Children Of Dreams Part 14

Earlier in the week we were on our way to the camera store and Joy began singing when she heard music streaming out of one of the shops. I had sung Christmas carols to her at night when I put her to bed. The soft melodic tones helped to calm her spirit before drifting off to sleep. I continued to wonder how artistic she would be when she was older as I watched her enjoy the puppet show.

One nice thing about time is that it doesn't stop. At last, December 27 arrived, the day for the Giving and Receiving Ceremony. I dressed up in a black velvet dress and had bought a pretty outfit for Joy. The ceremony would take place in Thai Nguyen, about an hour and a half north of Hanoi.

Joy and I sat in the back of the van, and I held her in my arms as there were no car seats. On the way, we stopped and picked up a woman doctor that worked for Anne. She handed me an envelope that contained money to "help get the mother back on her feet." I did not ask any questions and did not open the envelope to see how much it contained.

I looked forward to once again seeing the countryside. After leaving downtown Hanoi, buildings were replaced with flat, luscious fields inundated with lots of small lakes. Eventually the flatness gave way to green rolling hills like the waves of the sea. Young Vietnamese women could be seen working in the flooded lands wearing the Non La, or Vietnamese hat. The hat is only worn in Vietnam and is made of leaves and bamboo. I had purchased two, one for Manisha and one for Joy as a souvenir, but left them on a plane somewhere between Vietnam and Florida.

We parked the van at the Department of Justice where the Giving and Receiving Ceremony would be held and walked inside. We were ushered into a small room where a short, elderly man, the equivalent to a court officer, sat us down. Joy's mother, Luu, walked in and took a seat to the right of us. Luu was teary eyed and emotional as Joy rested quietly in my arms. When Luu reached for Joy to hold her one more time, she refused to go.

The ceremony began and the Court Officer glanced through the doc.u.ments and asked us both some general questions.

"Is this what you want to do?"

I said, "Yes."

He asked Luu, "Is this what you want to do?"

She nodded.

It was all very official, and afterwards, he smiled, congratulated us, and offered to take our picture. I handed him my camera and he took two pictures of all of us standing beside a bust statue. A red Vietnamese flag with a yellow star hung limply to the back of us. Luu held a handkerchief in her hand which she used to dab her teary eyes.

After the ceremony we were dismissed to leave. As I followed Joy's birthmother down the steps outside the courthouse, I watched her walk away in a moment of personal reflection. She was returning to her life before Joy. With little prospect of better things for herself, she was willing to give her daughter that opportunity. I wished her good health and happiness as my life would be changed forever because she was brave. Joy would have hope of a wonderful future and a chance to live out her dreams.

In 1999, Vietnam had the highest abortion rate of any country in the world.( The Christian Post, March 31, 2008, "Vietnam Man Runs 'Abortion Orphanage," by Margie Mason, AP medical writer) Luu could have made the easy, selfish choice to end her baby's life. Nine years later as I pen these words, my eyes are full of tears as I picture what could have been and what happens every day across America. Suppose Luu had not been courageous. I never would have known Joy's contagious smile, her sweet hugs, her selfless love, her charming beauty, and her endless creativity. Most of all, Luu, through G.o.d's grace, gave me a priceless treasure and a pearl of great price.

A few years ago, I wrote a poem about Joy, and I dedicate it to Luu and all birthmothers who endure the pain and humiliation of bearing a baby out of wedlock; who choose life over death; sacrificial love over their own personal comfort; good over evil, and beauty over trash. May G.o.d use this poem to sear the conscience of those women who teeter on the verge of sorrow and regret. May they be as brave as Luu and make the heroic choice of letting their baby breathe, someday ride a bike, get married, and have children of their own. May they picture their "bundle of joy" chasing b.u.t.terflies in a field of their own hopes and dreams. Through their courageous sacrifice and the gift of adoption, another woman's empty arms can be full of "joy."

My Joy My Joy, my valentine, born in my heart, My priceless treasure from a world apart.

My Joy, my daughter, who fills me with love, May G.o.d richly bless you from his storehouse above, My Joy who showers me with hugs and sweet things, Pictures I cherish, who tells me her dreams My Joy, a gymnast, a star in third grade, My Joy, a sweet kiss and "I love you" each day.

My Joy, with little hands who fixes my hair when I'm hot, My Joy, who forgives me when I blow up like a steam pot My Joy, may you grow in G.o.d's love every year, And each Valentine's day we always be nearer and dear, My Joy, eat lots of chocolate, draw pictures and have fun, For our journey together has only just begun My Joy, my daughter, who I thought I would never see I'll love you forever, you shall always be My valentine wrapped in hugs and a kiss, From your mom, our lazy cats, our loud dogs, and your big sis.

Under Vietnamese law, Joy was legally my daughter. I breathed a sigh of relief and enjoyed the trip back to Hanoi a lot more than the trip to Thai Nguyen.

The hard part was ahead-leaving her behind.

Chapter Thirty.

Do not let your hearts be troubled...

John 14:1 After we arrived back at the Lillie Hotel, I packed an overnight suitcase to go to the airport. We had to fly to Ho Chi Minh to drop Joy off with Anne. I would fly back to Hanoi and leave on December 30th. It would take two days to get back to Gainesville. I didn't want to be traveling on New Year's Eve.

When I purchased my airplane tickets, I had jokingly asked the Vietnamese Airlines attendant if they were flying on January 1.

"No," He said.

I asked, "Why not?"

"No customers."

I didn't want to be the first.

After time had gone so slowly over the past couple of weeks, the minutes became like a blur. In a matter of hours I would be leaving Vietnam. Joy had come so far in such a short amount of time. I was reminded of I John 4:18, that says "...perfect love drives out fear." Not that I had given her perfect love, but G.o.d in his mercy had made up the difference.

John 16:24 says, "Until now you have not asked for anything in my name. Ask and you will receive, and your joy will be complete."

As we waited at the airport for our flight, I reflected on my conversation with Mr. King earlier. Why had G.o.d allowed me to even know about the investigation of Anne? I had to take captive every thought as every cell in my body cried out to Him to bring Joy home. G.o.d had not abandoned Manisha in Nepal, and I knew He would take care of Joy. Although she would miss me for a time, as when Jesus left his disciples, He promised them that their grief would turn to joy (John 16:22).

We boarded the plane in the early evening to fly to Ho Chi Minh. North to south, Vietnam is 1,615 miles long and 375 miles at its widest point. To the east, it's bordered by Cambodia, Thailand, and Laos. Ho Chi Minh is located in the mid to southern part of Vietnam. As I peered out the window, I reflected back to when I flew to Nepal to adopt Manisha. Excited to be adopting my first daughter, I remembered looking down over the flat Vietnamese terrain on the way to Thailand. Little did I know then that just a few years later, I would be back adopting another little girl from Vietnam.

It was 709 miles to Ho Chi Minh, so the flight took only a couple of hours. We were served a traditional Vietnamese meal with chicken noodles that tasted even better than usual since it would save us from being hungry when we arrived. Joy settled in comfortably, and it was fun to watch her as her fear of new things had been replaced by a curiosity to explore.

She was seated to the right of me, her little legs just barely reaching to the front edge. I latched her seatbelt around her and, unlike Manisha, who gave me fits when I strapped her in, Joy was content to sit still. I lamented we weren't headed to Hong Kong instead of Southern Vietnam. After so many concerns about health issues-scabies, anemia, skin infections, autism, being small for her given age, and developmental delays, I began to appreciate even more how perceptive she was.

We arrived in Ho Chi Minh after dark and although we weren't able to see much, I could tell it was a lot different from Hanoi. A large city teaming with people, it churned with activity and brimmed with night life that was almost nonexistent in Hanoi. We took a taxi to the hotel, which was a little more upscale than the Lillie. With the Vietnamese adoption done, I felt a freedom I had not felt before. Sitting in a different hotel in new surroundings, I was excited-if only I didn't have to leave Joy the next day. She now easily went to bed and slept through the night without waking up crying.

The next morning, a taxi took us to Anne's home and in a brief downtown tour of Ho Chi Minh, I was surprised at how much it reminded me of America. Even more Western than Hanoi, it was a big metropolitan city full of people working, traveling, and enjoying life, a blend of Vietnamese culture and economic prosperity.

Was this not part of what the Vietnam War was about, to give the Vietnamese economic freedom and capitalism? Even today there isn't religious freedom, but that may soon come. Perhaps the best way to bring about freedom of religion is to provide people with a feeling of empowerment. Freedom in one area is contagious-it spills over into others.

After seeing a little bit of Ho Chi Minh, I was glad to have spent most of my time in Hanoi. If I had to be somewhere in Vietnam for a month, I would have chosen smaller and more conservative Hanoi over Ho Chi Minh.

The taxi dropped us off at Anne's home. Out front were tropical Vietnamese flowers and shade trees. The building was set back a few hundred feet from the main road, so it had a quiet, secluded feeling away from the street noise. When we walked in, we were greeted by one of her staff who took us to Anne's office.

I had never met Anne before. She was six feet tall, a rather large middle aged woman, with on-going medical issues with her leg and needing a cane to get around. She sat at her desk in the middle of a s.p.a.cious, rectangular room with a high ceiling. The desk was cluttered with papers and on the floor stood piles of folders. I wondered how she could find anything.

She rolled back from the desk and stopped her activity to talk with me about Joy. After a while, she told me about herself and how she came to be involved with adoptions in Vietnam. Her many stories reminded me of a cat with nine lives.

"By the way," she said, "A family in Gainesville, Texas will be here in March to adopt Thi My-Sa."

Before I could find out more, another adoptive family stopped by. Since they had some business they needed to discuss, I thanked Anne and got up to leave. As I walked outside to take in some fresh air, I met another adoptive parent with his little boy who was about three. We talked and shared our stories.

His new son was recovering from abdominal surgery and had a temporary colostomy. I was touched that he and his wife were willing to undertake the adoption of a child with such a serious medical condition. As he shared with me their adoption journey, he told me about a biological son of theirs who had the same malady. When they got word of this little boy, they knew he was meant to be their child. I heard similar stories from others in my brief stay at Anne's home. Does G.o.d not bring each child to the family that was meant for them?

There were several children that Anne was fostering, and she had also adopted a little Vietnamese girl that was four. Her daughter, Jade, took a liking to Joy and wanted to show us her bedroom. We followed her upstairs and she gave us a tour. Her room looked like any other American child's-br.i.m.m.i.n.g with Disney movies, books, and stuffed animals.

Afterwards we went back downstairs as Anne's staff had prepared lunch. Joy was clingy and wouldn't let me out of her sight. I think she feared I was going to leave. She would get excited playing with the other children and leave me, only to come running back to make sure I was still there. She had stacked her little suitcase beside mine to rea.s.sure herself I wasn't going anywhere without her. I hated the thought of leaving her in just a few hours.

One of the cooks came in and coaxed my daughter into another room to feed her. I knew this would be the best time to leave. I didn't want to let Joy know I was going as it would be too heartbreaking. I would have to slip away quietly. I remained silent without saying goodbye as the staff person carried her off into an adjoining room. I sat a little longer wis.h.i.+ng I didn't have to go. I asked someone to make sure she was happy eating.

"She fine," she said. "She eating."

I thanked her and grabbed my suitcase, eyeing Joy's suitcase that now stood all alone beside her stroller. It would be a difficult three weeks until I saw her again. I walked slowly down the long hallway out front to wait on the taxi Anne had called for me, which showed up a few minutes later.

"I need to go to the airport," I told the driver. My heart was heavy as I prayed for Joy not to forget me during the time she would remain with Anne. I flew back to Hanoi and slept one last night at the Lillie Hotel, missing Joy immensely. The room was so quiet and lonely without her. Wondering what she was doing, I called to see how she was.

"She is fine," Anne a.s.sured me. "She cried a little when she realized you were gone, but she's okay now." I wondered if she told me the truth or if she just said that to make me feel better. Knowing Joy, I was sure she cried a lot.

The next morning I paid the hotel bill and finished packing all my suitcases to leave. It was amazing the clutter I had managed to acc.u.mulate that I didn't want to take home-half-eaten bags of food, diapers that wouldn't fit in the suitcase, Christmas decorations that weren't worth saving, and toys that Joy had already lost interest in. After feeling at times like a prisoner stuck in Hanoi over Christmas, my time in Vietnam was coming to an end. The next morning I said my goodbyes to the folks at the hotel; the lady in the "dungeon" who, according to Jenni, made the best Jasmine tea on the planet, and the lady at the front desk who had been so kind.

"Please thank Jenni again for the stuffed animals," the receptionist told me. One afternoon before Jenni left to return home, my sensitive, young traveling partner had emptied her backpack on the counter and several beloved stuffed animals tumbled out. She had planned to take them to an orphanage, but when she found out how needy the young lady's children were, she decided to give them to her. It was a touching moment as the receptionist received them from her.

I took a taxi to the airport and boarded the flight back to Hong Kong. Unlike when I left Kathmandu several years earlier, leaving Hanoi was uneventful. As the plane took off and flew over the city, I looked down at the streets and buildings receding beneath me that had been my home for the last four weeks. January 1st, 2000, would soon be upon us, ushering in a new century and millennium full of hope and promise.

I was glad to be on my way back to Gainesville, but part of my heart would remain behind as I thought about my "Bundle of Joy" in Ho Chi Minh. But only for a time-I believed G.o.d would bring Joy to me because G.o.d loved Joy more than I did. She needed a "forever" home and I needed a "forever" little girl from Vietnam, the second of my "Children of Dreams."

Faith is refusing to give up, believing in dreams not yet seen, and knowing G.o.d gives us both. Hope had already arrived and Joy was on the way. The days till January 25 would pa.s.s quickly. I began to think about all the things I needed to buy, like a baby crib, a high chair, and diapers.

I couldn't wait!

Chapter Thirty-One.

Wednesday, January 26, 2000, 5:30 p.m.

He settles the barren woman in her home as a happy mother of children Psalm 113:9 East Coast storm paralyzes airports, roads, rails January 25, 2000 From staff and wire reports (CNN) ... Heavy snow and strong winds in the eastern United States put the freeze on travelers around the country Tuesday, with blizzard-like conditions closing airports from North Carolina northward and causing significant delays and cancellations of flights into and out of the region... New York's LaGuardia and Philadelphia International Airport were completely closed. Very few flights took off or landed at JFK and Newark airports, the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey (CNN.com, January 25, 2000 ) My conflicted feelings wouldn't be erased until Joy landed safely on the ground in Jacksonville. Antic.i.p.ation, worry, frustration, fear, hope, and joy wrapped up in one. How the human heart can contain so many emotions at once is baffling. Surely the jars of clay we live in weren't made for such spiritual beings as we are. Words too limiting to express my emotions, I sat glued to my television screen watching the scene unfold where runways were shut down due to the ma.s.sive snowstorm. The adoption agency had phoned to tell me that Anne's flight had been delayed leaving New York because of the blizzard. Anne had another little girl named Amber that she was escorting to a family in the Newark area. Anne, her daughter, and Joy wouldn't arrive until Wednesday, January 26, around 9:30 p.m. It had been one more unexpected delay and one more day to worry had I let my emotions run rampant.

The last three weeks since flying home from Vietnam had seemed surreal. Nothing extraordinary happened when the clock struck midnight on January 1, 2000, marking the beginning of the new millennium. Once the initial worry of a global crisis pa.s.sed, I crammed as much math and reading into the hours as I could so I wouldn't feel guilty after Joy arrived and Manisha and I skipped homeschooling for a few days. Joy's room was decorated and made ready with a borrowed crib from the Murphys. I had purchased everything I thought I would need, including a car seat, high chair, diapers, and a diaper changing pad, and hoped I wasn't forgetting anything important. Joy would be my first and only baby because Manisha wasn't a baby when I adopted her.

Having such a young one in diapers, single parenting, homeschooling, and working full time seemed daunting, but is this not what I had chosen? I reminded myself that as hard as things might seem in the beginning, no child ever went to college wearing diapers. Mine certainly wouldn't be the first.

I had made numerous phone calls to Vietnam in the previous three weeks to Mr. King at the U.S. Emba.s.sy on the progress of Joy's adoption. Each day was a step in faith that G.o.d would bring her to me. With the beginning of the new millennium, I imagined a new beginning for the three of us as a "forever family" brought together through G.o.d's providence and love. I longed for children years earlier when I was married and couldn't get pregnant. Memories of a distant past that no longer held me captive, chains loosened from the emotions that bled of hurt and betrayal.

Forgiveness had helped me to let go and embrace G.o.d's love. I hoped G.o.d would give me the grace to run the race set before me with perseverance. Single parenting to one child can be overwhelming. Did I really know what I was getting myself into? I am sure Mary, the mother of Jesus, must have felt the same when she found herself with child under dubious circ.u.mstances, but she never questioned G.o.d and rejoiced over the baby within her womb. The feeling had never left me that there was something missing before Joy. I knew I was supposed to have two children. Now our family would be complete the way G.o.d intended.

"Are you ready to go, Manisha?

"I am coming, Mommy," she called from her room.

I grabbed her coat and pulled my black and red Mexican-looking shawl over my head. Even when it was freezing, I hated coats. It was due to hit the 30s later in the evening. I wondered if Joy would be warmly dressed coming from the cold in New York City. I tucked Joy's coat that I had bought her in Vietnam inside the diaper bag just in case she needed it.

Wednesday night, Thursday, and Friday would be my only days off from captioning since I had missed a month of work while in Vietnam. I lamented I couldn't be rich for two weeks so I could have more time to prepare for the adjustment after Joy's arrival. I forced myself to look at the bright side of things. I worked at home and didn't have to leave the house to earn a paycheck.

I gave Manisha a quick hug. "Are you ready to meet your new baby sister?" I asked her excitedly.

"Yes," she said emphatically. "Let's go."

Curtis Murphy would be arriving a little after us at the airport. We had arranged for him to come in his car because Anne and her daughter needed transportation back to Gainesville where her mother lived. It was just providence that we lived in the same town. My red Firebird could only hold four people, one too many to fit in my sports car. We would meet him at the airport a couple of hours later since we were leaving Gainesville early.

The hour and a half trip in the car was one of antic.i.p.ation and nervousness. I couldn't wait for Manisha and Joy to meet. I had dreamed about this day for more than three years, even before I began the adoption process. It was important to me that Manisha have a sister, someone that would be family to her when I was no longer around. Now that the moment was finally here, it seemed dream-like.

I inserted one of the Focus on the Family Adventures in Odyssey tapes into the tape player and cranked on the heat. Manisha had worn her bright red flannel outfit which could serve as clothes or pajamas. Who knew what time we would return to Gainesville, particularly if the plane was late.

I reflected back to a few weeks earlier when I came home from Vietnam. Manisha had seemed so big after spending a month with Joy. Seven and half years apart in age might seem like a lot now, but I knew down the road, those years wouldn't matter as they reached maturity. I was one month shy of nine when Paige, my sister, was born. Manisha would be nine on February 23.

I was glad Joy wasn't a newborn-someone once told me that the only things newborns do are eat, sleep and p.o.o.p. In hindsight, fifteen months seemed like a perfect age to adopt a second child. Young enough for bonding with an older sibling yet not so young that Manisha couldn't help me. Manisha didn't see it that way, though. She saw Joy as an instant playmate. I hoped that wouldn't change.

It was almost dark now that the sun had receded behind some clouds to the west of us. As I sped along I 10 east toward Jacksonville, I had a few more moments to reflect before pulling into the parking lot at the airport.

Would Joy remember me after almost a month? I wondered if Manisha would have pangs of jealousy having been the center of my attention since I adopted her almost six years earlier. Would she remain seizure-free? That was a big one. I had received the final medical report back from Dr. Hostetter on Manisha's blood work. She had sent a sample of her blood to the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta for testing with a new, more sensitive test for neurocysticercosis. The doctors had been unable to confirm the diagnosis which made the test results disappointing. Either Manisha didn't have neurocysticercosis or the test wasn't as sensitive as they had hoped. I knew in all these things I had to trust G.o.d, but if my mind was left to wonder, it always seemed to return to Manisha's haunting medical history.

I looked at my watch and it was 7:00 p.m. I felt my stomach grumbling from hunger as I had been too anxious to eat before we left. The tape was close to finis.h.i.+ng as we approached Jacksonville. Too excited to sleep, it had kept Manisha awake but quiet on the way.

I had shared with her about my time in Vietnam and what Joy was like to prepare her. Thinking about the two of them together made me think back to my own childhood. One of my favorite memories was when I was nine and my sister was born. I remembered going to the hospital and looking through the gla.s.s window at all the babies and the nurse pointing to which one was my new baby sister. How excited I was as I stood and admired her scrunched-up face and whiffs of hair. I remembered when we brought her home from the hospital how I wasn't jealous but our dog, Gypsy, was. She hid in the corner for a week and wouldn't have anything to do with anybody.

When I was eleven my younger brother, Thomas, was born, and although I was happy to have a brother also, I was more jealous of him than I ever was of Paige. He got away with murder. Okay, maybe not murder, but it seemed like it when he took little bites out of all my favorite pieces of candy hidden in my room and n.o.body did anything about it.

In the end, we all grew up loving each other and have a good relations.h.i.+p today. Both of them are married and have children of their own. Not only would Joy and Manisha have each other, they already had cousins and extended family which I never had. When the time seemed right after Joy's initial adjustment, we would travel to Atlanta so everyone could meet her.

At last we arrived at the Jacksonville Airport and I parked in the well-lit, enclosed parking area which I deemed safer than the dark outdoor lot. It would also require less walking for Anne with her wobbly knee. As I turned off the car, Manisha put on her shoes and waited impatiently for me to open the door. As I did so, a cold rush of air chilled my exposed skin. I couldn't believe how much the temperature had dropped in the last hour and a half.

"Make sure you put your coat on."

"Okay, Mommy," she replied.

We walked to the connecting overhead bridge from the parking lot to the terminal, and I found the kiosk which displayed the arrivals and departures. I checked the arrival time and gate for Joy's flight which showed it would be thirty minutes late. We would have plenty of time to grab something to eat.

"How long till Joy gets here?" Manisha asked.

"If it's 7:30 p.m. now and she arrives at 9:30 p.m., how much time will pa.s.s?"

She hated it when I asked her "time" questions, but I always made use of opportunities when they presented themselves.

"I don't know," she answered.

"It will be about two hours." I wasn't going to press her on it tonight. There would be other opportunities. The hard part would be to keep her entertained while we waited.

The Jacksonville Airport was not that big, and at this time of night, not that busy. We found a place to eat that had a television and claimed the two best seats-right in front of the screen, to pa.s.s the time while we waited. Curtis had called and said he would arrive around 9:00 p.m.

The weather report showed snowplows removing mounds of debris from roads in several cities in the Northeast. I couldn't believe Joy had arrived in the middle of a huge blizzard. One airplane had run off the runway in New York and I had panicked that it was hers. The last couple of hours of waiting seemed the longest.

As the minutes grudgingly ticked away, I watched as a couple of other planes came in, releasing pa.s.sengers in one fell swoop of instant noise and controlled confusion that slowly dispersed into quietness. At last the time drew near as Curtis walked up and found us waiting by the arrival gate.

"How is everybody doing?" He asked.

"The plane is running about thirty minutes late."