The Rescue

The first night we had the children in the guest home — the day we met them — Nate and I went to sleep saying “parenting is so much easier than we thought.” Yes, you can laugh. We were totally green, yet one day of having these two follow us around repeating everything  we said and did and sleeping at the moment their heads hit the pillows (probably out of fear) made us feel like experts.

We quickly learned the next morning that this day one wasn’t quite a foreshadowing of what was to come. (And we had five other families at the guest home staying with us who got to watch our ugly object lessons … how’s that for a reminder that you really have no clue what you’re doing ).

Since then we have had a pretty steady flow of ups and downs. A few good days are sure to be followed by days like the past two we’ve had. The good days have prompted emails to the woman who handles “waiting children” at our adoption agency and the not-so-good remind me that these  “little brown people” (as we affectionately refer to them from time to time) who have invaded our lives have hearts that are still in need of deep rescue. And it won’t happen overnight.

It reminds me of my recovery from a heat stroke I had last year. On the day after I had it, I would have thought that I could run the 1/2-marathon I’d been training for. Had I actually done so, my very survival may have been threatened. A week or two after … I felt fine–as if my body was ready to get back on the road like I’d been training before–but I was told the recovery time couldn’t be gauged by outward signs.

With the kids, I’d look at Eden prancing around our house in a ballet tutu and princess gloves and think she was like any other 3 1/2 year old. Watching Caleb build a pyramid out of wooden train cars at the library does the same thing. Yet there are glimmers which the Lord gives us into their past that remind us both that the rescue has only just begun.

Yesterday, when I took the children to a doctor’s appointment, the woman at the registration desk asked me if I was Eden’s guardian. If you only knew, I thought. Sure, I am her guardian and I shouldn’t expect that seeing a white woman with two black children would lead one to conclude that I am their mother. But the question made me realize that I don’t even think twice about Eden and Caleb being mine.

She has my zest and he has Nate’s love for adventure. They love to pray, like we do, and have comfortably made our first floor a dance hall (certainly not the first time these rooms have seen spontaneous dancing. ) Eden’s already into shoes … (One of the first phrases she said that wasn’t an echo of me was “I love these shoes.” Unfortunately she was talking about her crocs. She’s still learning.) …  and Caleb gets more excited about cleaning up the toys than he does about actually playing with them. Ummm…no doubt they are children of ours. I know that from the beginning of time that they were destined for our family.

They just came into our arms a different way.

And I suppose every parent is on a rescue mission. It may just be that ours is a little more obvious. When Eden says “look Mommy!” expecting to get praise for demonstrating a limp or an arm deformity (as if maybe someone coerced her at some point to do this …maybe to enhance the “ask” when she begged), my eyes still flood with tears.

Their first few years of their lives are a mystery to me. (Heck, exactly how many years they had until they came to us is yet to be truly known.) I am beginning to gather pieces and will likely have more once they begin to speak English, but only God can give me the revelation to know how to pray for their little hearts. And He is. Each day I’ve been let into new secrets. It’s almost as if all those months of waiting on children we haven’t yet met were like a mere launching pad for praying for these children we don’t yet fully know.

I can’t explain the relief that comes from knowing that God not only knew them–but He made them … and although I may more easily pass as a guardian to an onlooker, Eden and Caleb were meant for this family. They fit.

It’s just that we have a lot of time and seeking the face of our God before us to heal the broken places and uncover who they were destined to be.

Oh Father, heal them from the inside out.