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.”