“My life is not my own.” I forced my mind to repeat the motto we had embraced sixteen months earlier as God had set us on a path to adopt from Ethiopia. Twenty-five hours traveling across the globe had clothed me in fatigue. Like a heavy, oversized coat, it weighed on my body, mind, and spirit. “My life is not my own.” Foreign, strong fumes overwhelmed my respiratory system and a sea of hundreds of Ethiopian people pushed towards the open doors of the airport, waiting to greet whomever they knew on our flight. A pure fire hazard in America, they pushed and crowded, all gazing curiously at us. “My life is not my own.” Our gentle, soft spoken agency driver weaved us masterfully through the streets of Addis Ababa, where neither street light nor traffic law existed. The darkness did not drive people home. People of all ages congested the streets, causing our driver to constantly honk and flash his lights. “My life is not my own.”
June of 2007, God began to guide us to open our hearts and home to the orphan. Africa was the direction we knew to begin praying about and as we peered into the picture of a three-year-old little boy from Ethiopia in August, we knew he would one day be our son. Prayers and fund raising began, along with endless paperwork, and frustrating delays. In January of 2008, we felt a baby girl would be joining our son and we began to pray. We were told of a 14 month old girl abandoned at a post office and knew she was the one we had been praying for. More prayer, more paperwork, more fund raising…
Sixteen months of miracles and $41,000 later, we, along with our daughter, Bethany, were standing in our guest home in the capital city of Ethiopia, only miles from the children we had loved, yet never seen. To wrap our minds around this experience seemed impossible. The surroundings and suffering alone was enough to throw you into numbing shock, not to mention the culmination of so many months of preparation becoming reality. We knew and loved these children as Joshua Israel Coleman and Julianna Kay Kynadee Coleman. The meaning to Joshua’s name being very important, “The Lord Who Rescues” and Julianna’s second middle name after Kynadee Boese, the precious baby our community lost, whose parents gave thousands of dollars towards getting Julianna home. This was the moment Joshua and Julianna would join our lives. “My life is not my own.”
The next morning found us again white knuckling the seat in front of us as we jerked and weaved through the mass of taxis, donkey led carts, herds of goats, and mass of people that clogged the city streets. I fell quiet, amazed and alarmed all at once at what my senses took in. Hopelessness. A solid wall of human beings absolutely everywhere, so many sick, so many hungry, jobless, homeless, with no help, no answers in sight…desperation defined. People of all ages sitting and lying on the ground, their eyes obviously sick, the children’s stomachs bloated with parasites. Beggars missing limbs, abscessed eyeballs hanging low on their faces, crippled and curled legs, but oh, so many, large, booming smiles and beautiful, welcoming spirits. As our fund raising t-shirts declared “Eyes Wide Open”, we refused to look away. We took it all in, the radiant and the horrifying. “My life is not my own.”
The moment came. Standing in the office inside the orphanage compound, I gazed out the window and caught a glimpse of a nanny carrying Julianna towards me. Julianna, wide-eyed with anxiety came to me willingly and gripped my neck like a vice. She made little noise, only a faint grunt as she held her breath in uncertainty. Her heart raced against my chest. My heart broke for my beautiful daughter. I gave her to Bethany and waited for Joshua to come next. Suddenly, the male social worker broke the run of a preschool boy, sweeping him up into his arms. It was Joshua. Robel stood him in the doorway, speaking to him in Amharic. Kneeling low, I greeted my son and invited him to hug me. He jumped into my arms and squeezed tightly. He felt so much smaller than I had anticipated. Jumping down quickly, he ran to his new Daddy, noticing his sunglasses immediately. My children were finally in my life. It was a moment only described as holy. “My life is not my own.”
Our hearts knew and loved our children as Joshua Israel Coleman and Julianna Kay Kynadee Coleman, however, they were not yet Joshua and Julianna. The children we now had under our care were Israel Tesfay and Mahelet Alemayehu. God knew and we knew joining our family and coming to America was the very best life for them. It didn’t necessarily feel positive to them. Their loss was beyond comprehension. They had already lost parents, siblings, and home towns, now they were losing care takers, friends, language, food, culture, and country. These children were legally ours, however, the trauma and loss they had lived, would make winning their trust and their hearts a very long process. The rest week in Ethiopia was far from glorious as we suffered with horrible sickness, being turned away at the hospital, struggles with the children accepting us as, and overwhelming stress. “My life is not my own.”
Being home since December 13th, we see daily improvement, as Joshua and Julianna grow in adjustment and attachment. Our lives are full as God has blessed us with six, unique, delightful children. The journey has brought us from impossibilities to miracles, difficulties to deepening trust in a God who never calls us to dreams of human size. Instead, He calls us to God-sized dreams, beyond what we can do on our own, giving Him opportunity to amaze us with His power and provision. It is rarely easy to walk with God, but absolutely the most exciting, adventure-filled life. “My life is not my own.”
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