I grew up a military brat, more specifically, an Air Force brat. My early claim to fame (so I've been told) was being the first boy born at the new hospital on Dover Air Force Base. Supposedly, my mom beat the odds and won $50 from the OB nurses (seems all previous births had been girls). We lived for a short time in Lewes Beach, Delaware, a quiet coastal town connected to New Jersey by the Cape May Ferry. 

Like most military families, we didn't stay long in any one place. Dad was transferred to Wright Patterson AFB in Ohio, Cigli Air Station in Izmir, Turkey, Langley AFB in Tidewater Virginia, and Andrews AFB in Maryland. Being good troopers, we fell in line behind the Colonel and marshaled on.

Stacy grew up a nomad as well. She was a computer brat (yes, a made up term). Her dad was there during the halcyon days of office computing, when computers filled entire rooms and the United States landed a man on the moon using the total computing power of a five-function pocket calculator. 

Various sales positions with companies such as Singer and IBM moved them from Cherry Hill (NJ) to Cincinnati to Moraga (CA) to Atlanta. Stacy's family finally settled in Houston where her dad opened his own computer company just before the dawn of personal computers.

Houston is where Stacy and I would meet, fall in love, and get married--all in very short order. In our first 12½ years of marriage we moved from Houston to Stockton, CA to Brea, CA to San Antonio to Austin to Chicago. We would often joke that after six months in a new place we longed for the smell of corrugated cardboard and the sound of box tape! 

During the second 12½ of marriage we have lived in one house on one street in one community in West Michigan. Our friends who visit from other cities call East Grand Rapids "Norman Rockwellville." Truly it is a great place to live and an even greater place to raise a family. Very soon it will be the new home of little Rebeca and Rosalinda. 

We expect that the transition will be overwhelming at times for the girls. Stacy and I can kind of empathize. On a much smaller scale and for a much shorter time, we have been transported to and transplanted in an unfamiliar country that has a unique culture where people speak another language. New smells, tastes, sights, sounds, etc. It's not bad... just different.

If our short time here has convinced us of anything, it's that our girls need to experience Nicaragua (their current home) before beginning a life in the United States (currently our home). Moreover, we know that our three biological children need to visit the homeland of their sisters. I fly home soon but plan to come back with Kate and Sam in May, joining Stacy and the girls closer to the time the adoption is hopefully finalized. 

Our oldest, Ryan, already spent a week with us here in Nicaragua over his spring break. The night before he returned to Miami, he commented that his stay here was different than taking a vacation. A big reason was the time he spent in the orphanage with his little sisters and the other children. Ryan played the role of big brother well, demonstrating the patience of Job and the playfulness of Tigger. Another reason was that he lived, shopped, conversed, and (most importantly) ate "como Nica."

Stacy and I have agreed that we must come back as a family, early and often. We can easily see ourselves spending a month here each year or every other year. We love the people, the culture, the land, the history, and the food. Most importantly, part of our family is from here and that makes it a little part of all of us. 

Stacy and I were up and out of the guesthouse a little past seven. 

We chatted anxiously with our attorney as she negotiated Managua's morning rush hour traffic. We were heading to our first appointment in what would turn out to be a very full first day. None of us really knew what the next few hours would bring. We only knew that we had been brought together for just such a day.

Of course there was much excitement... three and a half years of waiting and wondering, hoping and praying will do that to you.

We passed large buses and smaller "expresos" packed tightly with workers making their way downtown. Motorcycles and scooters zipped on either side of us creating extra lanes of traffic. After a half an hour the bigness of the city gave way to smaller neighborhoods. Little stores (tiendas) dotted the sidewalks. The narrow, congested streets were lined on both sides with uniform-clad children walking to school (public not private we were told).

Arriving on time, we parked in front of the agency that was handling our adoption. Stacy and I said a prayer before stepping out to follow our attorney through the gates and inside. Everyone was very professional and gracious. They seemed like people who took their jobs seriously which we appreciated because their work is vitally important. We did notice that the area with the most activity was a closet-sized room off reception that housed the coffeemaker. It appears that the start of the business day ritual is without borders.

We were introduced to several members of the staff including the new executive director. About 8:15 the person assigned to our case greeted us in a warm business-like manner. She held our case file against her chest like a mother holding a baby. The legal-sized folder was easily four inches thick and as we made our way to the cars she commented that everything about us and about our girls was contained inside. How many hands had its contents passed through? How many sets of eyes had scanned its pages? How many signatures had been required and stamps needed just to get us to this morning? Yes, senora, hold onto it tightly because we are so close now.

"That seemed to go well," we said back in the car. Some short introductions, a few pleasantries, and then instructions on how the next few hours were to go. The ride to where the girls lived took about 45 minutes. Leaving Managua proper we went further and further into the interior.

Along the way we talked about the length of the process and the theological virtue of "patient endurance." Only that morning could we more fully appreciate how our hearts had been prepared during this time of anticipation and hoping. We shared an experience we'd just had at Ada Bible the Sunday before leaving for Nicaragua. In his teaching from Genesis that morning, Jeff talked about Joseph's excruciatingly long imprisonment. He said that your faith is either forged or dashed during times such as these. We were humbled by how Joseph's faith was strengthened to the point where he was able to serve and offer comfort to others despite his own pain and suffering. After more than a decade as a prisoner, Joseph fully expected to be released after interpreting the cupbearer's dream. But he was forgotten and remained in prison a full two years more.

During the sermon Jeff used as one of his examples, "almost adopting." He also used the term "resolution." While both had special meaning to Stacy and me, the latter was of special significance since this was the actual term used to describe the critical judgment we had just received from Nicaragua that allowed us to meet and be with our girls. It was just one more word of confirmation that told us, "Go, until or unless you hear a no."

The last few miles of the journey led us through narrow and deeply rutted, dirt roads. We came to a walled off compound with large metal gates. Inside were our girls. They had also been waiting a long time for us. And their hearts too had been prepared. "Mama y Papa!"

O Lord, You are my God; I will exalt You, I will give thanks to Your Name; For You have worked wonders, plans formed long ago in perfect faithfulness! Isaiah 25

Stacy and I met our two little girls yesterday. It was a very emotional day for everyone but I can tell you that many prayers were answered, both in the U.S. and here in Nicaragua. We are heading back to the center now so I must run. Stacy and I promise a detailed post in the next 24 hours. Thanks for following and keeping our entire family in your thoughts and prayers.    

I struck out on my own one year ago this week. Much of my early success and ongoing satisfaction can be directly attributed to those who reached out to me as I tried to find/make my own way. While some folks I'd known over the years, others represented newly-formed relationships. Almost to the person I felt their genuine concern for me and a desire to help.

I have been trying to do the same, that is, investing in others as others have invested in me. While I am neither an executive coach nor trained mentor, I have been dispensing individual doses of advice to those "in transition."

Amidst all the professional upheaval many are experiencing, it seems people are longing for someone to listen to them, empathize, provide perspective, challenge them, and encourage. More and more, these "conversations" are taking place online via email, IM, texting, and social networks. But call me "old school," I still prefer talking over a good cup of freshly-brewed coffee. 

Below are two "stream of consciousness" missives I recently sent. The first was to a seasoned professional asking, "what next?" The second was for a young man about to enter the workforce and wondering, "what now?"

Advice for a Seasoned Professional:

"...don't just get "on" LinkedIn, become a power user. Your relationships (don't think 'networks') are key. Everyone you know, everywhere you've lived, every job you've held, etc. Request recommendations. Your online profile becomes your resume. Push it out to people when they ask. Link with people or check out their profiles before you meet with them. Follow other power users and draft behind them. Repurpose your content across social media/networks. Also get on Facebook (175M and growing). Don't be afraid to ask for and give advice, freely. Go out for coffee with folks (a lot). Consider consulting. Set up an LLC and get a separate checking account/credit card for business. Stay optimistic. Do something creative you have always wanted to do (e.g., teach, speak, write) that makes a difference. Oh, invests in others." 

Thoughts for a College Senior:

"A good start is just asking others that have gone before you, walked the trail so to speak. Of course, it's hard to know just what you want to do, are best suited to do, and what you will be doing 5-10-15 years down the road. So dream big, be willing to change, be O.K. with that. Don't make excuses. Apologize and learn from your mistakes and be willing to step out and risk failure. ASK YOURSELF: 1) What am I passionate about?; 2) How am I gifted?; and 3) Where can I impact? Also, what can challenge and grow you in the ways that are healthy, positive, and God-honoring? Don't compromise your integrity. I recommend you take the "Strength Finders 2.0" assessment. Buy the book, take the test, send me a copy of your top five strengths, then read the book on your own time. Play to those strengths. Make a "start doing" AND "stop doing" list. You are more than your career... meaning your title or position or office or money or perks should not define you (so guard your heart and head against drawing your identity from them). Don't compare yourself to others (stifles self-determination). Become part of a project, idea, initiative, or effort that is powerful and makes a difference in some way. I also believe in adding value to something as in being a small part of something really big. Oh, I learned a lot of this stuff the hard way."

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Day 1,255

I recognize that many of you have been "walking the trail" with Stacy and me for some time. It's hard to express how much your support, encouragement, and prayers have meant to us over the last three years, five months, and six days.

This morning we heard from our attorney in Nicaragua that we have been granted a "resolution" in our case. While this may sound like just legalese (legal speak), to us it resounded like a choir of angels.

With a resolution in hand our adoption of 8- and 5-year-old sisters has entered its final stage. Very soon we'll be in Managua meeting Rosalina and Rebeca for the first time (yes, we were finally given their names!).

As you can imagine, there is still much to do. We are now operating in hyperdrive. Our plan is to keep you appropriately informed during this final phase via blogs, twitter, social networks, etc.

For anyone interested in our adoption back-story, I have tried to summarize below. Stacy and I encourage you to freely share your comments and questions.

Separate Paths

Stacy has wanted to adopt since she was five years old.

It happened innocently enough. Stacy and her older sister had crossed the street from their family's apartment in downtown Cincinnati. As they walked down the sidewalk Stacy noticed children playing behind a tall, chain linked fence. One little girl in particular came up to the fence, stared at them for a moment, and then turned and ran away.

Later back in their apartment, Stacy asked her mother, "Who are those children across the street? Is that a school?" "No that's not a school," she replied, "it's an orphanage." She went on to explain, "The children over there do not have a mom and dad like you do. They're called 'orphans' and all live together in that big building until being adopted into new families."

"So, can we adopt one?"

My story is quite a bit different from Stacy's. After my parents were told that they couldn't have biological children, they adopted an older sibling group of three. Many years later, however, they did conceive-- first me, then my little brother. So the couple that overnight became a family of five soon became a family of seven. Fun times! To be honest, I still will joke, "we learned how to put the 'fun' in dysfunctional."

Growing up as I did, adoption seemed no big deal. I can't even recall when I first learned that my older siblings were adopted. It may have first registered with me when I saw the episode on "My Three Sons" when Ernie was adopted into the family.

Bottom line, I never felt a desire to adopt.

Coming Together

Stacy and I were sitting one Sunday in the grey chairs at Mars Hill in Grandville, Michigan. Rob had just finished introducing a pastor from a church in Johannesburg, South Africa whose name was both a joy and challenge to say. In fact, we "practiced" saying it together as part of our corporate greeting. "Hello Gert (hyŏŏrt), we yelled."

Gert began telling his story in a slow and deliberate fashion. At first I thought he might be a bit intimidated speaking in the round to 4,000+ people. But soon I realized he was probably just taking his time so that no one would miss a message he'd traveled more than 8,000 miles to deliver. I appreciated that Gert's cadence helped slow down my spirit and his guttural Afrikaan accent required me to listen more intently.

What I didn't realize was that his message would change us forever.

Gert's personal "journey" started when he was a 47-year-old husband and father of three. His South African church, Mosaiek, had just started an orphanage for children impacted by HIV/AIDS. Some were infected or had parents or family members infected. Some were orphaned.

He explained that as the holidays approached, the orphanage began temporarily placing the children with church families to give the regular caregivers a break. Gert's wife, Karin, and her ministry team were successful placing all the children except one, a frail little boy named Gary who was HIV positive and dying. Gert described how Gary's legs were no larger than his own fingers.

So one day Karin asked Gert if they could care for Gary in their home. Emphatically, Gert said, "No" and reminded her that they too needed a holiday break. However, over the next week Karin came back strong and this time their children had joined their mother to plead Gary's case. Gert lovingly described Karin's persistence as "nagging" and asked us if we had such a term here in our country. Resigned to the fact that his family was never going to let up, Gert agreed to take Gary in for the holiday.

Gert then began describing a moment he had shared early on with Gary. He called it their "deep connecting" experience. My notes in church that morning recorded it this way:

"He was staring at me. We were in an 'eye-lock.' It was as if he was sending me an 'eye-mail.' There was deep sorrow, this child was crying out for help. We were in a high and deep level of discussion and he was saying to me, 'I have no hope. I am alone. I have no home. No family. No money. No health.'"

Then Gert said he felt as though God had joined Gary and him in the conversation. And he heard God say to him, "Gert, I am not asking you to sacrifice a child because I have already done that for you. I am just asking that you receive this child in my name." And at that moment Gert said, "Yes." He looked at Gary and made this promise, "Yes I will take you in as my son and receive you into my life."

Gert shared a picture of his son on a bike, leaning over the handlebars and smiling widely. He looked to be about four years old. Remarkably, Gert said Gary was now HIV negative and that the doctors have told them he would no longer need to be tested for HIV/AIDS.

Beyond his improved physical health, Gary may be following in his father's pastoral footsteps. Gert ended his time with us recalling how Gary came into their living room one morning and insisted Gert sit down so that they could "have church." Stepping on a small overturned box, Gary with arms sweeping, preached this message: "God is life. Jesus gives life. The Lord brings life." Then he closed with, "Church over dadda... you can go now. Amen"

And soon after that our church ended as well, we were dismissed. But as people around us filed out, Stacy and I just sat in our seats. While I was incredibly moved by Gert's testimony, she didn't realize its full impact on me. I leaned in and showed Stacy what I had scribbled down at the end of the message, something I was sure she had just said to me, "It's time." But Stacy had not said a thing.

Those two words told Stacy my heart had been changed, truly broken. What was so amazing is that Stacy had prayed for such a change in me for many years. But only recently her prayer had changed to, "Father, your will be done" after having been given John 1:11 which speaks of children "born of God" and not of a "husband's will."

Through tears Stacy said to me, "I cannot go through my whole life without doing this." Like Gert, at age 47 after more than 20 years of marriage and with three children, my emphatic "no" had become an undeniable "yes."

So on September 25, 2005 we began this adoption journey together.

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