Thursday, February 9, 2012
I have moments.
Just moments when I feel familiar with things around me. I can literally count the times I have felt totally at ease with my surroundings on one hand, (outside our little room that is). When I think about this, I am even more amazed at people who have come to know living in a place foreign to them as familiar, or as home. I think of all my friends I met over the past few years who are first generations Americans (or striving to be). All the missionaries I meet here who call this home, and I wonder. I think of all the adopted kids who are not only in a new family (with it’s own culture and expectations) but those who have been removed from the only thing/things they have ever known to be dropped in a place unfamiliar.
But I now know – from this small experience I have had over the past 8 months of living in the foreign – that it must be difficult for any adopted child. Living in the foreign is difficult for me, an adult who has traveled, has an amazing husband by my side to talk through things, who understands and speaks my heart language. An adult who can analyze, problem-solve and think through (not always successfully) why I am feeling certain things.
So I think about our children.
The ones who step out of a world that, while may be difficult and stressful for the child to live in especially if they are in an orphanage, is what they know. They have put up defenses, as survival mechanisms to cope with the abandonment of their first care giver (whether through death, poverty or sheer abandonment). God gave us these skills, but the tools that must be used to trust, to connect, to believe, to let down the defense mechanisms are more difficult to master. For the child to trust the now primary caregiver, say an adoptive parent, or in my case, God, these skills are much harder to grasp.
This is on my mind when we go into the orphanage, on Tuesday, praying to have more answers to our big question, will the grandma to baby be willing to give up her rights? Rights that she has already given up in the physical by putting this baby in the orphanage?
She is there.
The grandmother has walked, rode, fallen, and walked some more to arrive, at 4 am.
But she came.
She wants us to have the baby.
She can’t sign the papers until she and baby’s paternal uncle stand as witnesses against baby’s father in trial.
7 weeks away.
They say they will stop on their way back from the trial with the conviction of guilt for the father, and then sign the papers to let baby be ours.
So we wait. And we trust.
We trust God.
We trust their word.
We trust the director of the orphanage’s word when she says that this is better than she hoped for.
We feel relief, but we still feel the battle.
In the waiting, I think the fight is more intense. We are more sensitive, and aware of little goings on around us.
It is all a battle.
But we rest. We rest in God’s mighty hand, his little finger that has more power than all the strength of man.
We are aware of the flowers around us.
Of the moon that glows bright.
Of the foreign place we live in – and strive to take delight in.
This is the place that will give us our baby.
We want her to know it, even if it is through us.
We give thanks.
“In repentance and rest is your salvation
In quietness and trust is your strength” – Prophet Isaiah