I’ve been trying to figure something out recently, trying to get a bead on God’s will about something adoption-related.  I can’t blog yet about what the something is, so for the purposes of this post, I’ll call it Project HulaHoop.  Okay, so in the last couple of days, something’s popped out at me that’s completely revolutionized my prayer life.

Over and over, I hear from women who want to adopt but their husbands’ hearts aren’t in the same place.  I’ve been blessed with a husband who DOES want to adopt, but our hearts still operate a little differently within the big ol’ realm of adoption.  Pretty much every week, I go to him saying, “There’s a 15-year-old boy who’s only adoptable for one more week!  We have to adopt him!”  ”There’s a family of 7 kids in foster care.  We have to adopt them!”  ”There’s a baby here in town who needs a family!  We have to adopt her!”  Kids needing fostering, kids needing forever homes, old kids, new kids, red kids, blue kids.  And my husband receives it all…and smiles…and lets me down gently.

Currently we’re working on Project HulaHoop.  Both our hearts collided about it at the same time.  But we have a lot of questions about Project HulaHoop.  And we’re not sure if the hoop is going to keep spinning or clatter to the ground.  We’re not sure whether to keep gyrating our hula-hooping hips or let the hula hoop circle to our ankles.  I’ve been praying Lord Lord Lord Lord gimme gimme gimme gimme wisdom gimme discernment gimme gimme soak a fleece speak to me gimme gimme help help help.

I felt like God smacked me in the face with Ephesians 5 for something related to Project HulaHoop, and as I read the second chunk of that chapter, I felt lead to stop praying for wisdom for myself and start praying for my husband!  Oh, I mean, I pray for me-wisdom all the time and that’s awesome and fabulous and I’ll continue to do that for ever and ever, but for this particular thingy that I’ve been noodling, I need to pray for God to give Alex some serious wisdom.

I’ve been studying Lineage of Grace, by Francine Rivers, with my high school girls, and I happened upon this really interesting point last week.  God spoke to Mary once, but He spoke to Joseph four times.  And I get that, I think.  For my particular situation, my heart goes out to every child in need.  I want to do something about every need that hits my Facebook wall.  Alex has a huge heart, too, but he responds differently.  Instead of getting frustrated with his differing opinion or seeming lack of action, I need to pray for God to speak to him!  And I need to pray that I’ll hear God through Alex.  Because, well, I already know which way I think we should go, most of the time.  It’s when Alex feels the same way that I really know we’re heading in the right direction.  I need some confirmation right now about Project HulaHoop, so I’m praying for some serious discernment for Alex.  I ran up to his office and told him to look alert so he doesn’t miss it when God leads him.  I told him that I’m praying for him to hear from God and I trust him completely.  Yeah, no pressure there, big guy.

I’m not a very organized mother.  I’m not clean.  I was screened upside down, front, back, sideways, and all around in order to adopt, but I don’t recall anyone testing my tolerance for mess.  My kids eat food off of the floor at restaurants.  Food that wasn’t ours to begin with.  When I just had Elliott, people who didn’t know that would observe our behavior at Chick-fil-A and say things like, “Oh, I remember being so careful with my first, but by my fourth, you just have to let it go, right?”  I’d always tell them that he’s my first, so what does that say about how I’ll handle my fourth?  I’d try to look sheepish…but really I’m not.  I’ve often thought I should write a book for the right-brained moms.  The ones who get wrapped up in a project and check out completely and finally come out of the fog and go, “Wait, hey, kids, whatcha been doin’?”  The ones who don’t teach their kids their ABCs but do sit at the kitchen table teaching them how to make crazy awesome noises with their cheeks and having staring contests and silly face contests…you know, life skills.

My kids get a childhood full of love, but not one full of order.  Lots of kisses, lots of laughter…but sometimes I forget the last time I gave them baths.  Strangely, I can carefully plan and lead a trip to Uganda – and I even have Excel spreadsheets for packing lists, for everywhere from Uganda to Hilton Head – but I can’t plan for a day of errands and a trip to the park.  I don’t like doing the same thing twice, and I chafe at routines, which is an enormous deficiency for a mom of little ones.

So, no surprise here, I don’t have a carefully packed diaper bag.  I have a bag made from recycled milk bags that I got from Korah in Addis Ababa.  It contains stale Cheerios from two months ago, a change of clothes that no longer fits my daughter, broken crackers, a days old sippy cup filled with dubious liquid, and occasionally, a diaper.  I’ve been out of wipes in the diaper bag for weeks.  I dutifully carry around this bag, but it’s a bit like toting around a first aid kit filled with cotton balls and a used bandaid.

I make do.  I can usually track down a wrinkled diaper at the bottom of my purse, underneath the reams of napkins, Mardi Gras beads, and Matchbox cars.  Most of the time, we’re home before there’s a gigundous problem.  But.  Today I may have hit bottom.  We were out all day long, and I actually had a couple of extra diapers stashed in the van.  I used the first one.  I used the second one.  And while Evie and I were waiting for Elliott at an appointment, she made that face.  The face of a two-year-old who just gambled and lost in her Huggies.  And I was out of diapers.  I thought, “Maybe, maayyybe there’s another one lurking out in the van.”  But I knew there wasn’t.  And we were no where near home.  I did what any mom would do when their child stinks up the waiting room.  I whisked her out the door, saying loudly, “Let’s go change your diaper, sweet pea!”  I pretended to look extremely responsible and prepared for situations such as this.  I laid Evie down on the floor of the van, next to the dried up pieces of bread and assortment of tissues and hair bands.  She found a toy under the car seat.  I did the obligatory search for the ghost diaper.  Nothing.  I opened her up.  Okay, whew, just a little nugget.  Okay, I could salvage this.  I searched through the array of napkins and found one that we’ll call “clean.”  I tried to scrape off the turd from my daughter’s sweet bottom.  Was it made of rubber cement?!?  I looked around, trying to find anything that would help me, and my eyes fell on the collection of cups in my drink holders.  When we bought this van, I marveled at its ten drink holders, knowing that I would take full advantage of them.  At any given time, you can check out my van and chart the drive-thru runs for the week, from Chick-fil-A sweet tea styrofoam cups to Starbucks grande latte cups.  At this particular moment of panic in the parking lot of Elliott’s doctor, my eyes zoomed to the Starbucks water cup from two, make that three days ago, with water still sloshing in the bottom.  I pried off the straw/lid combo and dipped in a napkin.  The water gave me what I needed to pry the reluctant turd off my daughter’s bum.  Victory.  Now…um…what to do with the little napkin nugget.  I did a pan of the parking lot.  No trash can.  The turd was dangling off the napkin at an alarming angle and I didn’t think I could hold on much longer.  I tossed it into the Starbucks cup, put the lid on, secured the de-turded diaper back on my long-suffering daughter, picked up Elliott, and drove away, poo-poo safely ensconced in the cup holder next to me.

Possibly the worst part is this:  it’s still there.  It’s still there!  One would think I’d take the first opportunity to discard the poop cup in the trash.  Or hey, I love the environment.  Let’s recycle it.  Yes, that’s the responsible thing to do.  But no, I got home, I went into my little Melanie world where I like to hang out.  I showed Elliott how to make a booger Rorshach by blowing his nose, pressing the tissue together, and then pulling it apart.  Evie and I danced to Mariah Carey’s “Joy to the World.”  And the turd still lingers in its Starbucks cup out in the garage.

Tomorrow I’ll really hit an all-time low if I forget it’s there and think, “Iced coffee!”  There’s a sip to remember.

After two years of work, all of the kids on my Adacar list have sponsors.  Praise God, praise Him praise Him for this journey and His faithfulness.  Last Sunday, I walked out of church with 37 new sponsors signed up, and over the last week, more sponsors have signed up online and through the mail.  Complete sponsorship.  It’s beautiful.

There’s a whole group of kids who stand under the tree every day during the midday meal.  They don’t wash their hands.  They don’t line up to receive their food.  They simply watch, hungry bellies grumbling.  These are the kids who aren’t in the program yet.  They don’t get to eat, or receive discipleship or medical check-ups or school supplies or training in gardening and handcrafts.  They don’t have that hope.  But we’re about to give them some.  Because this week our first 200 sponsorships are complete, HopeChest Uganda is heading to Adacar in January to profile the waiting kids.  We’re going to get them out from under the tree and into the lunch line!

If you want to sponsor these kids, right when they’re available, profiles hot off the presses, click HERE.  Let’s don’t make these waiting kids wait any longer!!!

Southside Church let me back on stage again this morning.  What a privilege that God gets to share about the kiddos near to His heart…through me.  It was a great morning, and God began working on the hearts of our church members long before I walked onstage.  One college student felt led to sponsor a child long before arriving at Southside this morning.  He just wasn’t sure from where.  God spoke to him this morning and laid it on his heart that the child he’s been praying for and budgeting for is in Adacar.

Another woman came up to us after the service and said that everything went wrong trying to get her family to church this morning.  She tried and tried, and everyone had conflicts and it just wasn’t happening.  She felt like she was supposed to come anyway and got in the car.  Well, she arrived a little late and missed the music, her favorite part.  She didn’t know why she was there.

She’d been trying to quit smoking off and on and had decided that she was going to quit again next Monday.  Today, listening to the stories of the children in Adacar, she was so convicted that she was spending money to kill herself while these kids were dying from preventable diseases and hunger.  She told us that she knew she’d quit for good this time, and that she had the motivation.  She was going to take her cigarette money and sponsor a child with it.  Amazing!

I love stories like these, when I can almost physically watch God reach down and share His heart with someone.  This morning was great.  We still need more sponsors, and it’s not too late to contribute to the Adacar Medical Fund.  Also, if you just want to check out the new page that HopeChest put together for us, see new videos of Adacar, including a tour of the new CarePoint buildings, visit www.hopechest.org/adacar.