(One year ago this month, Pa and I made the trek to China to adopt our sweet Sister Susie. I am going to take the first seventeen days of February 2008 to revisit that trip. Hop in for the ride!)
That China trip changed me.
There's something about looking "pain" and "poverty" right in the eye that makes it difficult not to change.
I felt it coming. For the two years that we prepped and panicked and prayed for our girl, I often thought about her home. Her parents. Their poverty. Their powerlessness. Their gut-wrenching choice to let go of someone very special.
Very special indeed.
It's more than my mind can handle. It's more than my heart could take.
So it broke--and it hasn't been the same ever since.
In my mind, I had tried to picture "rural China," where most of the orphanage children are from. Imagining it is one thing; seeing it is another.
The countryside is lovely:
The houses--not so much:
That China trip changed me.
There's something about looking "pain" and "poverty" right in the eye that makes it difficult not to change.
I felt it coming. For the two years that we prepped and panicked and prayed for our girl, I often thought about her home. Her parents. Their poverty. Their powerlessness. Their gut-wrenching choice to let go of someone very special.
Very special indeed.
It's more than my mind can handle. It's more than my heart could take.
So it broke--and it hasn't been the same ever since.
In my mind, I had tried to picture "rural China," where most of the orphanage children are from. Imagining it is one thing; seeing it is another.
The countryside is lovely:
The houses--not so much:
And I don't say that with whispered displeasure, like "Look at what a trashy neighborhood the Chins live in."
It was more a realization That The Size And Condition Of A House Does Not A Happy Person Make.
And I came home with an even greater detachment to My House My Car My Clothes My Stuff.
(And YOU thought that wasn't even possible.)
And I developed a greater attachment to people.
(Which is even more difficult to believe.)
(Since I am all snark and sarcasm, with not a drop of compassion in between.)
It was one of the more rewarding days of the trip to be able to see a great deal of the countryside. I did my best to absorb the sights, the sounds, the smells.
Course, in a bus load of babies, those smells might have been a bit deceptive.
Pa did his best to capture the landscape on camera:
Even if we weren't quite sure what we were capturing:
These scenes always remind me of Susie's first mom, who is a real person with a strong link to her girl--even on the days that *I* don't think about that.
But when I do think about her, I imagine us sitting down with a cup of tea, Mom to Mom. Here's what I'd say (in between sobs):
I care about you…about who you are and who your daughter is because of you…and she is lovely.
I am sorry for your loss…I wish I could do something—anything—to make the hurt go away.
I will take good care of your little girl…loving and cherishing her the best I know how.
I will pray for you…asking God to surround you with his grace as you endure such pain, such loss.
Though we will likely never meet, we are still kindred spirits. Why?
Because we both fiercely love the same person: Our daughter. As only two mothers could love.
