Who's Who?

Day Three

Aside from that first afternoon, things have been going really quite smoothly. And, really, that first afternoon was a good sign; her tears and grief indicated that she had attached emotionally with someone previously. If she had accepted us easily, we actually would have been a bit concerned. 

We’re seeing positive signs that she’s already begun bonding with us. She enjoys being held by us, and it’s not in a desperate, fearful way either. She accepts our affection and offers it to us too. She likes to blow kisses, and if she catches our reflection in the mirror, she waves a greeting with an adorable smile on her face. And, last night at bedtime, she opened her arms wide then promptly fell asleep while giving me a hug! 

She also notices when one of us is not around, which is good, since it indicates that she knows we are different from other people. When Clint had gotten up to get more food at breakfast this morning, she looked around the room looking for him. Another time, she began to get concerned when Clint started taking her outside the building to play, because I was not going with them. 

In these first few days, she’s learning what to call us. She’s still a bit confused. Half the time, she calls Clint, “Mama”. (Sorry, hon!) She also often calls me “Sister” or “Auntie”. Oh, and take a seat when you watch the clip of her saying, “Isabelle,” ‘cause it just might melt you. I’ll try to get my techie hubby to post that tomorrow.

In the meanwhile, here's a clip of the giggles over bubbles on Day One.

A Few Pics From Gotcha Day and Gotcha Day +1

She sees a camera and, as often as not, adopts "The Position" - proudly proclaiming peace (or victory)!

Gotcha Day, Part 2

This will be a picture-less recap of our Gotcha Day. We're quite tired and ready for sleep, but we'll try to post pictures tomorrow. 

We arrived at 2:30 for our appointment to meet Isabelle. There was one other family with us (this part of picking up children, doing paperwork and such are done in small groups with families from the same agency or sister agency). After entering a large room filled with other adoptive families, we were ushered into a smaller room to proof some official paperwork. Then, before we were fully prepared, our guide called out our daughter’s Chinese name. “This is it? Right now???” I remember saying. I was half kidding but more taken by surprise. I was hoping to get a chance to ask the other family to help video the moment or take pictures, but instead there was barely enough time for us to grab cameras before we were face to face with Isabelle. 

Let me tell you, she did not want to be given away to us! The caregiver tried to tell her something that seemed to say, “It’s your mom and dad. Remember the pictures?” I opened up my arms to invite her to come to me, but she turned away, which was to be expected. What was not expected, however, was that she proceeded to cry non-stop for the next 45 minutes! To help her ease into accepting us, we had armed ourselves with snacks, stuffed animals, Asian faces(!), and a brother, but, alas, nothing helped. At one point, Clint was out of the room in order to ask the caregiver questions, and it was up to me to hold her. She screamed, cried big fat tears, arched her back, and looked desperately at the door, longing for her caregiver to come back. 

After what seemed like hours, Clint returned to us, and Isabelle not only stopped crying at the sight of him but reached out for him. I then prepared my heart to wait a long time for her to warm up to me. Well, so much for my female Asian face being an advantage in getting her to feel comfortable with me!

In the van ride back to the hotel, she sat on Clint’s lap–fairly contentedly at that. Somehow, the ordeal at the office was behind her, and she was now ready to drink her milk and eat a snack. Back at the hotel room, we broke out bubbles. Clint and Connor blew them; I popped them; and Isabelle just watched for a few minutes. Then finally, she popped one herself and a half-smile appeared after we cheered for her. Hooray! 

I left the room for a while at that point in order to prepare paperwork for tomorrow. And when I returned, it was like a different little girl was in the room! She was in the tub, giggling, cackling, and grinning. And, surprise! She began to giggle, cackle, and grin with me too! So, two hours after her marathon of tears, she became this happy little girl who loves to laugh! Seriously, after 4:30, she smiled or laughed 80% of the time.

I’m so thankful that God gave me patience and perspective to have compassion for her during those first few hours. Her tears and temporary rejection didn’t hurt, because I knew something she didn’t know: it may have seemed like the end of the world to her, but I knew that it was going to get better, for all of us. At that moment, all she wanted was to go back to the orphanage and to the life she knew. I couldn’t and wouldn’t let her have what she so desperately wanted, but what I could do was to hold her, wipe away her tears, and pray for her. It must be how God sees things when we’re desperate for something and aching for what our hearts have set our sights on. He won’t let us have what we want sometimes, knowing that it’s not the best, but He is near to the brokenhearted and can whisper to us, “You can’t have that, but what I have planned for you is so much better.”

Gotcha Day, Part 1

What a clever name that has been set for a day that will change four people’s lives forever. But even as I type it, I recall that I usually use the term “Gotcha!” when I've tricked someone…maybe Gotcha Day isn’t the best term.

I’m a little nervous, which is unusual for me (Clint). I feel like I am going on a first date, one with lifelong implications. (If I’m honest, that is probably the way I felt about all first dates.) Should I shave? What will she think of razor burn? Will a collared shirt look friendly or scary? I do have a superhero t-shirt that Connor suggested. (He’s the only one who isn’t nervous). Does Captain America say, “Hi, I’m your Dad?” or does it come off as too informal and a little desperate? Really, what impresses a 3-year-old girl? I’m probably the first white guy she’s ever met. That might be a little scary (for her or for me – I don't know).

As I've walked through the day in my mind, I’ve never even made it back to the hotel. What do I do then? I’ve always wrestled with Connor… do girls wrestle? Will she like to be tickled? What about swimming? I’ve been “Uncle Clint” to a good number of little girls and they liked me…. Who am I kidding, they loved me. But what did I do to earn that? Why is my mind going blank now? 

I need to pray. Please do the same for me/us.

What Timing

Well, in addition to everything else that's going on with the adoption, we'll also be moving to another city in November. I know... the timing is perfect, right? 

Since we'll be back in the States for three months for Isabelle's surgery, this only leaves one month back in this city that has been home to us for ten years. Although we're not moving just yet, some of our friends won't be here when we return. So, the goodbyes have already begun. 

I know that we'll see each other again, because these friends are more than friends. They're like family. Yet once we move, just like the grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins in America who share our lives only in snippets, these dear friends who’ve cried and prayed with us through the heartache of infertility and the joy of adoption (and everything in between) will only share our new life with Isabelle on weekend trips. And that makes me very sad. 

I wish Isabelle could have the chance to know and love these dear friends as we do. I wish that she could know how much they’ve joyfully anticipated her arrival. I wish that she could know how much they’ve prayed for her. I wish she could play with the great gang of kids in this apartment complex... in Missy’s Circle, at the basketball court, in the grassy grove. Yet I know and trust that what’s ahead is a good path that our loving God is leading us along. 

Friends, if you’re reading this, we three love you, and I’ll be praying that soon I can say that we four love you. 

A Little Side Note

How do we tell Isabelle that we’ve decided to name her Isabelle? Do we say, “Honey, your name is no longer Wenwu. It’s Isabelle”? (How biblical!) Or do we just start calling her Isabelle and hope she picks up on it? All the while she might be thinking to herself, Why do they keep saying this word “ih-zuh-bell”? This is kind of humorous to me. 

Anticipation

In four days, on June 27, we’ll meet Isabelle for the first time. The day is finally almost here!

Friends have asked us recently how we’re feeling. We’re a definite mix of excited and nervous. The reasons for the excitement is obvious. I’m nervous, though, for many reasons. And, really, they’re similar to what many mothers have felt–and I felt–before giving birth. Will I be a good mother? Will I like him right away? Yet, this time, I’m also wondering if she’ll like me. 

There’s a very real chance that she might give us the cold shoulder. She might burst into tears at the very sight of us. 

As one adoptive father recently told me, she’ll need to grieve her lost relationships and that her grief means that she’s bonded with others in her life, which is a very good thing. Yet if she does indeed rebuff me at the beginning, I’m praying that I’ll be woman enough not to take it personally but to be gracious to understand what she’s going through... knowing that she’ll love me back someday.

Isabelle

It was the week of Thanksgiving 2010. We were waiting for a very important phone call from our agency, telling us that we had been matched with a child. The paperwork that we’d begun to compile for the previous 11 months had led up to this. When the call came, we were thrilled! Before reviewing the second set of files for a possible match, our agency told us that she had a more serious heart condition than what we indicated we could handle. (That’s another story in itself: part of the paperwork that we had to fill out was filled with all sorts of medical conditions that we could check “Yes” or “No.” Since all the children available for adoption through this particular program are either older children or kids with health issues, we had to agonize over what our family could realistically take on, especially living overseas.) 

We opened the files and first set eyes on a picture of our little girl on November 23, 2010. Closely cropped in on her face, the photo revealed dark circles under her eyes–probably from her heart condition–and a slight look of fear. Strangely, I think that’s a part of what drew me to her. 

Over the next few days, we sent out her medical files to doctors in the States. A total of six different doctors looked at her files. There was much to process, but some phrases from the prognoses stuck out in my head: “failure to thrive,” “risk of sudden death,” and “surgery should’ve been performed yesterday.” One doctor said that, if she didn’t receive surgery to fix her heart, she would die before reaching the age of ten. 

That week both of us grieved and wept at what might happen to her and what that might mean for our family. For six years, we’d mourned through infertility and the dashed hopes and dreams that go along with it. And add a long adoption process on top of that. Was God really calling us to a possible life in which the daughter for whom we’d waited for so long could be taken from us at an early age? 

Yet a mysterious thing happened that week. Somehow, instead of being scared away by the news from doctors, our hearts became increasingly drawn to her. It wasn’t out of pity. It wasn’t because someone gave us false hopes. God was giving us an unshakable sense of His leading; He was giving us an ability to see her as our daughter and to trust Him to follow Him down this road even though the path was scary and unsure. 

It wasn’t logical, and it didn’t make sense. But one day we’ll get the chance to tell Isabelle how the God of the universe brought us together.