"Children are a heritage from the LORD, offspring a reward from Him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them." Psalm 127:3-5

Tuesday, October 22, 2019

Where Joy and Sorrow Meet


Today marks the one year anniversary of Rose’s “Gotcha Day”.  In one sense it is absolutely impossible to believe that Rose has been with us for an entire year; but at the same time, it feels like she has been with us from the very start.  The Lord grafted her into our family so seamlessly, and we cannot imagine life without Rose in it!

During the process of bringing Rose home, I heard a song that spoke of a place where polar opposites collide, finding inexplicable grace.  A place where deep pain can somehow exist alongside unspeakable hope.  A place where brokenness finds true redemption.  A place where joy and sorrow meet.  

"Where Joy and Sorrow Meet"

There's a place of quiet stillness between the light and shadows' reach
Where the hurting and the hopeless seek everlasting peace
Words of men and songs of angels whisper comfort bittersweet
Mending grief and life eternal
Where joy and sorrow meet

There is a place where hope remains
In crowns of thorns and crimson stains
And tears that fall on Jesus' feet
Where joy and sorrow meet

There's a place the lost surrender and the weary will retreat
Full of grace and mercy tender in times of unbelief
For the wounded there is healing, strength is given to the weak
Broken hearts find love redeeming
Where joy and sorrow meet

There's a place of thirst and hunger where the roots of faith grow deep
And there is rain and rolling thunder when the road is rough and steep
There is hope in desperation, there is victory in defeat
At the cross of restoration
Where joy and sorrow meet

Within this place, where joy and sorrow meet, is the truth of Rose’s story.  The joy of a precious life entering the world, meeting the sorrow of a child deemed unfit, shameful, damaged.  The joy of a family racing to get to her, meeting the sorrow of her quiet isolation for thirty-two long months.  The joy of a loving home meeting the sorrow of the years robbed from her.

One year ago today, I walked into an orphanage in Tianjin, China, and came face to face with this intersection of joy and sorrow in one of the most tangible ways I could ever imagine.  I was filled with both overwhelming peace—the inexplicable peace that comes only from the Lord and surpasses all understanding –and overwhelming fear.  The most recent information that we had received about Rose was that she had a very serious heart condition, which would require immediate attention once back in the States; and that she was so uncomfortable with people that she literally started writhing in her crib when they stood close by.  We had videos of her crying and arching away from her nannies as they tried to hold her, completely unwilling to engage in any form of personal interaction.  In almost every picture and video that we received of her she was chewing on her tongue incessantly—her chosen form of self-stimulation and soothing.  She had the same cut on her lip in all the pictures (spanning over two years), because her body was too dehydrated and malnourished to heal.  The fear of what I was about to find was very real.  But it was more the fear of our own inadequacy to handle the task before us; our inadequacy to give Rose the kind of love and care she was in such desperate need of; our inadequacy to cope with the struggles and challenges and unknowns that would surely come with this adoption; our inadequacy to guide our other children through the inevitable valleys that lay ahead.  Never in my life have I felt more inadequate as I did the morning of October 22, 2018.

But the very moment that I scooped Rose up into my arms, after she was shoved across that boardroom table, those fears immediately vanished.  Completely.  Totally.  That place--where divine sovereignty met human brokenness--is something which words cannot adequately describe.  The precious little girl that I held in my arms wasn't too different than what we had expected.  She was tiny, and so very scared.  She fought hard against my embrace.  Her eyes were gray and lifeless.  Her body was weak, and she struggled to gather each breath.  It was clear that she had not been bathed in quite a while.  But she was perfect.  And she was ours.  It was like holding a piece of my own heart, a piece that had been missing my entire life.  It was indescribable.  





The moment we walked out of the orphanage doors, into the sunshine and light of day, there was an immediate release in Rose's body.  She stopped crying, and relaxed into my arms for the very first time.  I will never forget that moment.  It was pure.  It was raw.  So, so raw.  It was that "place of quiet stillness between the light and shadows' reach, where the hurting and the hopeless found everlasting peace, where words of men and songs of angels whispered comfort bittersweet, mending grief, and life eternal...where joy and sorrow meet."  It was a moment frozen in time, that will remain etched on my heart forever.




One year ago, at 32 months of age, Rose could not sit up unassisted.  Once sitting, her whole body would shake and collapse back down onto her tummy.  She was exclusively bottle fed.  She weighed 17 pounds, and fit in size 12 month clothes.  She would literally gasp for air.  All the time.  Like she just couldn’t get enough air into her lungs.  Not like a child who has a stuffy nose or is congested.  It was like a person who is suffocating, like the air isn’t getting to where it needs to go and they are desperately trying to get more.  My guide had never heard such sounds before, and asked if I thought it was because of her heart condition.  I truly did not know.  Taxi drivers would peer into the back seat as we drove from place to place, wondering what on earth was going on with this child in their car.  Everywhere we went was a tremendous feat.  Rose would cry and cry until her little body was absolutely too exhausted to cry anymore.  She wanted no part of being held, being shuffled around, being around all these new people and places and smells and sounds.  All she wanted was quiet isolation—the only thing that felt familiar to her.  She could make the sounds of ma-ma and ba-ba, but only very sporadically.  She had no interest in toys or food.  The only thing that seemed to comfort her, was laying down in our quiet hotel room, holding my finger.  That was her favorite thing to do one year ago.

While in China, we had a medical appointment as part of the process to get her visa to enter the U.S.  Basically, the children are examined to see if they are healthy enough to enter our country, and not carrying any communicable diseases.  It is a cursory procedural thing.  Except for Rose.  We walked into the exam room to see the doctor, Rose crying inconsolably.  The doctor leans over the exam table to listen to Rose’s lungs, and proceeds to run out of the room saying something in Chinese.  A few moments later she comes back in the room with our guide, to translate what she needed to tell me.  She asked the guide if I was aware that Rose had a heart condition.  I said yes.  She then told the guide to tell me how important it was that I get Rose to a cardiologist as soon as possible.  I said yes, we have a doctor waiting to see her within days of getting home.  We had sent her medical file to a pediatric cardiologist in Houston to review before leaving for China, who told us to get Rose into the clinic within 48 hours of landing.  The doctor at the visa appointment was relieved to hear this, but then her demeanor shifted from hurried and panicked, to sorrow and pity.  There was a lot of that in China.  Despite the language barriers, it was very clear that most people there saw Rose with sorrow and pity.  Baffled by our immense love for her.  But I digress.

One year ago, Rose had very broken little heart…literally.  Fast forward to her cardiology appointment in Houston after coming home.  The doctor comes in to examine Rose, but first looks back at her medical records from China.  He tells us that they indicate a hole in Rose’s heart—very common among children with Down Syndrome—and moderate pulmonary hypertension as a result.  He explained that the location of the hole meant that it would not ever be able to heal on its own, and that she would need open heart surgery as soon as possible to correct it.  Not the news we were hoping for to say the least.  He then says that they need to repeat the echo cardiogram to confirm the size and location of the hole, because it is not uncommon for those details to be inaccurate in medical reports from foreign countries (meaning the hole might be larger, smaller, or in a slightly different area of the heart that could potentially close on its own instead).   Much to our surprise, they were able to do the echo cardiogram right then, so we would not leave the office that day without knowing what we were looking at.  After the test, we were waiting anxiously for the doctor to come back into the exam room.  The wait seemed to drag on forever.  Finally, he opens the door, walks in, leans back on the exam table with his arms up in the air, and says, “Rose’s heart is perfect!  We looked and looked and looked again, and there is absolutely no hole in her heart!  She is perfectly healthy!”  Not only were our jaws on the floor, so was his!  Just as all the fear had immediately disappeared from our hearts once Rose was in our arms, the hole in her heart had also disappeared.

Over the past year, God has not only healed Rose’s broken heart physically, He has been hard at working mending all the broken pieces of her precious little spirit.  Her broken heart found Love redeeming.  She has gone from being scared of her own laugh, to allowing little silent laughs to escape occasionally, to having full blown belly laughs all the time.  She no longer craves quiet isolation, but instead craves our attention and affection.  She not only tolerates being held and moved around, but she LOVES it!  Bouncing and swinging and dancing are her favorites.  She is silly, and stubborn, and cuter than cute can be.  She is eating all kinds of food, chewing like a champ, sipping from a straw, and gaining weight steadily.  She is picking up sign language so quickly, and has recently exploded with verbal sounds.  She is trying to communicate in new ways all the time, and is very good at expressing herself!   Her muscles are growing stronger every day.  She has recently begun pulling herself up to a stand, and scooting on her bottom to get wherever she wants to go.  Her doctor at the Down Syndrome Clinic at Texas Children’s Hospital said that he has great hopes for Rose’s future and her ability to “catch up” to her peers.  He said she is a very good imitator, and that her ability to mimic what she sees others doing indicates very good cognitive abilities.  She is one smart cookie!  Basically, she is just pure JOY!!






There will always be sorrow written into Rose’s story, as in all of our stories.  But God has taken the sorrow—the suffering, the neglect, the words of unworthiness spoken over her for so very long—and turned it into pure and beautiful joy.  Only He can do such wonders, and we are so very thankful to get to witness His work in her life.  It is a gift beyond any measure.  This past year, we have walked in the place where joy and sorrow meet in ways we never predicted.  Other aspects of our life have been quite tumultuous.  We have been continually brought to the "place where the lost surrender and the weary retreat, full of grace and mercy tender in times of unbelief.  A place of thirst and hunger where the roots of faith grow deep.  And there is rain and rolling thunder when the road is rough and steep.  Where there is hope in desperation, and there is victory in defeat."  This place is the cross.  

But in Rose there shines a light, a beacon, ever reminding us that this place—where joy and sorrow meet—is where we find restoration. And in Rose’s story, lies the truth that our own inadequacies reveal God’s glory in ways unlike any other.  Hers is an awesome example of God’s power and redemption.

Happy One Year "Gotcha Day" Anniversary to our sweet Rose!









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