Pivotal conversations

 In the meantime, I didn’t know how to proceed with my phone calls to the kids and the relationship I built with them over the last six months. I sent an e-mail to the person in Colombia who arranged for them to participate in the summer hosting program in the States. I explained the situation, saying we would send an appeal soon because we felt they made their decision based on a mistranslation. I asked her if I should still stay in contact with the kids.  

“I’m so sorry to hear about this. Since you plan to appeal the decision, I feel it very important, for the kids’ sake, for you to maintain contact with them. I hope everything turns out well for all of you.” She responded quickly with a positive tone in her message.

I didn’t call them at all over the last two weeks, but the kids still heard from me! The summer chaperone returned to Colombia and delivered my letters to them sometime during those two weeks of silence. My letters expressed how much we loved them, missed them, and prayed for them. I tucked a picture of our kitties in Viviana’s letter, and I sent Juan David a picture of David. I’d never sent them anything before due to the cost. By the time I finally called again, they both seemed ecstatic to hear my voice and thanked me repeatedly for sending them letters.

Wow. My heart melted. I didn’t explain why I hadn’t called for a while, obviously, and I realized through our conversations they didn’t know anything had happened. Viviana kept me on the phone for at least forty minutes, not accepting a single excuse for needing to let her go earlier. I heard live music in the background. I recognized it as a Christian song I learned either in Argentina or in one of the many Spanish churches I’d attended over the years, but I couldn’t place it. “It’s a song about God, like you told me!”

Wow, again. My letter expressed how much God loved her and how much I prayed for her, and now I saw the impression my words made on her heart. The person in the background began praying, and she joined in at certain points in the prayer. I considered this one of the most special phone calls I’d ever made to that little girl. God let me know He held her and took care of her for me.

I called Juan David that evening, too, and he suddenly wanted my e-mail address and gave me his. Apparently his house parent bought a computer, meaning we might have a chance to finally communicate via e-mail, as well.

It took forever for us to exchange e-mail addresses that night. We kept mistaking almost every other letter, but eventually we got them straight. Not only had I not lost contact with the kids yet, but now I might have even more chances to communicate with Juan David. Yes, God still worked. He hadn’t finished our story yet. I could not even imagine how God planned to use our e-mail address exchange that night.

Keep pushing forward

After a weekend of tears and prayer, we felt a sense of peace to appeal this decision. God walked with us. He brought us this far and brought Juan David and Viviana this close to having a family again. Satan worked here, once again attacking us, stealing our joy, trying to destroy our family and our faith.

By the time we talked with our agency’s director again, we had a plan ready to set in motion. I must admit she seemed helpless at this point and did not communicate well with us. I will always have suspicions that our own agency let us down in some way, but I also possessed a strong enough faith to know God was bigger than an agency.

This situation held a purpose. He allowed it to happen, even if we didn’t understand why. We claimed confidence over a happy ending, one bringing Him even more glory than completing the adoption in the timing we hoped.

With another new school year ready to begin, I found myself bombarded with adoption paper work all over again. To start, we wrote an appeal, a four­-page letter in Spanish explaining ourselves, also pointing out at least one mistranslation we knew about. We poured out our hearts, restating our firm commitment to these two children.

One of my bilingual teammates proofread and edited the letter for me, and then a Colombian coworker looked over it again after that. We also gathered more documentation, including a rebuttal letter from our psychologist and a new letter from our social worker restating her complete approval of us. We requested letters from family and close friends, as well, who could prove our sociability in contrast to the socially withdrawn people described in that denial letter. Our agency agreed to attach a letter, too.

I finally received the official letter from Colombia, so I immediately glanced at the Spanish letter, not the translation my agency sent with it. I wanted to read how the person stated all those comments in Spanish. Then I compared translations.

One particular sentence in the letter stated that I feared Juan David would likely wander the streets in search of food. What? I never said that! Why in the world would I ever say such a thing? Where did that come from? Of course they thought I had misconceived ideas about adoptive children if they thought I said something crazy like that! Something must have gone terribly wrong in the translation of our documents.

I scanned through our copy of the psychological evaluation looking for anything written even close to such an idea. In the paragraph addressing our fears of adoption, our psychologist quoted our agreement over the challenge of raising a teenager. Our realm of parenting experience only prepared us for a seven-year-old. We’d always been careful about what we exposed our seven-year-old to or gave him the freedom to do, still not even allowing him to cross a street without holding someone’s hand. Juan David, on the other hand, roamed the streets alone as a child before the orphanage took him in. Those streets exposed him to things our own son didn’t even know existed.

We took the risk of bringing Juan David’s history into our home with great faith. Even so, we verbally acknowledged the risk. So our psychologist quoted me saying, “He’s likely to be more ‘streetwise’ than our biological son.”

I don’t know if I chose the best word to use in that conversation, but I knew the context and our psychologist understood. However, the person who translated the documents obviously didn’t understand that context because that’s where he said I believed Juan David would likely search the streets for his food. Our appeal would certainly address the fact that we felt, or better yet, knew, errors existed in the translation.

bizior photography – www.bizior.com

When I talked with our psychologist, he couldn’t believe everything stated in that denial letter! He assured me none of it reflected what he personally said about us. As he read the letter, he shook his head, saying, “Wow. This is like a slap in the face. They took everything I said completely out of context.”

He willingly wrote a new letter, rebutting the statements made against us and restating his approval of us. He chose his words even more carefully this time due to the translation factor.

The only statement in the denial that came from our home study regarded our son’s nervousness to share his room. Our social worker wrote a new letter for us, once again giving her approval of us. She described all the steps we’d taken to prepare our son for the arrival of his new siblings as a way to address his concern over sharing a room.

My faith and hope built up again. I knew we could prove every single statement in that denial letter as inaccurate or misinterpreted information. While preparing our appeal, letters from family and friends poured in. Along with letters from our psychologist and social worker, our appeal now contained multiple personal letters stating beautiful things about our family. 

http://hermagazine.ca/renewing-the-lost-art-of-letter-writing/

Denied . . .

Our agency’s director called to personally break the news to us even before she received an official translation from Colombia to send to me. She read bits and pieces of the letter over the phone, specific comments explaining the denial of our petition.

 The letter made such inaccurate claims I couldn’t even begin to understand. We were too withdrawn and introverted. Mike struggles to form close relationships. David felt nervous about sharing a room. I was self-conscious and unable to be assertive. We had misconceived ideas about adoption. We obviously didn’t have a close bond with our son and did not prepare him well enough for adoptive siblings.

 Where did all of this information come from? Didn’t the reports from our social worker and psychologist prove these descriptions wrong? What made us look so withdrawn and introverted? We travel on mission trips all the time, living day in and out with people from all walks of life, building lifelong relationships with those who travel with us. What about all of our church involvement in life groups, growth groups, the adoption ministry group, etc. Those comments played over and over in my head. I didn’t understand.

            How could the letter say we didn’t have a close bond with our son or prepare him well enough for his adoptive siblings? We thought an adoption like this actually prepared David more because we already knew the children we attempted to adopt. We included them in our daily life from the beginning, through pictures, purchases, phone calls, prayers, and conversation. We prayed for them, talked with and about them, dreamed about them, anticipated their arrival, prepared for them, etc.

We constantly talked with David to address his concerns, fears, and excitement. We both shared an incredible bond with him and did nothing but prepare him on a daily basis for the arrival of two new siblings and all of the changes they might bring to our family.

Of course he felt anxious to share his room! He never shared it before, but he also longed for the day his brother would sleep on the top bunk of his bed, keeping him company in his room. Once Juan David’s things accumulated on his shelves and in his closet, the two boys, in actuality, already began to share his bedroom. He had mixed emotions I assumed were normal. I never imagined the negative light those emotions could shadow over our case.

The comment in the letter about our misconceptions about adoption remained a mystery to me. I guess everybody has their own misconceptions they have to work through, but until I could read that formal letter of denial from Colombia, I felt baffled.

All the other “stuff” mentioned came straight from that personality assessment, the one that gave a “true picture” of our personality types and the tendencies they could lead to. Whoever read through it took it all out of context. How could I prove that? Someone completely misread us on a piece of paper. We had to appeal this, to go down there to meet them in person. Then they could determine if we fit those descriptions or not.

Those children counted on us. How could we possibly let them down? God wouldn’t do that to them. Would He?

It just couldn't be . . .

It came. After an entire summer of waiting and wondering what took so long, the call finally came. I recognized the Adoption Agency’s number immediately on my caller ID when I heard the first ring. My heart spun in circles.

Could it be that long awaited phone call to tell me they approved us, allowing us to soon reunite with our precious children in Colombia? I don’t know if I’ve ever felt such anticipation upon answering a phone, but nothing prepared me to hear the words expressed on the other end of the phone line that day.

“Colombia asked that the adoption not go through.”

Wh-wh-what did she say? The words hit me like a brick, stunning me, leaving me speechless for a minute. I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t know what to say.

Am I having a bad dream, a nightmare I could still wake up from? This couldn’t be happening. Not after all that . . . not after everything that God . . . not after He clearly gave these children to us and worked out every last detail of the process.

This just couldn’t be. They made a mistake and called the wrong person. My children, my sweet Juan David and Viviana, had waited for us for so long. They were coming home soon! I’d never been so sure of anything in my entire life. God always meant for them to join our family. I loved them. We loved them, and they loved us in return.

I had to do something. I had to fix this, to make it right. Who could I talk to that would hear me out? I had to stop this absurdity.

            The rest of the phone call remains a blur to me, as well as the following hours, days and weeks. I remember I didn’t sleep that night. I spent the entire night on my knees in tears, crying my heart out to the God who created me, the God who gave me those children. I prayed Scripture after Scripture as the night passed.

Mike and David somehow slept, but I couldn’t. Beside myself with grief, I felt so determined to fix whatever fell apart in this process. I had to find a way to still make it work, to point out a huge misconception somewhere. I fully convinced myself it would not end this way.

An Answer We Didn’t Expect

My soul is weary with sorrow; 

strengthen me 

according to your word. 

Psalm 119:28

The Call

So long I have waited

to finally get the call,

built up such anticipation

after climbing many a wall.

We saw our God move mountains,

we watched Him part the sea.

We saw money fall from Heaven

for this adoption to really be.

God's fingerprints were evident

As He opened wide the door,

We never lacked a penny

And were even blessed with more.

So many rallied around us,

and carried us in prayer,

We didn’t foresee this path,

yet we knew God led us there.

Today when I saw who called,

My heart completely skipped a beat.

Was this the call we awaited?

I could barely stay in my seat!

I never could have imagined

what I was about to be told.

Our petition to adopt denied,

The words still seem so cold.

After all of the hurdles we jumped,

after passing each approval we sought,

after giving our lives to these children,

I never felt so distraught.

Could we send more information?

Could we visit them like we'd said?

Is there any way to appeal this?

Now what lies ahead?

I’m overwhelmed with confusion.

Do I grieve or do I fight?

I sit here speechless, in utter shock,

Wishing this dark tunnel had more light.

Just waiting on that "call"

Summer pressed on, despite our loss, and we all grew restless. I focused my energy on spending quality time with David, cherishing our last summer as just the two of us. We rode bikes, played games every day, read books, ate ice cream together, and talked a bunch. It proved to be a good summer for us and for our relationship.

That summer held challenges, too. Juan David struggled with anxiety and began to misbehave in the orphanage, probably because he knew he likely wouldn’t live there much longer.  Mike and I stressed about work, not knowing how to plan for an indefinite leave of absence when we didn’t even know when we could leave.

I finally accepted we’d likely travel during the following school year, so I searched for a qualified substitute to cover my class. For a long absence, I needed a certified bilingual teacher, definitely not an easy position to fill. I dreaded the task of making so many phone calls until I found one.

By the third call, I found someone interested, miraculously someone bilingual and certified to teach, and a Christian adoptive parent, too! Having walked a similar road to adoption, she understood my vague timeline, and she encouraged me and prayed for me! Once again, God came through, showing how far ahead of me He walks.

“Forgive me, Father, for my unbelief. How could I doubt You planned even this detail, as well?”

The month of July passed by slowly after that. Each time I called my agency for updated news, they gave me the same answer. “We haven’t heard anything new, Rachelle. We’re on Colombia’s time now, so we need to wait patiently."

Sigh. That’s not what I wanted to hear. What in the world made it take so long?

The date soon fell on July 20^th again, Colombia’s Independence Day. A solid year already passed since we’d met our children. We wanted to make the day special again, despite all of our frustrations. So, we headed back to Austin for an event scheduled with the new children that came from Colombia that year. They hosted another picnic at the same lake where we met Juan David and Viviana the year before.

 

God refreshed and renewed our spirits by letting us meet some wonderful people who understood the process of adopting from Colombia. A Christian couple who adopted their daughter two years prior gave us several travel tips to keep in mind. Another couple shared their story of adopting a girl right before her sixteenth birthday, which would have made her unadoptable internationally if the process had not been expedited.

We met two other families still in process to adopt children that came the summer before, just like us. We desperately needed these connections at this point in the game. Like a breath of fresh air, they perked us back up and kept us going. Seeing other families now complete reminded us it would all be worth it when we finally brought our children home.

I even met the chaperone who accompanied the kids from Colombia. She told me more about my kids’ specific orphanage and living conditions. She thanked me for pursuing their adoption because very little possibility existed to find a family in their own country due to their ages. She assured me it shouldn’t take much longer. She even offered to deliver a letter to Juan David and Viviana for me!

We returned to Austin again the following weekend for another activity. I gave the chaperone two letters to take back for Juan David and Viviana. We breathed in more encouragement from the new families we met the week before, plus God allowed us to meet even more people. We didn’t feel so alone anymore as we waited for “the call.”

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.