Miracle of Miracles!

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.--Proverbs 13:12

Wonder of Wonder

Miracle of Miracles ...

The old song from the classic musical "Fiddler of the Roof" echoed through my head a couple weeks ago when we received the phone call. Although the psychologist listed her litany of objections to the adoption, in her final analysis, she decide to give lukewarm approval to our request to adopt Levi.

Of course our paperwork must still meander through the maze of bureaucracy before Levi will be ours for keeps. But now, that tree of life has sprouted and as we bring him home for visits each weekend, we know it is all a waiting game.

But waiting is a normal part of the Christian life -- so much so, it's a wonder we all aren't better at it. "But they that wait on the Lord shall renew your strength."How many times do we quote that?

Still, Russ and I watch the calendar, speculating on whether the postal service has gotten our paperwork to the next office yet.

We wait and watch the mail for the next fateful letter that will tell us we've reached the next step in the process that will bring us our son.

Meanwhile Levi remains at the orphanage during the week, going to school each day wondering where he really belongs. Is the orphanage his home? Is the Chun house his home? The answer is yes to both right now, as we are all a family in transition.

But perhaps for him, it feels more like being just a person in transition. For the first time in his life, he is experiencing something different than his siblings. And although some have already experienced adoption and others are in the process too, his experience is unique.

He is being adopted by people who speak English -- Americans to boot!

It's a crazy world in which we live. It's an imaginitive God who could take seven siblings and find them all homes within a year -- with parents determined to keep all the kids in touch. It is indeed a wonder of wonder and miracle of miracles. And it's one worth waiting for.

And so we wait, no longer with hope deferred, but with hope renewed. Now we await the emergence of that tree of life on that coming day when the longing is fulfilled and the Chun family of five comes into its completion.

HeartSick

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick,
but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.``

--Proverbs 13:12

We entered the summer with hearts dancing with excitement. The adoption seemed to be rushing forward with unimaginable momentum as so many hopes and dreams grew as Levi spent fully six weeks with us during camp season.

Under our roof, we watched as the quiet, unassuming child blossomed into outgoing comic wrapped up in little boyhood, and we emerged as a new kind of a Chun family -- one with five faces instead of four, melded into a kind of clan any human imagination would never dare to assemble. We embraced it as God's better plan, and prayed and hoped that God would grant us supernatural favor within the bureaucracy and Levi would be truly ours by summer's end, able to start school in the fall with us.

It was all a beautiful dream -- until hope was deferred.

The last major step in the process, the psychological evaluation, which we expected to be a cordial meeting, spiraled into a nightmare of hostility, prejudice, and accusation. We emerged perplexed and the follow up meeting with our daughters, Andi and Niki, (fully six weeks later) left me wishing I'd never allowed the psychologist time alone with my children.

The psychologist seemed dead set against us from square one. And now we wait for her official evaluation with sick hearts as so many hopes have been deferred.

But ours is not a unique plight. Hope deferred has become a standard state in this fallen world.

Many such hopes and dreams are good and righteous and God-seeded in the hearts of people -- still hope is deferred and the heart grows sick. For some it is the child they've hope for, fought for, yet miscarried again and again. For others it's the spouse they've longed for, waited for, trusted God for and still the years pass by and no one comes. For others still, and perhaps most tragically, they've held that longed-for child, or kissed that beloved spouse, only to have him ripped from their arms and torn for their souls by the cruel blade of death's grim reaper.

And so hope is deferred. And hearts reel in the agony of it all.

We respond to this heart sickness in many different ways. Russ avoids breakfast, because Levi and he always shared a special early breakfast together. He naps in Levi's room, so it does not feel so empty. But as I clean that tiny room and it remains clean far too long, we all face that profound void in the absence of what should be.

On August 15, we hope to learn the official result of our psychological evaluation. We have low expectations, knowing there could be long road ahead of us as we fight for our Levi. He may not be our child on paper, but he is already the son of our hearts.

And so for the moment hope has been deferred and our hearts are sick. But we believe there will come a day when this dream will be fulfilled and it will be a tree of life to us and others who witness it.

Not everyone gets to experience their righteous dreams fulfilled in this lifetime. May it be enough to know that our Lord, Jesus Christ is the fulfiller of our dreams for all eternity. For all our hopes are never extinguished, they are only deferred for a season -- until we embrace Him face to face.

Preparing a Place

There is more than enough room in my Father’s home. If this were not so, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am. John 14:2-3

I never thought much about this concept of "preparing a place" for someone until recently. As we have begun the process of adopting Levi, I have poured myself into building his room, an undertaking that involved everything from framing and drywall to painting and building shelves. And as I engaged in this process, one verse echoed through my mind daily. " I go to prepare a place for you."

It has been with great delight I have drilled and hammered. As my back and arms ache from each day's strenuous activities, I can only smile and dream of giving this special place, crafted with him in mind to Levi that fateful day when he becomes our own.

Each time we meet and interact, I probe him with questions to discover what spark's his young imagination that I might incorporate more and more tiny details of who he is into the place I am preparing for him.

The place is a product of our relationship, which is only in its infancy and yet this small room is also a reflection of all I perceive him to be. It has been crafted meticulously out of love and devotion, designed to instill security, comfort and hope into a little boy who has already gone through so much in his nine years of life. It is a symbol that he is ours and we are his for when he moves into that room to stay, he will be a Chun by adoption.

Like the disciples in the verses preceding this passage, life must be very confusing for Levi. Last weekend four of his brothers went to live with their adoptive family for good. We come and spend time with him and then have to say good bye. And when we do, he wraps his arms around Russ and squeezes as if he would perish if he dared let go. But he knows he must, for he is not yet ours.

And when I watch him hold onto Russ I want to say, "Don't worry Levi, we are going to prepare a place for you! A place of your very own where you belong. And when everything is prepared, then we will certainly return for you!"

In this experience, I have caught a glimpse of a heavenly truth. I can now imagine Christ pouring himself into preparing a place for each one of us -- a place of perfect design, crafted out of love and relationship, tailored to perfection to meet our every need. And in this preparation, He takes great joy for it represents what is coming -- us truly becoming wholly his.

So as we face the confusing moments of this life, when God seems to have turned away, we must hold on to the truth that He is never far. He is probing us and developing relationship with us as He joyfully prepares that place that we shall one day occupy as He bring us into Himself completely -- forever.

Backtalk

But who are you, a mere man, to criticize and contradict and answer back to God? Romans 9:20 (Amplified)

Yesterday, I was evil.

I had dropped the girls off at school and was driving into Debrecen when I, being a law abiding citizen, stopped at a red light. Patiently I waited as the seconds ticked away. I watched as the local panhandler approached the car ahead of me. I come by this corner so often I almost feel as if I know these guys. It's always one of two: either the old man with a beard or the young man with a crutch. They seem to take shifts as they are never there at the same time.

Yesterday, the young man with a crutch was "on duty." He stood by the passenger side window of that car in front of me held out his hands beseechingly, but the driver would not even acknowledge his presence. Eventually the young man with a crutch moved on ... to my car.

Some years ago, I heard a man who worked with the homeless talk about how damaging it is for the down-and-out when the populace outright ignores them. "At least look them in the eye and treat them like a fellow human being," he had said. And I took the advice to heart. Although I don't give money to random people, I can show them honor and respect.

The young man, probably in his early 20s, hobbled over to my car. He took a humble stance and mumbled his schpeel in Hungarian. I looked at him kindly and said in simple, yet polite Hungarian, "I'm sorry, no."

Bad move on my part.

To my surprise, the man refused to move on to greener pastures. He fixed his feet firmly beside my car and motioned again that I should give him some money.

Still looking him straight in the eye, I said more strongly and firmly: Nem!

But this did not deter him. Now his demeanor changed. No longer beseeching me to show grace and grant him my spare change, now he began hitting my window demanding money.

Perhaps I should have been afraid. But I was too angry for that. With fire in my eye, I leaned over in the seat to face him squarely and shouted determinedly: "NEM! NEM!"

Since he showed no sign of moving on, I shoved my car in gear and moved up a meter or so to hug the car ahead of me, secretly hoping I would roll over his "good" foot in the process.

How dare he! I scoffed angrily as I watched him approach the next car in my rearview mirror. Who does this guy think he is!?!?!?

The whole episode got my back up for the rest of the day, so much so, that I could not help but wonder why it bothered me so much.

Utterly rude ... competely obnoxious ... outrageous ... absurd

Yeah, it's true, desiring to run over his foot is not likely the proper WWJD response. But I also don't buy that the honest WWJD response would be to cowtow to this bully. Jesus was no mamby-pamby, weenie of man. He was the Christ who overturned the money lenders, took on the prevailing dogma of the day, and spoke words that cut like swords to the very core of the issue in each person's life.

Christ was no pushover, so as I lay on my bed last night, I wondered what lesson I was to glean from this life experience. And as I began to mull over the life lessons God has instilled in me of late, I realized when I get riled like this it is often because I am in some way like the person who has riled me.

Me like HIM ... you've got to be kidding.

But then I thought. This is how I sometimes come to God. Sometimes I come properly, beseeching Him in all humility realizing that all the good gifts of this life are by His grace. And then every once in awhile, when I am experiencing His affection and honor toward me, I suddenly decide I can demand things of Him -- even when He compassionately, yet firmly, says "no." And so I "criticize, contradict and answer back to God." (Rom 9:20)

And at that moment, I am not so different from the crazy panhandler hitting my window. Unlike me, God does not get angry and try to run over my feet. Instead, he continues to look at me with His great compassion and He patiently waits for me to understand He has made available all that I will ever need, but I'll never obtain it through my demands and temper tantrums. I'll only discover it through relationship with Him.

For in relationship, He gives his grace utterly and sacrificially.

Relationship is what Christianity is all about. And while we might like mask our demands and criticism of how God is working in the spiritual lingo of "prayers" and "prayer requests." Such mechanisms were never designed to give us an opportunity to tell God how to handle any given situation. Prayer is not us changing God's mind. Prayer is an opportunity to let God change us through fellowship with Him.

So let's fellowship with Him today in all humility -- releasing Him from all the demands we'd like to make. Let's just be with Him and trust Him to handle the rest.

The Better Dream

"Now to Him Who, by (in consequence of) the [action of His] power that is at work within us, is able to [carry out His purpose and] do superabundantly, far over and above all that we [dare] ask or think [infinitely beyond our highest prayers, desires, thoughts, hopes, ordreams]-- " Eph. 3:20 (Amplified)

"I have a dream..."

That ubiquitous quote, which fell from the lips of Martin Luther King, Jr. nearly five decades ago, still resonates from the very soul of each human as we all, on some level, have a dream -- a dream for something better, deeper, more meaningful. A dream to make the world better, if not for all, then certainly for some.

I too have had many dreams over the course of the four decades I've walked this earth. In my teens, all was black and white. And I felt destined to whiten all the black that seethed around me. Ironically, my obsession for the white too often blinded me to the blackness within myself.

If you knew me in my twenties, I often rhapsodized about "changing the world." Funny thing was, God seemed more interested in using His world to change me. And so He did.

This last weekend I was reawakened to a dream of my past. A dream of my thirties. Some ten years ago, my friends Andi (now Horvat-Kavai) and Michelle (now Kummer) strolled along a lovely country road near the palatial Lillafured, Hungary. It was a time when God had seen fit to intertwine my heart and soul with the children of the nearby Diosgyori orphanage. On some level I carried the children and their pain with me for they had become so very dear to me.

As we strolled the rural path, taking in the pastoral landscape, we came upon some beautiful old, yet abandoned and deteriorating, homes. We each chose one and dreamed about what we would do if we had such a house to restore. I vividly remember chosing the red brick one. In it's day it must have been truly lovely: red bricking laced by wooden beams with a turret-like tower on one end. "That's my house," I had said." And it can be a children's home for all my kids." The melancholy faces of those orphanage kids flashed through my mind like a slideshow. It was my dream. It was a good dream.

On Saturday I found myself walking that same country road in the Bukk mountains. I saw the stately place Michelle had chosen for her dream that day so long ago. And then, just before we turned around to go back to the car, a lovely red brick edifice caught my eye and I was taken back to that dream of long ago.
When I walked this path before, I was a single woman with big dreams. We all were.

This time I stood before the house with an exceptional husband at my side and three children scurrying around, picking flowers, collecting snails, and splashing in the mud. One of the children was Andi, named after the friend I had traversed this road with more than decade earlier. The second was our adopted daughter, Niki -- adopted from that very same orphanage that stole my heart so long ago. And the third was Levi, sweet Levi, whom we are working to add to our family in the next few months. He currently lives at that same orphanage.

I don't expect I will ever live in that red brick house in Lillafured. But at the end of the day, it's just a facade of red clay and mortar, crumbling in its imperfection over time -- not so different from the malformed dreams I've crafted for myself over the years.

The three that stand before it are the better dream fulfilled -- "far over and above all that we [dare] ask or think [infinitely beyond our highest prayers, desires, thoughts, hopes, or dreams"

Let's face it. God, Himself, crafts the better dream -- the dreams we never knew we had. Let's be willing to let go of our feeble, malformed dreams, however good they may seem, that we may not miss out on the better one.

Don't Turn Back

"... forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead," -- Phillipians 3:13

"No, no no!" The new orphanage caregiver shouted. "No strangers allowed in the house!"

My nine year old daughter froze in uncharacteristic stone-cold silence. For two years of her life she had lived within these walls. She had called it home and the 12 year old autistic girl, Angela, who stood beside her, had been her roommate.

"Angela," the caregiver scolded, doubtlessly with the best of intentions, "You know you can't bring strangers in here!"

Strangers? Niki's brow furrowed. How could she be a stranger here at the orphanage, her orphanage?

The two girls edged their way back outside and rejoined the games of the Easter program, but for the rest of day Niki wallowed in a funk. It was incomprehensible that her old life had forgotten her, but the experience declared all too eloquently that she no longer belonged there.

Perhaps we all can relate to Niki's experience last weekend. A certain amount of our identity is wrapped up in our old life. And we want to hold onto it. But God has called us to a new life, a better life, a place where He can meet our deepest needs. He has called us to push forward in it, still we tend to turn back and perhaps even long for things that are not in our best interest. Sometimes He has to bring us to that painful place where we realize we no longer belong there. It is a paring away of ourselves in order to help us embrace the better place he has for us.

So let's stop looking back. Stop living in what would have, could have or even should have been. Let's let go of the old life and embrace the life Christ has brought us into, for hard as this life might be at times, God has designed it to ultimately be good in His great plan.

At times when Niki must face punishment for disobedience or even when she simply longs for her biological or foster mother, her life with us does not feel so good from her perspective. But in the grand scheme of things, having witnessed how she has blossomed over the past 3 and half years with us, there's no doubt, God is working His good in her.

So we can be assured in our own adoption in God's family, that He is working His good in us, even in the painful places as we let go of all that's behind.

Angela and Niki

Ode to a Dog Named Pig

He was a little dog, insignificant as an animal can be. His tail spewed from his back end, a blond tuft of fur puffing out as demonstratively as his nose pushed inward. A pekingese wannabe of mutt stock, he patroled the areas around his home in much the same way his mistress, a Roma (gypsy) woman, struts the streets of the Hungarian village in which we live.

They called him "Malac," Hungarian for "pig," or more literally, "piglet," as his tiny stature would dictate. An annoying canine of note, Malac tormented the neighborhood with his screechy, high pitched yipes in the wee hours of the morning.

No, there was really nothing redeemable about Malac. Given the opportunity, the long-haired mongrel would creep into our fenced yard and "pig out" on our dogs' victuals. All the meanwhile, he turned up his concave nose at the dog food his own master/mistress dispensed.

Malac was a menace, driven wild by our schnauzer-setter's wiles. Granted, the tiny Romeo could hardly expect to accomplish much despite his aggressive attempts to court her. After all, at full height, he reached barely past her ankles.

Still Malac fancied himself quite the ladies man around the village, it would seem. From one end of Mikepercs to the other, the village remains speckled with the a curious presence of pekingese-variation mutts. I guess Malac lived up to his name on many levels, huh?

A couple weeks ago, a new notable peace seemed to descend over the neighborhood. Truth be told I hardly noticed it at first. Then I learned from the boy next door that Malac, the dog named pig, had perished after trying to take on a moving vehicle. Needless to say, he lost the altercation.

Hence, I deemed it fitting to write a tribute to the bothersome dog who, in my humble opinion, was scarcely dog enough to be called a dog. Perhaps that's why they called him, "pig."

Very often as I blog, I seek some sort of spiritual revelations in the ordinary events of life. With Malac, I am hard pressed to find practical application.

Except that, maybe on some level, Malac represents what John Donne wrote about when penned the phrase, "No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main..."

Insignificant as the little dog was, he still somehow impacted and still effects the lives of many in a little Hungarian village called Mikepercs. For some it is a legacy of troublesome strays with pushed in noses meandering about the streets. For others it is a fluffy haired, pig nosed bundle of fun and faithfulness who will follow some child through all his joys and sorrows of growing up.

And if God, in His infinite wisdom, could see fit to craft the workings of this world in a way that allows something as insignificant as a dog named pig to leave a legacy, just imagine all the potential for legacy he must have bound up in you and me.

Let's not leave legacy bound up as mere potential. Let's conciously seek the kind of legacy we wish to leave behind, the legacy we've been called to leave behind.

For "no man is an island" -- not even a scruffly little dog named pig.