Sixteen Years Ago

It was our 16^th wedding anniversary, Liza’s 16^th birthday yesterday.  Sixteen, the fateful day that has fueled our race to Ukraine.  Sixteen, the age when these kids are set off on their own.  For whatever reason, she has always celebrated her birthday on October 30^th but today is the date on her birth certificate.  We would never want to take that away from her so we will celebrate the way she has always has.  It would be, however, impossible to ignore the Hand of Providence in this date being part of our story.  Since we weren’t in Ukraine on October 30^th, this was our chance for a re-do.  A girl’s 16^th birthday should be magical.  In the orphanage though, all birthdays of a particular month are acknowledged on one day, all together.  So this was, in fact, her very first birthday party.

When the phone rang at 10am yesterday we were expecting confirmation that we could come get Liza for a special day.  As it happened that phone call was not confirmation.  It was the opposite.  We were told we were unable to take her off orphanage grounds for the special occasion.  The director was very apologetic but she said the inspector was already there as he had been for the last 5 business days.  All day, every day, doing headcounts.  The consensus is that he is trying to prevent adoptive families from having any privileges with their children before the process is complete.  If he were to discover Liza missing for a few hours, it would have a significant and detrimental impact on our court hearing this coming Tuesday.

So, Plan B: we ran to the enormous SuperMarket two blocks over and grabbed a cake.  Up the stairs on the second floor is a miniature mall.  We bought her a beautiful scarf (which she hasn’t taken off since).  Grandpa and October ran to the underground kiosks to the biggest hallways full of long stem roses ever (and by long stem, I mean 3 feet long and thick as a tree branch).  They chose a pink one, her favorite color next to Ukrainian black ;) .  It was without a doubt the most beautiful rose I have ever seen, and I used to work for a florist.  (Scheffler’s shout out for you Wheatonites).

The surprise was in the fact that she had not been told that we were trying to get special permissions in the first place.  So for Liza, there was no disappointment, only surprise.  A teacher sent her outside where all 8 of us were climbing out of our two taxis.  Keeper presented her rose by getting down on one knee.  When asked if she wanted to share her cake with her class she said, “Konyeshna!” (Of course!).  Her precious smile during the whole party was impossible to describe.  It was a little bit self conscious, a whole lot happy.  It was a smile that had been waiting her whole life to make its’ appearance. 

The class sang Happy Birthday in Russian and in English, then gave CocaCola toasts to her health and happiness in America with her big new family.  She in turn gave Tom and I a toast to our 16 years of marriage.  She grabbed my hand and we ran downstairs to take a piece of cake to her beloved Director saying, “Sank you, Mommy” all the way.  She lit up like a Christmas tree when she opened her very fashionable scarf privately afterward.  She still had it on today when we went to visit.  I would be remiss if I did not communicate how beloved she is here.  She has been well loved.  It may not be a home, but God provided for her.  Teachers stop us in the hall to say what a “good girl” she is.  Her geography teacher wanted a picture with her.   Birthdays for orphans are not easy days.  This birthday for Liza was as 16 ought to be.

**We promise to show you pictures of her sweet face after court next week.

Michael W. Smith's song from my junior high school days "Hand of Providence" has been playing in my head since early yesterday morning.  It reminds me that none of my life is accidental. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K2HbrNcfmYs

Providence, Providence
See it laying down the cornerstone
The Hand of Providence - it's evident
For we could never make it on our own
Apportioning the power
Weighing all that it entails
Giving us the fulcrum
And a balance to the scales
Chorus:
Oh, the Hand of Providence
Is guiding us through choices that we make
Oh, the Hand of Providence
Is reaching out to help us on our way

Providence, ever since
Any thesis ever entered man
The Hand of Providence
Has been our best defense
Tho' his ways are sometimes hard to understand
From the dying of a heartbeat
To another soul reborn
From in between and circling
Our thoughts of love and war

Today was, by comparison, a much more difficult day.  It stormed heavily all night long.  It rained all day, dark gray and gloomy.  Hours stretched into eternity.  I can’t believe this is still the same day.  It has been black as pitch since 4 o’clock.  Our visit today was brief as all five of our kids slept and lazed most of the day away in their respective locations.  But one notable thing happened.  One thing struck me deeply as I watched a few of our kids play soccer on the pavement just outside the door of the dormitory.  It was still sprinkling and very, very dark because there are no lights outside.  I was standing on the large front steps next to a little boy named Oleg.  He was watching me intently, as Liza sometimes does to me and Tom both.  He said he was twelve, but he was tiny, possibly from malnutrition.  We’ve seen that a lot here.  I would glance quickly sideways every few minutes to see if he was still there.  Yep.  Still watching.  He didn’t look away embarrassed or even have anything to say.  His answers to my questions brief.  He was not waiting to interact with me.  I knew what he was doing, though.  He was watching me mother my children.  He wanted to study what that looks like.  He was wondering what it would be like to be the object of such affections. 

That’s what orphans do.  They dream.