A foreshadowing of grief?

“I can’t believe we have a dog!” David repeated himself over and over into the evening.

Yeah, that made two of us.

However, that pup turned out to be the sweetest thing in the world. So sweet, we called her Sweetie. I took her outside on my porch without a leash, and she obediently sat there. We snapped tons of pictures and later invited David’s cousins to come meet her. Even I fell completely in love with that little dog.

When I called Juan David and Viviana three days later, I told them about our newest addition to the family.

“What? You got a dog? What color is she? Is she big or small? Can I have her?” Viviana sounded like she might jump through the phone with so much excitement!

Once again, I had to restrain myself from saying, “It’s your puppy, Sweetheart.”

Much to our dismay our bliss did not last long. We entered into a season of grief a few days later. Our pup fell ill and passed away right before our eyes. Apparently she’d been exposed to parvo, a deadly puppy disease, shortly before we got her. We tried to nurse her back to health via the vet’s instructions, but the disease took her fast.

From one Sunday to the next, we traveled from the top of the mountain to a valley of despair. We spent six short days loving our precious little puppy, and now we grieved losing her.

 David took it hard. “Why did she have to die?”

I never helped him grieve before, and it broke my heart to see him hurt so badly. Then when I called Viviana a few days later and told her, she burst into tears and cried through our entire conversation. I never heard her cry before, and it, too, broke my heart. I wanted to kick myself for making such an impulsive purchase.

What love will make you do

 

 

 

Preparing for Juan David didn’t require as much work since he and David would share a room. They liked the same things and would likely share many of them (bunk beds, soccer balls and equipment, toys and games). Plus we didn’t want to do much pre-shopping for Juan David, already a pre-teen. We wanted to give him more of a choice in what we purchased for him. His top bunk awaited his arrival, we planned to put him on a soccer team right away, and half a closet full of donated clothes waited for him.

Juan David knew our plan to adopt him all along. We rarely ever discussed it, and I found it hard to not slip up and say something as the time got closer. Since Viviana knew I’d visit someday and bring her presents, I accidentally carried the same conversation over into one of my phone calls with him.  He quickly closed up after he heard me say the word visit. I wondered if it made him think we’d changed our minds. He didn’t want a visitor. He wanted a family.

I sensed his attitude from the start of our phone call relationship. He didn’t mind talking, but he stayed pretty closed off until I mentioned being in the process to try to adopt him (specifically what they told me I could tell him). His whole mood changed after that, and he talked openly and freely, almost as if he needed a purpose for our conversations. He wasn’t going to let just anybody in.

In our following conversation, we talked heart to heart, and I told him the truth. I knew deep down that I didn't make the wisest choice by having that conversation. On the other hand, knowing his age, I knew I needed to speak honestly with him. I needed him to know he could trust me. (I didn’t consider how such a conversation might come back to haunt me later.)

Our phone calls felt more fun and lighthearted from that moment on, helping me convince myself I’d made the right choice. We compared information about our countries and cultures a lot.

“What month do you celebrate Valentine’s Day in your country? What month do you start school? When does your school year end? What do you do at Halloween? Does David dress up? Do you wear a costume?” He loved learning about our holidays, our educational system, and about the way we do things here in the States. I enjoyed having him teach me all about his own culture in Colombia, too.

That summer held so many ups and downs. On one particular Sunday, our teaching pastor preached a special sermon on adoption. Our Adoption Ministry at the church set up a booth for anyone to find out more about the ministry after the service, plus to advertise an upcoming mini-conference later in the summer to help anyone learn how to start an adoption process. Mike and I volunteered at the booth at our campus for all three services. I couldn’t think of a more wonderful way to use our waiting time than to encourage and inspire other couples to look into adoption too.

During the service, the media team played a slideshow with pictures of many adoptive families in the church, as well as pictures of those in the process. Some couples held up a flag of the country they planned to adopt from and a big question mark.

For our picture, the three of us held up a picture of Juan David and Viviana, looking at them with a longing in our eyes. The slide show brought tears to my eyes every time I watched it. One day soon our family picture would indeed be complete. We would have more than a picture to hold—we’d have two children to hold in our arms and give hugs and kisses to every night.

After the final service, we met up with some friends for lunch. I probably glowed for hours after such an inspiring morning. As we left the restaurant a little while later, we all spotted a truck in the adjacent parking lot with puppies for sale.

 “Please, please, please, please, please can we go see them?” David begged, tugging on my arm. I’m not a dog person, but I complied. I’m still not sure how this happened, but one precious little pup completely captured my heart.

Still reflecting over the morning service, Viviana dominated my thoughts. She wanted a dog. She loved dogs. She even asked me send her host family’s dog to her in the mail because she loved it so much during her summer stay. She squealed every time she heard my neighbor’s dog bark through the phone.

Before I knew it, I reached for the cash in my pocket and walked away with a dog.

 

 

The extra room

Another school year ended with so much added to our recent chapter of life experiences. I rejoiced that our paperwork finally made its way to Colombia. I also celebrated when I heard enough donations came in to match our twenty-five hundred dollar Matching Grant! A long, challenging year now ended with blessing and hope.

I left my classroom as ready as I could for the possibility of a substitute starting the following year for me in my absence in case I found myself in Colombia in August. I wrote seven full weeks of plans, including all the daily procedures I teach at the beginning of the year, but I still desperately hoped God might get us there and back before the following school year. Though highly unrealistic, I knew my God was able.

I grew closer to Viviana with every phone call I made to her. I treasured her voice, one of the sweetest sounds to my ear, and I couldn’t imagine my life without hearing the sound of that voice eventually in my home. A curious little thing, she asked questions about anything and everything.

“What’s your favorite color? Where do you work? Do you like your job? What are you wearing? What is David doing right now? Where are you?”

She wasn’t content with knowing the what--she always probed further to find out the how’s and the why’s to everything.

 I loved her more daily, and I suspected she grew to love me more and more, as well. She always wanted to hear Mike and David, too, and she squealed with delight every time she heard their voices, even if actual communication between them never went past the basic greeting.

We confidently assumed we would travel to Colombia sometime that summer to see our children again. With school out, I found an abundance of time to prepare our home for their arrival. Our extra bedroom currently served as an office in our house, with a fairly large desk, a built-in filing cabinet, the computer, and a closet full of Mike’s work clothes. Now we needed to empty the room of its contents in order to repaint it and refill it with things for her.

With a little rearranging and moving things around within the house, an empty room and closet soon awaited all the preparations needed for the arrival of our Colombian princess. We set out to paint her room, and then we enthusiastically repainted the entire house to hopefully welcome both kids home soon.

After painting, I set to work on the décor in her bedroom. Viviana loved the color orange. That didn’t surprise me, since it expressed her vibrant, bubbly personality. She asked for an orange blanket on one occasion, so we bought a reversible comforter for her bed with bright orange on one side and hot pink with orange stripes on the other side. Bright orange curtains soon hung from her window, and her outlet covers and light switch covers stood out on her walls with orange paint. We even found a cute little locker at a garage sale and painted it orange.

Our friends hadn't yet given us the furniture for her room yet, so we put a few rickety old dressers in there for the time being to collect clothing as we accumulated it. I found lots of sweet little toys, shoes, and outfits at various yard sales throughout the summer. I enjoyed every minute shopping for that little girl!

Her room lacked one final touch, the perfect decoration for the shelf on her far wall. I still owned my favorite keepsakes from my childhood, my collection of Cabbage Patch Kids. I had seven different dolls as a little girl, each one with a different “story” and personality, complete with a birth certificate and adoption papers. I took each one out of the box they’d sat in for years, cleaned them up a bit, and carefully placed them across the shelf. I displayed each one with their adoption papers.

I knew without a doubt she’d love those dolls, but how fitting we kept their official “adoption” paperwork. She would share something in common with all of her new dolls. Oh, I could hardly wait to bring her home! Her room cried out for her.

One evening when I called her, I caught her in one of those curious moods. “Where do you live? What is your house like? Tell me about every room in your house!”

We started with the front porch, my quiet, peaceful place where I sat to talk to her. Then I moved into the kitchen and described it to her, followed by the living room, the play room, my bedroom, David’s bedroom and the extra room, which I couldn’t really call an office anymore.

“Why do you have an extra room? What do you use it for?” Try explaining that concept to a little girl who lived in a house with twenty-six other girls.

I had to bite my tongue to keep from blurting out, “It’s your room, Sweetheart! It’s just waiting for you to get here.”

 

To Walk in your Shoes

To Walk in your Shoes

(To Juan David)

Each day seems an eternity,

waiting for this process to go through.

As much as my heart aches,

I wonder what it's like for you.

You've known almost all along

that we'd come for you someday.

You said it excited you

that our plans were underway.

We diligently pressed on

while you and I talked casually over the phone.

How often have you wondered

 when we'd bring you home?

Has your heart been torn between

your hope to come and longing to stay?

Do you even struggle

knowing you'll leave the orphanage some day?

They described you as a good kid,

a great attitude you had,

Respectful and obedient,

though not having a family made you sad.

What have you had to suffer?

What have you had to work through?

When did you last hear from your mother?

Will it be hard to call me Mom, too?

I'm longing to finally see you again

to help mend where your heart may be bruised,

to see things from your perspective,

to know what it's like to walk in your shoes.

My son, it's been a long road--

longer even for you than for me.

Keep holding on to your hopes

To soon be part of our family.



 

Andrei Mihalcea | Dreamstime Stock Photos

The first of many unexpected tears

Unexpected Tears

(To Viviana)

Thoughts of you dance through my head,

yet much to my surprise,

I find my heart aching

as the tears fall from my eyes.

This waiting has been equally hard

both for you and for me.

You long for me to come see you,

I wonder when "Adoption Day" will be.

An expectant mother often wonders

about the color of her baby's eyes.

I've already looked deeply into yours

and envision them with each sunrise.

A pregnant mother imagines

the sound of her child's voice.

I've memorized the sound of yours,

even amidst so much background noise.

I've heard your smile when you're happy,

I've heard you giggle with delight,

I've detected sadness in your voice,

and I've heard your weariness at night.

You keep asking when I'm coming,

I keep wondering when I'll go.

We both dream of reuniting,

as our bond continues to grow.

You don't forget a single word

that I utter to you over the phone.

I cherish every word you say

as I long to bring you home.

I expected to bond with your brother,

as our talks carry a more natural tone.

I expected to win your heart through his

due to how your love for him has shown.

Now every time I say I love you

and you say you love me, too,

a part of my heart lies broken

until the law declares it all true.

I ache for you, my Princess,

more than I ever thought I would.

My arms long to hold you

and call you "mi hija" for good.

Soon, Princess, soon.

With everything falling into place, I knew our time must be near. Then, much to our dismay, we hit another road block, a pretty big one, actually. After reviewing our paperwork on the immigration level, they now expressed concern over issues in our psychological evaluation. They considered not approving us without documentation of how we professionally resolved those issues.

What? You mean, we got this far, down to our final piece of documentation, and it could all end here? You’re kidding me! Could my heart handle much more? Without this approval, we could not continue the process, thus losing our children.

 This pending issue actually traced all the way back to the very beginning. They wanted a written letter from the counselor we saw years ago, the counselor we couldn’t find. We went round and round with them to explain why we couldn’t provide such a letter. Finally, our agency convinced them our psychologist could provide the information they wanted.

 The psychologist wrote up an addendum to our first evaluation and sent it in. Still not pleased, the immigration officer brought up more unclear issues from the personality assessment over the phone with the psychologist-- the personality test that suggested tendencies our specific personality types might lead to, like drugs and alcohol. He finally convinced the officer we showed no signs of such behaviors.

By the grace of God, the immigration officer finally approved us. With this last approval, we could finally send our entire mound of paperwork to Colombia.

 “Thank you, Father. Satan may attack me and make me doubt, but You hold complete control. Forgive me for my unbelief.”

From that moment on, I clung to my favorite verse, one I claimed as the theme of our journey. “Blessed is she who has believed that what the Lord has said to her will be accomplished” (Luke 1:45).

Nine solid months passed since we met our children. “I’m coming, my darlings, as soon as I can!”

We still needed to wait for the written immigration approval to arrive. Once we could send everything to Colombia, it usually took about four to eight weeks before receiving their national approval, the referral for your child, and a travel date.

Time moved much more quickly now! I could almost see the end in sight! Nearing the end of April, we began to draw another school year to a close. What a surprise when the staff at my elementary school showered me with the blessing of a money tree to help cover our needs when our children came home.

A teacher who knew me well and shared my faith in Christ wrote out several Bible verses on faith and tied them all over the tree. Long after we used up the money, I kept the verses tied to the tree, my faith tree. It touched my heart deeply. 

I continued to call the orphanage every week, sometimes twice a week to each home, to talk to my children. Our bond grew stronger, and we felt more comfortable with one another every day. Viviana especially loved knowing I called them both.

"Will you call my brother tonight?" She asked me the same thing almost every time I called.

“Viviana, I haven’t been able to talk to Juan David for the last two weeks. Did he get a new phone number or move to a different house?”

“Hmmm. Let me ask.” She’d disappear for a minute or so, then she returned to the phone to read off some numbers to me.  After getting a new number from her on three different occasions, I finally regained contact with him. He’d moved into a different house within the orphanage, so the number changed. I made sure to let him know I still tried to call every single week. I wondered if he thought I forgot about him.

“I need to go now. I love you, sweetie.”

“Okay, Tía. I love you, too.” Her words brought joy to my heart.

I started to tell both kids I loved them before I hung up the phone. Juan David didn’t quite know how to respond to that yet, but Viviana told me she loved me in return. I could almost hear the smile in her voice every time she said it. I think the time I spent calling just her over those few weeks I couldn’t reach her brother actually helped me bond even more with her. I cherished every moment because I only got to talk to her. I didn’t cut our conversations short in order to have time to call her brother, too.

“When are you coming to see me, Tía?” She still didn't know about our plans to adopt her, but she constantly asked when I could visit.

 “Soon, Princess, soon,” I replied, hopeful my words held truth.