Change is in the air. I am not even really sure what emoticon to use there. It started with the realization that I forgot our Meetcha Day :-( Last year at this time, I was so nostalgic and reflective, as I waited to celebrate all of our "first year" markers. One year since I arrived in Kazakhstan, one year since I first held Hannie, one year since the judge said "Da" (yes). But this year, in the flurry and fervor of a February filled with weddings, house guests, travel, and the stomach flu, the significance of the day somehow slipped my mind. It's not that adoption and orphan care are any less important in our lives, but as time goes by, it's just a lot less present.
I don't talk about it much, but Kazakhstan really changed me. Before Kazakhstan, I lived in a cozy little bubble of a world with lots of things that were easy and convenient. I didn't think too hard about excesses in my life. And then I traveled to an impoverished country and adopted one of its children.
And I saw things that can't be unseen. I saw children who were hungry, cold, uneducated, who were begging on the streets. I saw the babies that the rest of the world forgot about suffering from diseases that could easily be cured by a bottle of medicine here in America. I saw mothers make impossible choices just to give their children a chance at life. And ever since then I have been struggling to wrap my brain around how I was supposed to live in a world where the disparaging difference between the haves and the have nots is so, so great. My best friend, who has worked in third world countries for many years, calls it "survivor guilt."
I look around at my life, at my house and cars and refrigerator filled with food. And I hear myself complaining because the 24 hour pharmacy is 20 minutes away from my house and the because the school busing isn't convenient enough for working parents and because Target never has anything I want in my size. And then I think about Kazakhstan and the injustice of it all breaks me down. Because the problems in my life pale in comparison to what is happening in other parts of the world. How dare I feel inconvenienced because Kroger is out of orange juice when there are children dying from drinking their own water? There are children who would do anything for an education and hear I am complaining because our schools don't have busing.
Kazakhstan was a lesson in contradictions for me. It was certainly the best time of my life because I adopted my wonderful Hannah. But conversely, my eyes were truly opened for the first time to the immense suffering of the world. And, as is the case with adoption, I realized that my happiness was the direct result of someone else's loss. As the years since Kazakhstan have passed, I have tried to make sense of what I saw, of what I experienced and many times, this has made me questions my faith.
My blogger friend Megan, who adopted from Africa (and what I saw in Kazkahstan doesn't even HOLD A CANDLE to what is happening Africa), described it better than I ever could.
Being in Africa broke down my faith in ways I never imagined that it could. Seeing the suffering made me question my God. I found myself, and after all this time, still find myself saying, "God- where were you in Congo? Where were you when I was holding those dying babies? Where were you when I saw the starving children combing through the garbage on the streets? Where were you when I saw the grown men drinking out of the sewers because there was no clean water? Where were you!?" Everything in my being wants to hear, "... Megan... I was in those beans that hundreds of people bought for you to deliver. I was in those cans of formula that people from all over sent for you to take. I was in the hugs given to those children in their last moments. I was in those smiles and giggles the orphanage children gave while they were playing with balloons for the first time." I want to hear it. I so do. But I don't hear it. And even if I did, it doesn't seem like enough. It's never going to be enough.
Ever since I forgot our Gotcha day, I had been praying for God to show me a way to REALLY advocate for the fatherless. I continued to pray that God will grant me the courage to step outside my comfort zone. God, Lead me in your way to be a voice for the voiceless.
Living as entitled American is an easy routine to slip back into. Sure, I try to advocate and donate and attempt to mobilize, oh, say 147 million people on the benefits of adoption. But it won't ever be enough. In the end I guess the best we can do is try to teach our children at an early age about activism and humanitarianism and gratitude and thanksgiving. I am investing in the promise and potential of future generations. And if I teach her nothing else, my daughter will grow up empowered to create change in this world.
When I look into my child's eyes, I see hope. And sometimes hope is just enough to carry you through.
"Once our eyes are opened we cannot pretend we do not know what to do. God, who weighs our hearts and keeps our souls knows we know and holds us responsible to act." Proverbs 24:12
Be the change,
Erin
Update: Days after privately publishing this blog, I have found my own tiny way to get involved. I was asked to be on the Board of Directors at Little Miracles, Int'l. This is the agency I used to adopt my beautiful Hannah. Little Miracles is involved in many, many Humanitarian efforts around the globe. Here is the link to Dream of A Child, the website aimed at raising awareness (and funds) for their projects around the globe.
After prayerful consideration, I accepted.
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