Amidst all the hustle and bustle of Julian’s
graduation, Thanksgiving, the Christmas season, finishing up the first semester
at school, and sending Julian his gift, apparently a lot of activity went on
behind the scenes in Colombia, too. His social worker found him an opportunity
to continue his studies in Bogotá, which
explained why she never contacted me.
It disappointed me to know he wouldn’t come to stay
with us, but this opportunity thrilled me. The program we wanted to get him in
here only served as a stepping stone without any clear leading. His social
worker found him an opportunity to study the Arts, his main passion. So, we dropped
our pursuit to bring him here and went back to Plan A, to support him in
furthering his studies once he exited government care.
I thought back to that lonely boy I barely knew at the
beginning of the summer, the boy who felt so alone, completely forgotten about
by God. God now flooded him with more love and opportunities for his future
than he ever dreamed. It honored and humbled us to play a role in his story.
I spent Christmas Eve with half of my heart in Colombia once again. (Perhaps
it never left.) I researched airline prices for our upcoming trip in June and
couldn’t believe the prices we found, hundreds of dollars cheaper per ticket
than we expected! When our friends who travel often saw the prices, they
suggested we book those tickets immediately. Mike hurried to get his vacation
time approved for the following summer, and we booked them!
This was real. We finally had tickets to take us to Colombia.
It felt surreal, after everything that led us to this
point. I gave Julian the dates, but he didn’t have any idea where he would be
or what he might be doing at that time. We’d arrive almost two months after his
eighteenth birthday, so he didn’t know if he’d still reside in government care
or live on his own by then. We felt confident God told us to go in June, so it
forced us to take a huge step of faith.
I think I glowed on Christmas Day. What a year, filled with a whirlwind
of emotions, leaving us committed to and smitten by this seventeen-year-old boy
in an orphanage in Colombia. Not just any seventeen-year-old boy from any
random orphanage, but the sibling of the two children we failed to adopt,
living in the same orphanage I called so often in the previous year. God indeed
redeemed our story by giving us Julian, our Christmas miracle.
“Hi. May I please speak with Julian?” I could hardly
believe I dialed the number to that same orphanage again, now over a year
later.
“Hello? This is Julian speaking.” I barely recognized
his voice.
“Merry Christmas, Julian! It’s me, Rachelle!” I don’t
think he recognized my voice either on the other end of the line.
“Hi, Rachelle! It’s so good to hear you.” His voice
held gratitude for my call. After all the times he watched his brother and
sister receive my phone calls, now he held the phone on the other end of the
line as the recipient.
Oh, to hear his voice again. I adored that boy. The pieces fit together
now, and the puzzle started to make sense, despite all the times I asked God,
“Why Colombia? Why that orphanage? Why those two kids?”
Each piece mattered.
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