Ethiopia has my heart.
These people, this deep culture and history, this place....it came inside me and it won't ever get out. This is the country of two of my children.
I don't even know where to start although that famous Sound of Music song, "Let's start at the very beginning. A very good place to start..." is on auto repeat in my brain right now.
We met the nugget. He is just everything I expected him to be. I know what a first encounter can look like. That mental image of arms outstretched, running towards one another, arms around the neck while Little One weeps, "Mommy!" is just pretty much ridiculous. Instead there more often are tears and looking away and struggling to get out of those mama arms. But little Judah had about five minutes of sceptism and then was a happy, drooly, bubble blowing baby and we were buddies from then on. He puked on me three times which just confirmed our union as family. He is our boy. If not for the fear of arrest, I would have gladly smuggled him in a suitcase and called this adoption final. But for now he's loved. And he's happy. And he's growing. And he'll be just fine until I get back. That difficult last visit is only difficult for me because little Judah is already home in his mind. He has a bunch of moms and a dozen big brothers and a cozy little bed by the window. And when I come back, I will be taking him from everything he knows to be secure and trustworthy and that thought alone makes it ok to leave him for now.
But Judah is here because of someone and we met her and she broke my heart.
I can't imagine the feelings of riding to the orphanage where you left your baby to meet the foreign couple that will now raise him. But she showed up and that was very brave. And I can't imagine how intimidating it is to have these people turn on a video camera pointed directly at you while they run down a list of personal questions. But she answered and that was very brave. To relive the pain, the disownment from your family, the day you left him, the details of your delivery must be excruciating. But she told it all and that was very brave. And when I asked her, "What are your hopes and dreams for your son when he gets older?", she looked down and said,
"I hope he doesn't grow up to be like me."
I struggled to keep it together. I think my hand may have come up to cover my mouth as I took a deep breath and paused for a moment. That was a powerfully honest answer and it was a window into this woman's past, present, and future. "I hope he doesn't grow up to be like me."
I watched this young woman carefully page through the picture book we made for her when she thought no one was watching. She traced the face of the baby she gave birth to with her fingertips.
And all too soon it was time to leave and I stood and I hugged her. She hugged me back. Tightly. And as I started to pull away, she held on tighter. In that moment, sentences and words and similar languages weren't needed because we both communicated a single message but with a very different meaning.
Thank you.
I told her that her child was a gift to our family. He will be loved and have every opportunity that we can give him. She smiled. And then she walked out the door.
I will probably never see her again. I know that she has a piece of my heart and it hurts for her loss, her past, her shame, her rotten draw of luck in this world of those with and without. And I know that when I look at her son, I will be reminded of her and my hopes for her future.
May you think about your son and his future and smile.
May you come to forgive yourself and find forgiveness from others.
When the world has turned its back on you, may you feel how vast and how wide and how deep is the love the Father has for you.
May you know how blessed I am for meeting you.
These people, this deep culture and history, this place....it came inside me and it won't ever get out. This is the country of two of my children.
I don't even know where to start although that famous Sound of Music song, "Let's start at the very beginning. A very good place to start..." is on auto repeat in my brain right now.
We met the nugget. He is just everything I expected him to be. I know what a first encounter can look like. That mental image of arms outstretched, running towards one another, arms around the neck while Little One weeps, "Mommy!" is just pretty much ridiculous. Instead there more often are tears and looking away and struggling to get out of those mama arms. But little Judah had about five minutes of sceptism and then was a happy, drooly, bubble blowing baby and we were buddies from then on. He puked on me three times which just confirmed our union as family. He is our boy. If not for the fear of arrest, I would have gladly smuggled him in a suitcase and called this adoption final. But for now he's loved. And he's happy. And he's growing. And he'll be just fine until I get back. That difficult last visit is only difficult for me because little Judah is already home in his mind. He has a bunch of moms and a dozen big brothers and a cozy little bed by the window. And when I come back, I will be taking him from everything he knows to be secure and trustworthy and that thought alone makes it ok to leave him for now.
But Judah is here because of someone and we met her and she broke my heart.
I can't imagine the feelings of riding to the orphanage where you left your baby to meet the foreign couple that will now raise him. But she showed up and that was very brave. And I can't imagine how intimidating it is to have these people turn on a video camera pointed directly at you while they run down a list of personal questions. But she answered and that was very brave. To relive the pain, the disownment from your family, the day you left him, the details of your delivery must be excruciating. But she told it all and that was very brave. And when I asked her, "What are your hopes and dreams for your son when he gets older?", she looked down and said,
"I hope he doesn't grow up to be like me."
I struggled to keep it together. I think my hand may have come up to cover my mouth as I took a deep breath and paused for a moment. That was a powerfully honest answer and it was a window into this woman's past, present, and future. "I hope he doesn't grow up to be like me."
I watched this young woman carefully page through the picture book we made for her when she thought no one was watching. She traced the face of the baby she gave birth to with her fingertips.
And all too soon it was time to leave and I stood and I hugged her. She hugged me back. Tightly. And as I started to pull away, she held on tighter. In that moment, sentences and words and similar languages weren't needed because we both communicated a single message but with a very different meaning.
Thank you.
I told her that her child was a gift to our family. He will be loved and have every opportunity that we can give him. She smiled. And then she walked out the door.
I will probably never see her again. I know that she has a piece of my heart and it hurts for her loss, her past, her shame, her rotten draw of luck in this world of those with and without. And I know that when I look at her son, I will be reminded of her and my hopes for her future.
May you think about your son and his future and smile.
May you come to forgive yourself and find forgiveness from others.
When the world has turned its back on you, may you feel how vast and how wide and how deep is the love the Father has for you.
May you know how blessed I am for meeting you.
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