A Life
“I know, oh Lord, that the way of man is not in himself; that it is not in man who walks to direct his steps. You have taken account of my miseries and put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book? This I know, that God is for me.”
In January, I had a conversation with a woman from my church. I was voicing my inward battle: feeling burdened for the orphans here, yet not knowing what God was calling me to do. She offered wise advice, but also planted a small seed. “Olivia, you might be able to adopt.”
The idea seemed outrageous at the time, but in February, Bolivian laws suddenly changed, opening the possibility of adoption to many kids who previously would not have been eligible.
When I first heard, I immediately texted my mom. “What if. . .” I was expecting her to guffaw and shut it down. She wisely said to pray, but she did not think it was an impossibility, so I decided to pursue the idea.
Throughout the following months, I spoke multiple times with the social worker here and a psychologist who has helped train me in TBRI. I called the woman who planted the seed and had herself adopted two children. I spoke with my mentor and another wise couple when I visited California in March. I researched laws. I spoke with another trusted woman who has adopted internationally. Finally, I reached out to adoption agencies and nonprofits. Above all, I prayed.
At the same time, in late January, I had been offered a job teaching at a Classical Christian school in San Luis Obispo for the upcoming year. Both of my older sisters are due to have their first babies in August and September. A beloved family offered to house me. Things seemingly were falling into place for moving back to California in the next year.
These past three months have felt like living in a tug-of-war: I got advice on both sides. Adoption would be a hard and lifelong commitment. Was I in a wise position/life stage to adopt? But, God calls us to do hard things, and sometimes His ways look unreasonable until after we obey.
Two much repeated prayers were:
One, that God would show His faithfulness throughout the process, no matter the outcome.
Two, that God would give clarity. I knew the difficulties of international adoption God could easily overcome. But, if it wasn’t a wise idea, I knew God would close the doors.
I didn’t want the decision to be in my hands. I prayed God would make adoption possible or impossible, so He could pen the story, not me.
Earlier this week, almost four months after the change of laws and the start of pursuing an idea, God made it clear: for a variety of reasons, Bolivia to US adoption is not legally possible.
I can not count the tears that I have cried: first, because of all I would have to give up if I was to adopt, then because this beloved girl may never know the unconditional love of an earthly family.
Now, instead of living in a tug-of-war, I have to rest in the tension of a hammock: sitting between my limited control and wisdom and God’s sovereignty and infinite wisdom.
I have no conclusion. I don’t know the end of my story. I don’t know the end of Mary Luz’s story. I can’t see how God is going to answer my prayer for this situation to show His faithfulness. But, I know each life is precious to God, and He will continue to guard her.
So, for this upcoming year I will be moving back to SLO to teach and will attempt to continue to show God’s love to all around me.
