Sometimes my own husband ministers to me better than anyone else. A few weeks ago, Tim gave an unbelievable sermon that related the Lion King to the story of Moses and the story of our son...and it just worked.
For those of you who need a refresher: in the Lion King, after Simba's father dies, Rafiki takes him down to a pool of water where he says he will show him his father. The following conversation ensues:
Rafiki: Look down there.
Adult Simba: [looks into a pool of water] That's not my father. That's just my reflection.
Rafiki: No, look harder.
[touches the water, as it ripples Simba's reflection changes to that of his father]
Rafiki: You see? He lives in you.
Mufasa's ghost: [from above] Simba.
Adult Simba: Father?
Mufasa's ghost: [apears among the stars] Simba, you have forgotten me.
Adult Simba: No. How could I?
Mufasa's ghost: You have forgotten who you are and so have forgotten me. Look inside yourself, Simba. You are more than what you have become.
Tim took this theme of forgetfulness and related it to the Jews during their slavery in Egypt. Like Simba, the Jews had lost their identity. After 400 years of being told when to work, when to eat, and when to lie down - who they were was a direct result of their circumstances. They "forgot" who God had once called them to be.
"Remember Who You Are."
These two parallel stories both peak and then resolve with the same message, from two different messengers. Simba and Moses both hear the call to "remember," and their lives are forever changed. Ours are, too.
Over these past few months, there has been no denying the fact that Tim and I are living into a far greater story than we ever could have dreamed up on our own. Just six months ago, we had no idea that our lives were going to be radically changed, forever, by a baby boy on the other side of the world.
Two weeks ago today, we met our son for the first time. We kissed his cheeks and held his hands and felt the weight of our holy responsibility: to always remind him who he is.
In the Lion King, the story of Israel and Moses, the story of God, and the story of Baby E, the themes are all the same. What was once lost has been found. Those who were once foreigners are now family. Those who once were hopeless are now filled with inexpressible joy at the possibilities that await them. God is giving Baby E an identity and a different story through us. But we are also inheriting those same things.
Through this adoption, we are discovering parts of our hearts that have been hidden. We are finding our new place in our community and our world. We are receiving joy and gratitude and blessing and honor. We are learning that we are holy, worthy, loved, and perfect {in Christ.} The challenge is to always remember.
Over the past few weeks of uncertainty, fear, doubt, and questions that don't have answers, I will be the first to admit that there were days when I "forgot." I forgot who was writing this story. I forgot who had invited us into this story. I forgot who God says He is. And perhaps more than all of that, I forgot who God says I am.
But You reminded me.
You who shopped at our garage sale.
Bought our t-shirts.
Ran in our race.
Donated our plane tickets.
And encouraged our hearts through letters, hugs, coffee, and prayers up until the day we left American soil.
You were Rafiki. You were the burning bush. You were the living words. You were a holy reminder. And you held me up to the Light, showed me my reflection, and pulled me through.
Last week, as I held my sleeping baby on a bumpy bus ride across Ghana, preparing to say goodbye to him for the first time, your compassion came back to me. There in the sweat and silence, you reminded me who I am, who he is, and whose he is. As hard as it was to hold my son's little hands in mine and whisper the promises of my heart - and God's - over him {"You are holy. You are worthy. You are loved. You are perfect. You are mine."} I found the strength to let go through remembering God's promises to hold on.
For those of you who need a refresher: in the Lion King, after Simba's father dies, Rafiki takes him down to a pool of water where he says he will show him his father. The following conversation ensues:
Rafiki: Look down there.
Adult Simba: [looks into a pool of water] That's not my father. That's just my reflection.
Rafiki: No, look harder.
[touches the water, as it ripples Simba's reflection changes to that of his father]
Rafiki: You see? He lives in you.
Mufasa's ghost: [from above] Simba.
Adult Simba: Father?
Mufasa's ghost: [apears among the stars] Simba, you have forgotten me.
Adult Simba: No. How could I?
Mufasa's ghost: You have forgotten who you are and so have forgotten me. Look inside yourself, Simba. You are more than what you have become.
Tim took this theme of forgetfulness and related it to the Jews during their slavery in Egypt. Like Simba, the Jews had lost their identity. After 400 years of being told when to work, when to eat, and when to lie down - who they were was a direct result of their circumstances. They "forgot" who God had once called them to be.
"Remember Who You Are."
These two parallel stories both peak and then resolve with the same message, from two different messengers. Simba and Moses both hear the call to "remember," and their lives are forever changed. Ours are, too.
Over these past few months, there has been no denying the fact that Tim and I are living into a far greater story than we ever could have dreamed up on our own. Just six months ago, we had no idea that our lives were going to be radically changed, forever, by a baby boy on the other side of the world.
Two weeks ago today, we met our son for the first time. We kissed his cheeks and held his hands and felt the weight of our holy responsibility: to always remind him who he is.
In the Lion King, the story of Israel and Moses, the story of God, and the story of Baby E, the themes are all the same. What was once lost has been found. Those who were once foreigners are now family. Those who once were hopeless are now filled with inexpressible joy at the possibilities that await them. God is giving Baby E an identity and a different story through us. But we are also inheriting those same things.
Through this adoption, we are discovering parts of our hearts that have been hidden. We are finding our new place in our community and our world. We are receiving joy and gratitude and blessing and honor. We are learning that we are holy, worthy, loved, and perfect {in Christ.} The challenge is to always remember.
Over the past few weeks of uncertainty, fear, doubt, and questions that don't have answers, I will be the first to admit that there were days when I "forgot." I forgot who was writing this story. I forgot who had invited us into this story. I forgot who God says He is. And perhaps more than all of that, I forgot who God says I am.
But You reminded me.
You who shopped at our garage sale.
Bought our t-shirts.
Ran in our race.
Donated our plane tickets.
And encouraged our hearts through letters, hugs, coffee, and prayers up until the day we left American soil.
You were Rafiki. You were the burning bush. You were the living words. You were a holy reminder. And you held me up to the Light, showed me my reflection, and pulled me through.
Last week, as I held my sleeping baby on a bumpy bus ride across Ghana, preparing to say goodbye to him for the first time, your compassion came back to me. There in the sweat and silence, you reminded me who I am, who he is, and whose he is. As hard as it was to hold my son's little hands in mine and whisper the promises of my heart - and God's - over him {"You are holy. You are worthy. You are loved. You are perfect. You are mine."} I found the strength to let go through remembering God's promises to hold on.
At just 14 months old, our baby boy has already endured more hardship than we have ever known, and it's not over yet. As we look a few months down the road and anticipate that difficult day when we will pull our son from all that is familiar -- our hearts, once again, find comfort only in the remembering.
We will not let our baby boy forget his past: his culture, his community, his caretakers. He is so loved, and we will never take that for granted. However, we will remember that we have been called to give him a future. We may not know exactly what that means yet, but we are not the ones writing this story. We are willing, but only He is able.
We have never been so afraid, so helpless, so hopeful, and so confident all at the same time. We are claiming God's promises of His faithfulness daily and we are believing them for our son, too. Every single day of our lives, despite our forgetfulness, we promise to remind Baby E -- with our thoughts, words, and actions -- who God is, and who we all are in light of that.
"Remember Who You Are."
We will not let our baby boy forget his past: his culture, his community, his caretakers. He is so loved, and we will never take that for granted. However, we will remember that we have been called to give him a future. We may not know exactly what that means yet, but we are not the ones writing this story. We are willing, but only He is able.
We have never been so afraid, so helpless, so hopeful, and so confident all at the same time. We are claiming God's promises of His faithfulness daily and we are believing them for our son, too. Every single day of our lives, despite our forgetfulness, we promise to remind Baby E -- with our thoughts, words, and actions -- who God is, and who we all are in light of that.
"Remember Who You Are."