power. And even if no one else knows (because many of our struggles are private), I will know. I will know that my God got me through this. He did this for me. That he did the impossible when I stopped selling him short by trying "my best."

Thank you all for praying for us. We feel those prayers. I especially want to thank some very special friends, Mrs. Karen and Mr. Lyle, who have decided to dedicate half an hour each day to learning sign language so they can communicate with Leticia. That is about the sweetest and most thoughtful thing that anyone has ever done for our family. Thank you. Thank you for the cards, the wonderful shower, the practical support... Everything. 

Anything can happen in the world of international adoption. We are desperately praying that in a month we will fly home with our sweet Leticia. No matter what the outcome, I feel encouraged and strengthened to live out the next month in Uganda through God's strength instead of the feeble best of this most blessed mess. 

Here we go!

Weary and suddenly COLD, I trudged along with my fellow passengers off of the plane that had been our home the last twenty-eight hours. I had set out on trip number three to Uganda with two complete strangers and returned with new friends for life.

I am proud to report that this time I only wept VERY briefly at the airport. Leticia, usually so spunky and full of character and life, just stood there holding my carry-on bag and looking at me with those beautiful dark eyes. So solemn. I wonder if she still trusts me. I know she doesn't understand why she can't come this time. I have tried to explain it, Joel and his wife have tried to explain it, teacher Madrine has tried to help me explain it, but I am afraid to her, the process just makes no sense. 

There are really no signs to adequately convey the steps to her. So in the end, I just told her that I love her, I will be back soon, and that we are praying that the judge and police (not really the best translation, but she doesn't really have signs for court officials, so we just went with that) will allow her to join our family in America forever.

She just blinked and stared at me with those eyes. She seems doubtful. I hug her tightly, but she doesn't return my hug this time. And then they slowly walked away. The teachers disappeared down a stairway, but Leticia stood there at the top, staring at us with her sad eyes until Madrine gently took her hand and coaxed her down. Her eyes were still locked on us until her head bobbed out of sight. 

During the long MISERABLE flight home, I could not get her sad little face out of my head. What was she doing at that moment? What was she thinking? I know her little heart has endured much pain and rejection in her short life. I prayed that she does not perceive my leaving as yet another rejection. 

As I trudged down the plane's narrow isle, I turned on my phone to let John know that we'd finally landed. I was shocked to see an email from our lawyer. We have a court date. With the judge that we have been praying for. On March 7th. As in, LESS THAN ONE MONTH. 

We had been praying for soon, but HOLY COW! This is SOON! So many things to do. The boys need passports. Of course, we should have applied for these sooner. Now they will need to be expedited. We all need plane tickets. The boys need Yellow fever and meningitis vaccinations as well as anti-malaria meds. We need to file an eight-hundred-dollar form with immigration that would make Leticia a citizen and allow us to obtain her passport. We need to figure out where we are going to stay while in Uganda. And on and on and on. The details and arrangements seem endless. 

We have made the decision that we will fly over as a family and attend court together on the 7th. Then the lawyer will give me power of attorney so that John can fly home and work and the boys and I will stay in Kampala to wait. And wait. In a perfect world, they would be able to stay home with family members, but we aren't blessed with any of those who watch the boys, so this seems like the only option. 

If you know our family, you know how much this will STRETCH us! I don't think that I have ever come across a kid that is a greater homebody than my guys are. We don't take vacations. They have never been beyond Ocean City. On those rare occasions that we venture past Frederick, we must always keep a bucket handy, because without fail, one of them will throw up. They don't travel well, and for them, there is no place like home. So, staying in Uganda for weeks on end ought to be... interesting. 

I apologize for being all over the place. My brain is scrambled these days. Happily scrambled. Friends from church have thrown together a shower for Leticia's homecoming, which is such a sweet blessing for us. Many people have been asking what we need. I know that people love to give gifts, and we will need a few things like clothes and shoes. 

Most of all, we need prayer. Prayer that God will provide for every need. He has been so faithful to provide through every step of this very costly process. Prayer especially for my boys. This is going to be tough for them. Shots, insanely long plane rides, their first time in a "third world country." Being away from home, and Daddy and their friends for so long. Please pray that our time there is sweet and that we'll grow closer. That we find a safe and reasonable place to stay. That the boys are able to see this time as an adventure. Also, please pray for their health, both physical and emotional. 

Thank you friends for coming along with us on this journey. We couldn't have made it this far without your generous support. When we first started praying about adopting Leticia, we crunched the numbers and knew that it was impossible. I remember hearing from families that have been through the adoption process already that we should not let the prohibitive cost stop us from pursuing adoption if we felt that we were called to it. At the time, that sounded a bit silly, but looking back, we see the truth of their statement. 

Please continue to pray for us. For Stephen and Daniel. For Leticia. Transitions are tough. Several people have asked if they can still give. Ummm... YES! You can use paypal on our website at http://ironclads.wix.com/signsofhopeuganda. Just comment that the money is to be designated for adoption or send me an email so I know. 

We will do our best to keep you posted. Thanks again! 

The Detrows. John, Kris, Stephen, Daniel, and Leticia.