Recovering Control Freak

This journey is grueling, gut-wrenching, faith-shaking. Hope arrives and is then deferred at the blink of an eye. And when you near the end, every day is a hard one. Especially for those of us with control issues. Tell me there is a problem I can’t control, and you just gave me a reason to fixate on attempting to control it anyway. Give me a timeline only to obliterate it, and a borderline psychological disorder just kicked in. Dear home study social workers, I’m really just kidding. Really.

I do know all of the theological reasons that my battle for control is really an idolatry problem. Surely, surely, surely, God should have made me the boss of my own life… and perhaps the universe too. Sorry. I’m working on controlling the control problem.

Writing an update on June 4 where we still haven’t met our little dude certainly did not fit into my tidy strategic plan for growing the Kuhn family. We were more than hopeful that Malachi would have been home by now, but here we sit without a court date for our first trip.

For several months, we have been waiting on that court date which hasn’t come and hasn’t come and hasn’t come. Some families in this process have had court dates scheduled and are in Ethiopia this week. Others are preparing to travel next week. It’s a weird thing, and maybe sort of selfish, to feel so happy for them and so sad for yourself.

We’ve tried to think of any and every possible way we could advocate to get our little guy home (including, but not limited to, traveling to Ethiopia ourselves to beg the government to move our process along); but, we’ve been assured that at this point, there is absolutely nothing we can do…. but wait. Cringe.

Very soon, we will take our every-other-year big family vacation. We’re heading to Vancouver, then on a Disney cruise to Alaska, then staying for a few days in Seattle. Thank you Mammaw for the special treat!

So essentially, one of my boys will be sailing on a luxury cruise ship eating too much vanilla ice cream with Mickey head sprinkles while gagging on the two bites of carrot we force him to take. My other boy is waiting for his next meal in an orphanage where the caregiver to child ratio is 1:20. I’m disgusted by the disparity and the injustice.

To head straight from Seattle to Addis Ababa would be a dream come true! We’re praying specifically that God would move in the hearts of those in charge and that we will receive a travel date that will allow us to board a plane very shortly after returning from Seattle.

In the meantime, I’m trying to relinquish the illusion of control as a nasty villain that sabotages spiritual growth. God is rewriting my tidy family plan with adventure and risk and struggle and tears. Messy journeys have unique charm when they swerve way off of the course outlined on our own roadmap and onto a route prolonged, but much more divine. I am learning to grasp the obvious. God can put up a vicious fight for Malachi with or without my worthless attempts to micromanage Him. After all, it is He who “defends the cause of the fatherless and the widow.” (Deuteronomy 10:18)

Dear Lord. Let. It. Be. With all that you are and all that is in Christ, FIGHT to bring this child home.

Dear mamas of littles, hold them tight and kiss them often. Some of us would move heaven and earth for that privilege.

Dear Malachi, sit tight. You might not get to start K-4 on time, but we are coming!

~ Kam


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