And then it happened

It was a simple moment, but one that I have longed to live in for five years now. Nothing special. Nothing remarkable at all. Just this:

My husband talking with Mary Hannah and Mathaus on the couch, discussing the plot holes in an Indiana Jones movie. Jack, building a train track for Simon and convincing him that running the rails under the legs of the couch would be far superior to simply letting them snake around the obstacle. John Mark, sitting on my lap and recounting how many goals he scored in the little field in front of our house. And at the dining room table, Birdie and Phin coloring with Babita.

Babita.

Suddenly, in an instant, we are ten. Finally. All of us here. In one place. Together.

The dance of Getting to Know You In Person has begun, and thus far, I think we are passable partners, all of us. For the youngest ones, there is no awkwardness, no holding back. This is simply their sister, whom they have known but not seen for their entire lives, really. Now, instead of packing away their notes and drawings for her, instead of waiting to talk to her on the phone, she is here. She is another lap, another set of arms, another person to tickle them and run with them, and follow faithfully looking for adventure.

For the older children, there are more steps to the dance. There is the slightest language barrier, but mostly it’s just the trying on of another’s point of view. Babita can seem shy, but we are learning that it’s only her pause as she processes the new sights and sounds and expectations of a host of siblings she is only just now learning to fit into. She has a quick laugh, smiling eyes, and a touch of mischief that fits in beautifully with the rest of our crew. She doesn’t quite understand Jack’s over-the-top, full-tilt personality, but she is patient, and he is learning to slow down just enough to make himself more approachable. Mathaus is too ironic, often, for Babita to catch his intentions, but neither of them seems to mind. And with Mary Hannah, there is a quick hand-holding, an almost giddy hugging and giggling, that makes my heart ache for the years that were lost, and sing for the ones yet to come.

And then there are us, the parents. Suddenly Mum and Dad, in person now, to an 18 year-old young woman with another home, a different culture, a job, a life. We are still tiptoeing here, unsure of what role we have in so many avenues that are, with our other children, our domain. We keep learning, in bits and pieces, what roles we will all play in this newly quilted family. Thankfully, God has taught us many lessons already on stretching to include and respect those whose backgrounds and needs are not our own. This, I think, makes the growing that much more comfortable — for everyone.

Babita is not living with us as of yet. She knows that we have a bed reserved for her, a room that she can share with Mary Hannah set aside and waiting, should she choose to move in. Right now, she is finishing her last months of school, living in the only family setting she has ever truly known, and navigating the emotions of a heart that calls joyfully, I have a family! while trembling at the prospect: I have a family!

I say it often, but it bears repeating: this is the broken beauty of adoption. Fear and love twisted together, loss and joy made perfect mates in a soul that longs for unity. There is no “Happily Ever After” in adoption without first grappling with abandonment, or sin, or devastating truths that we would rather turn our faces from. It is the burden and the privilege of those on all sides of the adoption relationship to acknowledge the hurt places, speak healing and life, and move forward in the understanding that God’s hand has bound all these things together — for His glory. Denying any aspect of the story, pretending that the whole thing is one happy accident … it serves no one. But embracing the challenge of the past, relishing the beauty of the present, and anticipating the joy of the future … that’s where we will all find the peace that passes understanding.