With a burst of excitement the long waited adoption of Jenny took off.
Tickets were bought. Suitcases packed and before I knew it I was flying to Moscow.
Looking back today many years later I marvel at how smoothly it all came together.
But as always
when it’s right…it’s right.
It was difficult to sleep on the long flight to Moscow.
Memories of my first adoption came to mind
but no matter how you get a child
each time is different- each experience is laced with the sacred fingerprints of God.
After exiting the uneventful flight I connected with my Russian facilitator,
grabbed my luggage and got in his car.
Today I smile remembering the scene –
a cold late afternoon in December riding along on my way to Kostroma
talking as if we’d known each other for years.
The hours passed quickly as I watched the snow falling.
Would we make it all the way to the orphanage?
“Da”, he nodded. Nothing would keep us from making it to the orphanage.
But late in the night the mounting snow caused me increasing concern.
I’ll never forget the moments when we stopped at a small, rustic restaurant
that seemed in the middle of nowhere.
It was almost like walking into a children’s fairytale.
Deep snow abounded outside
but inside there was music and laughter and colored lights of Christmas.
A warm fire was blazing in the fireplace and we sat and ordered a simple meal.
At that moment
although halfway around the world from all things familiar
I was at home.
The peace that God gave was real and it was as if He graced me with an evening of wonder.
But all too quickly we headed out into the wintry scene and continued the drive to Kostroma.
Our conversation slowed as we both tried to see through the snow.
I marveled that he managed to follow the narrow two lane road.
In the early hours of morning we drove into Kostroma .
I found my way to a hotel room and freshened up
as I prepared to meet my soon to be adopted little girl.
Then suddenly I found myself sitting in a big room at the orphanage.
Alone. Waiting. Waiting some more.
Then I heard a sound and turned my head as the door opened.
There stood the tiniest little girl.
I caught my breath
and looked up into the face of my facilitator.
“She’s so small.”
And she was.
Born very premature weighing 1 ½ pounds she was a survivor now at two.
I held out my arms and scooped her into them.
We often speak of love at first sight
and this was my second time when that was my experience.
A mother knows her child. There is no other explanation for it.
Suddenly my heart that had waited so very long for this little one
was overflowing with joy.
But there would be more hurdles to cross before I could bring her home.
And I will tell you about the importance of one orange.