July 24 marked two years since we first met our precious Josiah, and August 6 will mark one year since Evelyn walked into our arms. I love looking at their pre-family pictures and comparing them to their sweet, happy faces that I see every day.

But just a couple thoughts before I share the pictures with you: First, we can in no way take credit for the work God has done in their lives. He has graciously allowed us to be part of their story, but He deserves all the praise and glory. I sometimes marvel at how He has blessed them in spite of us. He has saved them, just as He has saved us. Second, I believe that if I could show you before and after pictures of my heart, they would look something like this, though I still have a long way to go.

 Josiah, February 2009, one-month-old

Meeting Josiah, July 24, 2009, six-months-old

Homecoming, July 31, 2009

 July 24, 2010

 July 24, 2011

And now for our sweet Evy girl.

March 2010, 18-months-old

Meeting Evelyn for the first time, August 6, 2010

At the Care Center, August 2010

Homecoming, August 14, 2010

July 2011

“Let them thank the LORD for his steadfast love,
for his wondrous works to the children of man!
For he satisfies the longing soul,
and the hungry soul he fills with good things.”
Psalm 107

The instant I heard about the retreat last fall, I knew this was for me. A special weekend for adoptive moms sounded like exactly what I needed. It’s no secret that the last six months have been quite challenging for us. I felt like I was living my life in a dry, lonely place, and just the thought of a retreat with other women on this same road was like water to my soul.

We have wonderful, wonderful friends here, but there’s a loneliness that comes when you follow God on a path that no one else is travelling. Adoption is beautiful; it has changed me more than anything else in my life, but also brings very unique struggles and challenges. I’ve been desperate for companionship on this journey.

So last Friday night I found myself at the Legacy Lodge with 250 other adoptive mommas. I only knew a handful of other ladies there, and large social gatherings are NOT my thing, but when I walked in Friday night, I felt like I had walked into a room of sisters. There were women from all over the country, representing hundreds of children who had been fostered in their homes, hundreds and hundreds of children who had been adopted as their own, and over a hundred children that were still waiting around the world for their waiting families.

The weekend was amazing. There were beautiful times of worship, encouraging and challenging teaching, lots of practical breakouts, like African hair-care and working on attachment issues with your children. There was also precious, precious alone time with the Lord. I felt God pour Himself into my heart in ways I have never felt before. On Friday night, as the weekend was starting, I asked God to let me feel His love for me, even just a little bit, and He definitely came through! I was so amazed; it felt like the whole retreat had been arranged solely for God to talk to me. I felt His love being poured over me by sweet, sweet sisters, who I don’t even know.

Some of it was so personal that I’m not ready to share yet. But I will share one thing . . . One of the activities on Saturday was called “A Date with God.” I’ve never done anything like it. We met in a large room where there were several stations for you to choose how to spend your time with God. There was a place to pray, a place to read scripture, a place to be still before the Lord, a place to draw, paint, or sculpt, and a place to pray for others. We spent an hour quietly seeking God in different ways.

I began by reading Psalm 84, one of the main scriptures for the weekend. I had been reading through it for several weeks earlier, and it seemed like a good place to start. As I read, I asked God to speak to me through my time with him. For some reason, I felt God continually drawing my attention to Psalm 84:11, “For the LORD God is a sun and a shield; the LORD bestows favor and honor. No good thing does He withhold from those who walk uprightly.” I wasn’t sure why God was telling me that He was my sun and shield, but I felt that He was wanting to impress that upon me. I went to the drawing table where we were invited to draw a picture of God’s love for us, so I drew a sun and a shield, still not really making much of a connection with it. I kept thinking about the sun and shield, but I still couldn’t figure out how that was applicable to me.

I went on with the weekend, had lots of wonderful experiences, but it wasn’t until Monday, on our drive home, when I realized what God was telling me. As we were driving home, I was thinking of how sad I was that the weekend was over. I wanted to stay there, surrounded by loving people, and I thought to myself, “I don’t want to leave; it was such a warm and safe place.” And immediately I heard God speak to me, “I am your warm and safe place; I am your sun and your shield.” Wow!

What a beautiful and loving God we serve, that He would take the time to speak that to my heart. There are so many other things I could share, and maybe I will soon, but I’m still letting things settle in my heart. I’m so thankful for all of the sweet women (many of them were not even adoptive moms) who spent so much time planning, preparing, and serving during the retreat. It was truly an incredible gift!

“And she gave birth to her firstborn son

and wrapped him in swaddling cloths and laid him in a manger,

because there was no room for them in the inn.”

No room. I’ve been thinking of that lately. God reaches down and takes on flesh. The author of life wraps himself in skin and bones and becomes a baby because of His great love and mercy for us, but we didn’t have room. There was no room in Bethlehem, no room at the inn.

It speeds past like a line from a children’s nursery rhyme. Sometimes I don’t even hear it . . . “no room.” On to the shepherds, on to the angels, we march, forgetting that there was a whole town sleeping nearby. A whole town, and not one room available.

And I’m sure their lives were filled with good things, those people in Bethlehem. Cooking and cleaning, and raising a family. Earning an income, providing for their children. And yet there was no room, no time for what God was doing just around the corner.

How many times have I missed it? How many times have I been so busy with the things in my day that I miss what God is doing because I don’t have room? How many times has God actually knocked on my door, outright invited me into the work He is doing, and I just open the door wide enough to speak, “No room!” through the crack.

And the work He has actually told me to do, the call spilled out in ink over the pages of my bible, I don’t have time for.  Spread the gospel, tend to the sick, visit the orphan and the widow, the prisoner and the lonely, feed the hungry, clothe the naked . . . I ignore it, it couldn’t be meant to apply to me anyway.  Too busy . . . no room.  When really, I have room; there’s an empty bed in our house and space for more, there are empty chairs around our table, and extra seats in the car.  And I have time too; I just spend it all staring at the TV or checking my e-mail.  The truth is, there is room, but the work He is doing is just too uncomfortable . . . “too scary,” as Caleb says.

But God’s call is the same that it was 2,000 years ago.  Make room.  Make room for Him and the things He is doing.  Make room for the work He has set before us.  Make room.

And so naturally, this leads me to think of the ones who reminded me how much room I have.  The whole world is telling them that there is no room for them,that they are not worth the trouble.  ”Too busy, too expensive, too uncomfortable.”  What we mean is, “No room.”

And yet Jesus said, “Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.”

This Christmas, as you gather around your table and your tree, as you give and receive, laugh and love, would you take a chance to notice . . . is there room?  Room for one more hug, one more giggle?  Room for another set of little feet rushing toward your tree?  Is there room in your family for one more little soul to be surrounded with love and warmth?  Could you make room?

Some of you have poured your hearts out about your own wrestling, about your own discomfort with being too comfortable. Others have echoed the loneliness that comes with being led in this direction and the great desire for community with people that are hearing the same call. A few friends have shared with me that they are seriously considering adoption for the first time and that they are wrestling with the when, what, where, and how of that decision. Some have shared the lack of support and even downright discouraging comments they’ve received from friends and family regarding their own adoption plans. In all of this, I see God at work; I see Him calling us to something better, and I am so glad that He is whispering these things to others as well.

So . . . where do we, the Picker family, go from here? Well, I still see a lot of wrestling in our future, and I know that God can use that to refine us. I wish that I could say that God spoke to me last night and told me to sell our house and move to Africa. That hasn’t happened, and I don’t know if it will. I am praying that we will be listening to what He calls us to, and that when He calls our answer will always be, “[We are] the Lord’s servant[s] . . . may it be to [us] as you have said” (Luke 1:38).

For right now, I feel like God has made it clear to me that I need to let go of some STUFF. So, I’m starting with what is a somewhat small but still significant step for me: I’m going to sell my wedding china . . . and crystal. I know, GASP! And now that I’ve posted on our blog, it isn’t just an idea that I can put aside; now I have to do it.

It really isn’t that big of a deal. It’s nice and I think it’s pretty, but in the nearly nine years that we’ve been married, I’ve only used it a few times. I keep thinking that when my kids are grown we’ll use it more. But, you know what, that’s silly. It is money sitting in my cabinets that could be doing much better things. It could feed hungry children, or help pay someone’s adoption expenses, or help to drill a well . . . or a million other good things. So, I’m selling it. I’ve also thought that my daughter might be disappointed to not inherit it someday; but my prayer is that my daughter will be the kind of woman who does not treasure things above people, the kind of woman who would rather provide food for hungry people in her country than inherit a bunch of old plates.

So, off it goes. I’m not exactly sure what we’ll do with the money. We’ve got lots of good options, and I’ll let you know. For right now, I’ve got to figure out how one sells china and crystal, and if mine is even worth anything.

I think that is where God is leading us right now . . . some kind of action. Yes, the wrestling will continue, and no, we may never have all of the answers, but when He shows us something to do, even something little, we need to do it.

There’s a battle going on in my head, a wrestling match happening in my heart. And I can’t work it out; I can’t reconcile the things I’ve seen and the things I know.

I cannot reconcile our enormous houses and fancy cars with her face:

I cannot reconcile the fact that we have basketball courts and softball fields at our churches and there are 145 MILLION orphans in the world.

I cannot reconcile the fact that while we’re piling up money for our kids’ college funds, these kids are going without food.

I cannot reconcile the dozens and dozens of people who have told us, “We’re not called to adoption,” when God’s word clearly CALLS each of us to care for orphans.

I cannot reconcile “The American Dream” with this:

“And Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said to him, “You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.” Mark 10:21

We turn and look the other way; we do not want to hear it. It is too painful for us to learn about their suffering. And they die of treatable diseases while we pick out new furniture. They starve to death while food rots in our pantries.

And as I said, I don’t have the answers . . . I’m just wrestling. We have a nice house full of stuff too, and I’m not sure what God wants us to do with it. But sometimes I’m afraid that my life, our lives, look too much like Sodom:

“Behold, this was the guilt of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters had pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease, but did not aid the poor and needy.” Ezekiel 16:49

“Prosperous ease” . . . it sounds so familiar that it makes me sick to my stomach.

What I really want are friends and family who are willing to walk this journey with us, fellow believers who aren’t scared of this conversation. Somebody who won’t say, “Well, that’s great for y’all, BUT . . .”

We have beautiful friends all over the country who are walking this path too, in places like California, Oregon, Florida, Missouri, and sometimes I feel so lonely for them. Sometimes I just want to be with someone who “gets it.” Sometimes I just want to have coffee with someone who has the same passion that is burning me up inside. Sometimes I feel very isolated, like I have a secret that no one else understands.

Please don’t be offended if you are part of our community of friends and you feel like I’m leaving you out. Are you on this journey too? If so, we need you! We need you to wrestle over this with us. Are you interested? Has God been whispering something similar to your heart? Please let us know. We can’t figure this one out on our own.

In the international adoption process, particularly Ethiopian adoptions, there are many big, important days. First there’s Referral Day, when you learn about your child and see their picture for the first time. That’s a very big day. Then there’s the day you pass court in Ethiopia; this is when you become the legal parents of your child and their last name is changed to your last name. Then there’s the day you finally meet your child for the first time. And the day you take custody, and the day you arrive home with your new child, and on and on.

In our family, we’ve always counted our meeting day as our most important day. That’s the date we use as our “Forever Day” because that’s the day we have been dreaming of and hoping for for so long.

Today was another big day on our adoption journey. This morning we went to court to have Evelyn’s adoption officially recognized by our state. It didn’t really change anything, because she was already legally our daughter, but now we can get a US birth certificate for her and begin the process to get her citizenship finalized. It also allowed us to legally change her name to Evelyn Amenech Picker; she came home as Amenech Casey Picker.

I really wanted all of the kids to go because it’s an important family moment, and I wanted that famous family picture with the judge. Let’s just say that was all a mistake. From the moment we stepped into the courthouse, our kids went insane. During our hearing, Casey was holding a screaming Evelyn while trying to answer our attorney’s questions, and I was chasing Josiah all over the courtroom. The judge was very kind to us and never threatened to hold us in contempt. I’m sure they don’t get many crazed toddlers in there. Luckily the hearing didn’t take long, and I’m sure everyone in the courthouse breathed a sigh of relief when we finally left.

So, while it wasn’t the picture-perfect experience I was hoping for, we DID get the family picture with the judge, and we did successfully have her adoption recognized and her name changed.

Over the last year or so, Casey and I have become friends with Aaron and Cacey Klein. Aaron and Cacey are fellow Holt parents. Their son, Spencer, is from South Korea, and their daughter, Emma, is from Ethiopia. To be honest, I don’t remember how we first came in contact with Aaron and Cacey, but we’ve exchanged so many e-mails, twitter messages, and blog comments that they feel like good friends. And they sent us the sweetest “Welcome Home” video message on the day we got home with Evelyn.

The Kleins came home from Ethiopia with the same overwhelming passion that we have felt. And, to be honest, I really respect and admire them. While Casey and I have felt God’s calling on our lives in the area of adoption, orphan care, and specifically Ethiopia, we have really struggled with how to communicate that to our family and friends who are new to these ideas.

Over the last several weeks, Aaron has been posting on his blog about the orphan crisis. His posts are amazing. He has broken down a huge, overwhelming problem into understandable bits, and he is providing practical advice for how we should respond. We were honored that he asked for our input before publishing some of his posts. All of his ideas are so well-written and well-thought-out that we had almost nothing to add.

We would like to ask you to please take the time to read these posts. We guarantee that you will learn something important.

The truth is that God is at work right now in His church, calling His people to care for orphans. It is your choice whether you will be involved in this or not. But if you pass this up, if you choose to look the other way, you will miss some incredible blessings. There is plenty of work for EVERYONE to do, whether you are able to adopt right now or not. Please, please take the time to learn more about this work.

Don’t excuse yourself by saying, “Look, we didn’t know.”
For God understands all hearts, and he sees you.
He who guards your soul knows you knew.
He will repay all people as their actions deserve.

Proverbs 24:12

Here are the links to Aaron’s posts:

It’s Time to Change the World
Achiro, Yusuf, and Kalu
Why Developing World Poverty Exists . . . and Persists
Changing the World Requires Sustainable Solutions
Is Adoption the Answer?
The Obstacles to Adoption
Clearing the Path for Adoption to Grow
Orphan Care: A Lifeline for Over 80% of Orphaned Children

I know it seems like a lot, but take a few days to read them if you have to. Please, we wouldn’t ask you to do this if we didn’t think it was very important.

Oh Ethiopia . . . how I love you. I didn’t know that I could love a country, a people, a land so different from my home like I love you.

It’s hard to believe that there was a time when Ethiopia was nothing to me, just another unknown country in Africa, a place I really knew nothing about. Now, Ethiopia is so intertwined with who we are and with who we want to be that it’s impossible to separate our love for this country from the rest of our lives.

This second trip to Ethiopia allowed us to see and understand her in a way that we never did before. On the first trip, we were so overwhelmed by the smells, the traffic, the pollution, the different customs, the bathrooms, that in some ways it kept us from really experiencing Ethiopia. This time we weren’t distracted by these things; they were just something to giggle at . . . “Well, we’re back in Ethiopia now.”

Returning to Ethiopia was like visiting a dear friend again, and seeing that your friend is even more beautiful than you remembered, and even sicker than you had realized. With each breath, we were overwhelmed by the beauty and poverty of Ethiopia.

We weren’t as timid this time. We walked through the streets, made friends with the children, went shopping on our own, interacted with the shop keepers, and haggled over “Habesha” and “Ferenj” prices. We felt more comfortable with what was once quite uncomfortable. In short, we breathed Ethiopia in deep.

And perhaps because we were out on the streets more, the poverty hit us harder this time. The street children swarmed us in Durame, with their tattered clothes and bare feet, and we kept thinking, “Where do they sleep, where do they go home to?” And in their faces I saw my own little children, Josiah in particular, who could have easily been part of this group.

A nursing mother looked me in the eye, wanting . . . needing more than peanut butter crackers, but I didn’t know what to do. Her gaze told me, “You can do more,” and I left thinking, “I know.”

Last summer when we left Ethiopia we knew we would be back to adopt again, and soon. This time, while we definitely want to adopt again, we don’t know when that will be. But we know we will be back in Ethiopia; we know we have so much more to do there. We’re praying now, waiting for God to show us the what, when, and how.

Returning to Ethiopia was an overwhelmingly wonderful experience. If we hadn’t missed our sweet boys so much, it would have been very hard to leave. We can’t wait to go back; we can’t wait until our children are old enough to go with us. We want them to see it, to know it and love it the way we do.

Ethiopia is in our minds, in our hearts, and in our blood now.

Special thanks to Zach Cheatham for the airport pictures.