Children of Dreams, An Adoption Memoir (11 page)

Feeling totally deflated, we went back to the airport. I tried to plead my case again with the Thai officials.

“The Embassy is closed because of the strike and I can’t get the passport,” I pleaded. “Please let Manisha on the plane. I was sick and almost died, and I am out of money and I need to get home.” My tears of persuasion got me nowhere. They refused to listen.

Ankit explained. “They are Thai, not Nepali. They are different. They are not going to be flexible about the rules like Nepali.”

My flight had already left so I had to change my plane ticket. I didn’t know to what. I returned to the ticket agent to see what was available hoping to get the passport the next day. All the flights were booked until May 16. I couldn’t imagine being stuck in Kathmandu for ten days. It would be hard getting by on just a credit card. I wasn’t sure I could obtain more cash.

“We have available first class tickets for both of you for $3,500 and you can go home in two days,” The attendant said.

“Three thousand five hundred dollars, did you say?” I stared at him in disbelief. I didn’t have that kind of money. There was only one thing left to do. We retrieved our suitcases and went back to the Everest Hotel.

We arrived to find Alisha and Manisha in the restaurant eating rice. I lugged our belongings back up to the room, and as I walked in the phone rang. The Thai ticket agent was on the line. He had gotten permission for us to board the flight that left on Friday—two days from now.

“The flight is overbooked by two hundred people, but I was able to get special permission,” he said.

I humbly thanked him. As I put the phone down, I wondered how he was able to reach me. I had not told him where I was staying.

I sat on the bed feeling numbed by the turn of events, thanking God for his mercy. I wanted to go home. I couldn’t believe God made it happen without paying $3,500.

Indeed, as I have written it, and as the terrified disciples spoke of Jesus when He rebuked the waves, “Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey Him (Mark 5:41)!”

Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Jesus Christ throughout all generations, forever and ever! Amen (Ephesians 3:20-21).

Fourteen years later, as I hold my Zirconium and sterling silver necklace up in the bright Florida sunshine, it sparkles with the same radiance as when I bought it for a few rupees in Nepal the following day. Manisha also has a necklace that was thrown in the bag with mine as a free gift. It’s her favorite necklace. I wonder if the best things in life are free.

They are our only keepsakes from Nepal as I did no shopping for souvenirs. I realize now I needed them because they help me to remember my struggle and ultimate victory while in Nepal. They are tangible reminders of God’s faithfulness and mercy in the severest of circumstances.

By the next day, the Maoists had abandoned their efforts to bring about a revolution and life returned to normal. Political climates change quickly in developing nations. We no longer needed a Thai passport for Manisha and spent the day shopping and basking in the sun beside the pool.

God had restored what was lost. For the first time since my arrival, I had peace and Manisha was content. We made a visit to a local park and took pictures of the beautiful Nepali flowers.

I handed my camera to a man standing nearby and showed him what I wanted him to do. Several other men walked over and wanted to look through the lens. I don’t think they had ever seen a camera before. I eventually got him to snap a couple of pictures of us that hopefully would turn out.

Later I discovered all the pictures were cocked sideways since he didn’t know what he was doing. It’s funny the things that stay with us and the things we forget. I hadn’t thought about that for a long time.

It was a skewed picture through which I had viewed God. God didn’t always give me what I wanted. He gave me what I needed. I had no idea how special the day would be. I could only see through a lens of wanting to be home, but God in His infinite wisdom saw through a heavenly lens. He wanted me to have pictures of beauty, peace, happiness, hope and enchantment, if for no other reason than to reveal God’s redemptive love. Dealing with documents, worry, fear, travel, bureaucrats, propositions, sickness, tears, blockades, and exhaustion were now a thing of the past.

On Friday morning, Ankit came to the Everest Hotel to see us off but did not accompany us to the airport. We said our goodbyes not knowing when we would see each other again. Such a man of God with a servant’s heart, I bid him farewell on his journey to carry the Gospel to the uttermost regions of Nepal. Hopefully through Manisha’s adoption, God had inspired him with a renewed zeal to give orphaned children not only hope but a chance to know the Real Hope Giver.

Following a six hour wait for the plane in the airport lounge, we walked out onto the tarmac to board. Manisha stared wide eyed as the baggage handlers loaded the suitcases into the belly of the plane. The roar from the engines was deafening. She clasped my pants leg for security and protection from the wind. The mountains, the cows, the rundown buildings, the tattered Nepali signs that were my first impressions of Nepal when I arrived two weeks earlier filled me with nostalgia. We were going home.

We found our seats and settled in for the long trip. Our flight arrived in Bangkok, Thailand around midnight. We stayed overnight in a hotel inside the airport, and left early the next morning for the flight to Los Angeles. Upon arriving at the Los Angeles International Airport, my heart quickened. We were almost home.

Because Manisha was not an American citizen, we had to go through the section of the airport designated for people emigrating from other countries. We waited in a long line and watched as families stood before the U.S. Immigration and Customs Officer and were cleared to leave. A family with two young boys was next.

The Immigrations official called them up. He checked each of their papers and stamped them.

“Welcome to America,” He said.

“Thank you,” they answered. They grabbed their few belongings as in a daze and made their way to the exit. I wondered if that was all they owned, the few small suitcases they pulled behind them. I hoped America would be everything they dreamed of.

It was now our turn. I stepped up and handed the Immigrations Agent my passport and Manisha’s travel document.

After glancing at my papers, he stamped them and said, “Welcome to America.”

We were home. Almost.

We stayed overnight in the Los Angeles Marriot near the airport and arrived at the Atlanta Hartsfield International Airport the following day. We were greeted by my mother; my sister, Paige; Paula, my long time friend from childhood; her husband, and two children. Mother arrived with an armful of clothes and we shared a special moment as she admired her first grandchild.

While I was in Nepal I had prayed that God would protect my dad from taking a turn for the worse until I arrived home. The brain tumor diagnosed the previous year had impaired him to where it would have been too hard for him to come, and it saddened me that he was unable to meet us. He would have been so proud of his new granddaughter, but where God closes a door He opens a window. His illness had been one of the things God used to give me the vision and strength to pursue my dreams. He lived long enough to meet Manisha before passing away a few months later.

It was May 8, 1994, Mother’s Day. After visiting for a couple of hours at the airport terminal in Atlanta, we boarded the plane for the final leg of our trip. At 6:00 p.m., Sunday night, we landed in Gainesville, Florida. Manisha had fallen asleep and I carried her down the steps of the plane and walked across the tarmac to the airport entrance. As I walked in with Manisha in my arms, we were greeted by friends and my One Another Group. It was a wonderful “welcome home” party, not unlike the day when we will arrive at our “eternal home.” Jed Keesling, one of the church elders, gathered us around in the parking lot and prayed for our future. God had answered the prayers of the saints to bring Manisha home. I felt blessed to call them my friends.

Manisha’s adoption showed me that the Kingdom of Heaven was at hand. My treasure from God, hidden in the mountains of Nepal, was not unlike the man in Matthew 13:44, who found a treasure hidden in a field, and sold all he had and bought the field. The journey of a thousand miles had only just begun. Another adoption lay in the future. There were mountains to climb and valleys to cross.

...yet not my will, but yours be done (Luke 22:42).

Chapter Sixteen

Cast your bread upon the waters…

Ecclesiastes 11:1

In C.S. Lewis’ book,
Prince Caspian
, when Lucy told Aslan “I thought you’d come roaring in and frighten all the enemies away,” Aslan told her, “…things never happen the same way twice.” That could be said of my journey.

I knew from the beginning I wanted two children. After seeing how God worked in Manisha’s adoption, the miracles and answered prayers, I assumed the second one would go much the same way. It didn’t. When things happened the first time, I was changed by them. When I started the second adoption, I wasn’t the same person I was when I adopted Manisha.

The world never remains the same either. Countries change adoption requirements. Some countries close adoption programs while new ones open.

Our thoughts are way too limited to begin to comprehend what God might be doing. Isaiah 55:8 says, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.” I had no idea how different things would be the second time around. I am glad I didn’t know.

When Manisha was five, I began to talk with her about adopting “a little baby sister.” She was excited and couldn’t wait to have a “playmate.” I am not sure she understood it all, but it was the beginning of a long process to prepare her for a new arrival.

I wanted to adopt again from Nepal, but Nepal only allowed families to adopt one boy and one girl. I wanted another little girl. I also wanted to use the same adoption agency. The only country the adoption agency was licensed to work with that met my criteria of a single mother with one daughter was Vietnam.

Vietnam was expensive. I spent a lot of time counting the cost financially. Could I afford it? Did I have the energy to raise a second child? Could I give two children what they needed emotionally, physically, mentally, academically and spiritually?

With the Lord helping me, I thought I could do all those things. I didn’t want to be so fearful that my fear prevented me from taking the risk. I was stepping out in faith that God would provide.

In the spring of 1997, I contacted the adoption agency and began the process of filling out forms. I bought a book on Vietnam published by the same company that produced the book I had bought on Nepal. I began to tell people, “I am adopting again, this time from Vietnam.”

I was surprised that things were not the same this time around. I didn’t have the support from my family or friends. I got comments like, “Don’t you think being a single parent to one child is enough? How are you going to handle a second child?” All the comments came from well meaning Christians, but nevertheless, they were negative and discouraging.

If Manisha had been struggling in school, I would have given all of my attention to helping her and not pursued a second adoption. Since she was three when she arrived here, she would have been considered at-risk for developmental and mental delays.

Health problems would also have been a red flag, but Manisha had never been sick with more than just a runny nose or fever and I hadn’t missed a day of work since arriving home from Nepal.

One weekend, my church had a women’s retreat, and though I’m not much of a retreat person, I decided to go. I wanted to be alone with God to pray earnestly about my plans for a second adoption. I left Manisha with the Murphys for the long weekend and drove with some friends to Daytona Beach, Florida.

I sought solace and prayed fervently asking God to show me His will. One evening I took a stroll along the beach, and I said, “Lord, if I find the perfect conch shell, I will take that as a sign that you are leading me in this direction.”

I didn’t find just one conch shell, I found many conch shells. I quit counting them after a while. They were all perfectly formed baby shells. I picked up one that was particularly beautiful and squeezed it in my hand.

“Thank you, Lord, for giving me this sign.”

The next day, Sunday, as we gathered in the restaurant for lunch before heading back to Gainesville, there was a raffle. The first prize was a beautifully handmade baby scrapbook.

I said, “God, if you want me to adopt another child, please let me win this as another sign.” There were at least sixty women in the room. I won it. As I walked up to receive my prize, I had goose bumps. I knew God was speaking to me.

However, during the next three years as I experienced the darkest hours of my Christian life, no pictures adorned its blank pages. I wondered if I had misheard God. Why was I going through this trial?

When I told people that I was hoping to start proceedings on a second adoption, only my dear friend Sylvia encouraged me to pursue my dreams. Her words were like a sweet, soothing balm to my aching, crying heart. She never swayed in her encouragement to not give up.