Today is the day!
We get to meet our son today. Those are seven words we have waited 11 months for. Longer than a pregnancy, and with the due date uncertain.
We are here in Changsha, and trying to get use to the city...lots of honking, traffic that would turn your hair white, people whizzing in and out between cars on their mopeds with 2, maybe 3 or more people clinging on to the driver, and each other. People smoke everywhere, and for someone who is allergic, there is always a burning in my lungs, and a hint of a sore throat. The heat is sweltering. I keep telling myself that it's like Texas. Like south Texas. But it's different. It is unbearably, take a shower by 10:00 AM, soaked clothing, don't want to step outside hot. Between the oven-like temps, the heaviness of smog, the humid, saturated air, and the foreign smells that assault you when you walk out the door of the warm hotel, it is hard to imagine being here for much longer. I try to put on a smile, but people here don't smile often. There is a constant state of frenzy, sharp voices with punctuated syllabic words, and gazes that fall on you because you are white, but then fall away even more quickly because eye-contact is rare, maybe even frowned upon. I'm not certain. I am trying to love my son's home province, but I find it very difficult. Hong Kong was beautiful with its lush mountains, and sprawling bodies of water. I saw no true ancient architecture, but viewed the Big Buddha from the top of a mountain at the end of our cable car journey. The scenery was beautiful, and the statue was impressive, but my heart was very heavy. Heavy for these people who have been suppressed in many ways. The gospel that is suppressed and could give these people a freedom that they could only receive from a Savior that grants them eternal freedom. I hiked up countless stairs to the top of the mountain, with my heart pounding, my body pouring sweat, and my soul stirred by the beauty, but also mourning for the people, hands folded in reverent prayer to their god.
I am not an evangelist. Not in the traditional sense at least. But at that moment, atop one of the most beautiful displays of God's magnificent creation, I realized that my evangelism is to my family. It is in my daily walk, and in the care of them and the people I love.
It is in the taking on of an orphan. One whom The Lord has given to us.
I cried tears of mourning at the top of "Big Buddha's" mountain. I prayed for the people there who were looking to find the meaning of life and the blessings of a thing that hasn't, doesn't, and won't ever do anything for them. He hasn't died on the cross. He hasn't been scoffed at, nor his body wounded for their sins. He hasn't given everything for them, he hasn't given anything for them, and can offer them nothing.
I cried tears for all of the orphans still here in China who will never know the gospel unless someone brings it to them.
I cried tears for my son who will never know his birth mother. He will never know his birth story. He will never see his baby pictures. He will never know his first word.
I cried tears for us. We will never know his birth mother. We will never know his birth story. We will never see his baby pictures. We will never know his first word.
As I began my descent from the mountain with my lungs and legs burning, and the sweat soaking my clothes, my heart was filled with joy where the grief had been. He won't know his birth mother, but he will know a mother that loved him at first sight. He will know that he was wanted despite his disability. He will know a father that loves him and his care is of utmost importance. He will know bothers and a sister that will defend him, will teach him how to play video games, to scoot around the house on his plasma car, and will endure countless trips to Panda Express in order to make him feel a little more at home with each passing day. Those days will turn into months, and months into years, and all of a sudden, one day, we won't be able to imagine our lives without this precious little boy with the big dimples, who stole our hearts from the beginning.
As I wait here in the hotel lobby, lungs burning with smoke from the man lingering in a cloud across the room, enjoying the absolute most comfortable and coolest part of the entire place (they aren't fans of a cool air conditioner) with a Coke (it's the little things), I can't even begin to imagine what our lives are about to look like. Will it resemble what I have imagined? Will I have the fierce protection for him as I do for my other 3 children? Will we, as a family, be what he has imagined? Will my kids adjust? Will he adjust quickly? Will we find ourselves, red-eyed and tear-soaked faces on our knees begging God to help us endure the days and weeks ahead, or will we be praising Him with tears of joy for the miracle of a smooth transition?
Whatever the consequence, we were given this opportunity to raise up another follower of Christ. As a parent, that is our primary goal. As believers, that is what we hope for as we turn them, daily, towards the cross.
If you read this, we would covet your prayers. The days, weeks, and months ahead will be filled with many emotions. There will be introductions, laughs, tears, doubt, long hours of travel, lots and lots of changes, therapy and doctor's appointments, possible surgeries, learning of a language, teaching of children, and lots of grace.
4 hours. We meet our son in 4 hours.
We are here in Changsha, and trying to get use to the city...lots of honking, traffic that would turn your hair white, people whizzing in and out between cars on their mopeds with 2, maybe 3 or more people clinging on to the driver, and each other. People smoke everywhere, and for someone who is allergic, there is always a burning in my lungs, and a hint of a sore throat. The heat is sweltering. I keep telling myself that it's like Texas. Like south Texas. But it's different. It is unbearably, take a shower by 10:00 AM, soaked clothing, don't want to step outside hot. Between the oven-like temps, the heaviness of smog, the humid, saturated air, and the foreign smells that assault you when you walk out the door of the warm hotel, it is hard to imagine being here for much longer. I try to put on a smile, but people here don't smile often. There is a constant state of frenzy, sharp voices with punctuated syllabic words, and gazes that fall on you because you are white, but then fall away even more quickly because eye-contact is rare, maybe even frowned upon. I'm not certain. I am trying to love my son's home province, but I find it very difficult. Hong Kong was beautiful with its lush mountains, and sprawling bodies of water. I saw no true ancient architecture, but viewed the Big Buddha from the top of a mountain at the end of our cable car journey. The scenery was beautiful, and the statue was impressive, but my heart was very heavy. Heavy for these people who have been suppressed in many ways. The gospel that is suppressed and could give these people a freedom that they could only receive from a Savior that grants them eternal freedom. I hiked up countless stairs to the top of the mountain, with my heart pounding, my body pouring sweat, and my soul stirred by the beauty, but also mourning for the people, hands folded in reverent prayer to their god.
I am not an evangelist. Not in the traditional sense at least. But at that moment, atop one of the most beautiful displays of God's magnificent creation, I realized that my evangelism is to my family. It is in my daily walk, and in the care of them and the people I love.
It is in the taking on of an orphan. One whom The Lord has given to us.
I cried tears of mourning at the top of "Big Buddha's" mountain. I prayed for the people there who were looking to find the meaning of life and the blessings of a thing that hasn't, doesn't, and won't ever do anything for them. He hasn't died on the cross. He hasn't been scoffed at, nor his body wounded for their sins. He hasn't given everything for them, he hasn't given anything for them, and can offer them nothing.
I cried tears for all of the orphans still here in China who will never know the gospel unless someone brings it to them.
I cried tears for my son who will never know his birth mother. He will never know his birth story. He will never see his baby pictures. He will never know his first word.
I cried tears for us. We will never know his birth mother. We will never know his birth story. We will never see his baby pictures. We will never know his first word.
As I began my descent from the mountain with my lungs and legs burning, and the sweat soaking my clothes, my heart was filled with joy where the grief had been. He won't know his birth mother, but he will know a mother that loved him at first sight. He will know that he was wanted despite his disability. He will know a father that loves him and his care is of utmost importance. He will know bothers and a sister that will defend him, will teach him how to play video games, to scoot around the house on his plasma car, and will endure countless trips to Panda Express in order to make him feel a little more at home with each passing day. Those days will turn into months, and months into years, and all of a sudden, one day, we won't be able to imagine our lives without this precious little boy with the big dimples, who stole our hearts from the beginning.
As I wait here in the hotel lobby, lungs burning with smoke from the man lingering in a cloud across the room, enjoying the absolute most comfortable and coolest part of the entire place (they aren't fans of a cool air conditioner) with a Coke (it's the little things), I can't even begin to imagine what our lives are about to look like. Will it resemble what I have imagined? Will I have the fierce protection for him as I do for my other 3 children? Will we, as a family, be what he has imagined? Will my kids adjust? Will he adjust quickly? Will we find ourselves, red-eyed and tear-soaked faces on our knees begging God to help us endure the days and weeks ahead, or will we be praising Him with tears of joy for the miracle of a smooth transition?
Whatever the consequence, we were given this opportunity to raise up another follower of Christ. As a parent, that is our primary goal. As believers, that is what we hope for as we turn them, daily, towards the cross.
If you read this, we would covet your prayers. The days, weeks, and months ahead will be filled with many emotions. There will be introductions, laughs, tears, doubt, long hours of travel, lots and lots of changes, therapy and doctor's appointments, possible surgeries, learning of a language, teaching of children, and lots of grace.
4 hours. We meet our son in 4 hours.
Tears stream down my face as I pray for all of the prayers that you covet. Hugs!! Melanie Orchard
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