I watched as family after family was handed their baby, but minutes came and went, then what seemed like hours, though in that moment, time felt suspended. I have no idea how long I waited.
She's late.
Papers were signed by families. Then we were all asked to line up for a photo of the whole group. Parents beamed, babies cried. But my arms were empty.
Families slowly began to file out of the building, back to their hotels with their precious new babies.
Then finally I heard her, a tiny bundle of ferocity coming through the double doors gripped by a strange man she'd never met before that day.
They quickly made their way past me and all I wanted to do was run to her and grab her from the strange man, but they disappeared behind a curtain. I could hear her sobbing as a woman came in to quickly change her diaper.
Then my guide turned to me and said, "It's time."
I stood there shaking, trying not to sprint toward the little room where I heard her wails coming from. The strange man made his way toward me, holding the little bundle of ferocity in his arms. I am sure he said something to me, but all I remember is her.
I choked back the tears as I wrapped my arms around her as she sobbed. I fell in love with her the moment I saw her picture on Facebook almost one year prior. I'm not one to believe in love at first sight, but the feeling I knew so well from five years prior welled up inside me, my heart said, "There you are. I've been looking for you." I knew she was mine.
Our time in Guangzhou was marked by tear stained cheeks. Her little body shook with sobs whenever we had to venture from our hotel room, often wilting with exhaustion in my arms. I had been down this road before; I begged God, "Please let this get easier when we're home."
But her anxiety continued. This tiny little girl had lost everything she'd known not once, but twice in her 21 months on this earth and her heart had been shattered. Her walls had been built up so high I feared I'd never be able to overcome them.
She kept us at a distance, preferring to play alone, crying when we tried to snuggle her. wriggling out of our arms when we tried to comfort her. I begged, "Jesus, please break down the barriers! Please help her to let us love her!"
We fought. Hard.
And slowly, things began to change.
First, she'd only play with me through the safety of the trampoline net. Then she began to smush my cheeks. Then she'd grab my hands so she could jump without falling over.
And slowly, the walls began to fall.
She's still a tiny ball of ferocity, but she's also a beautiful blend of laughter, orneriness, joy and love.
She sits on my lap and revels in my songs.
She claps and knows mama will bring her a bottle of warm milk.
She cries when she gets hurt and knows I will be there to hold her as the tears fall.
And a dozen times a day, tiny chubby arms reach up my legs and she knows I will hold her, carrying her on my hip for as long as she needs.
Bonding isn't instantaneous. Sometimes, it's hard won. And for many, it's a lifelong dance, an internal push and pull of constant reminders, "You are safe and you are loved."
But as long as I walk this earth, I will fight for her, my tiny ball of ferocity, with the fierceness that she has taken on this world and all it's heartache.
You, my precious Joy Joy, are so very loved.
No comments:
Post a Comment