It was two years ago this week that my spit-fire of a daughter bounced down the stairs of the baby orphanage, looked me once over and declare "Hi Mommy, I'm ready to go to America now!".
We would spend the next 2 weeks spending a few hours together each day for our 'mandatory bonding time' while we awaited a psychologist's assessment of our "compatibility". Those two weeks were by NO means a walk in the park. Mila had just been told three days prior to our arrival that a mysterious mother & brother were appearing out of nowhere to take her away from all that she knew. She was moved two hours south from the "home" (government institution), friends and caregivers she had known for the previous seven years and now she was left to roam free through the baby orphanage with nothing to do except wait for our two hour awkward bonding time each day, then I would leave to go to her new brother for the other 22 hours. It was A LOT for her little heart to take in and understandably she did not have the vocabulary to assign to all that she was feeling. That led to episodes of acting out and physically harming others that frankly scared me. One of the first Albanian phrases I had to learn on the fly was "Gentle please!"
As her heart softened so did her touch; the intentional bruises around us faded but we were left with the unfortunate combination of: being built like Simone Biles (100 lbs of SOLID muscle!), not knowing her own strength (common with Down syndrome), no experience with safe & consistent maternal-child touch, and cultural Albanian affection which is akin to WWF! My body learned quickly to tense as my new daughter approached me otherwise I would be knocked to the ground or smacked in the back or roughhoused into a "cuddle". Sadly, over the last two years, I realized that my heart had learned to tense as well. My body would go rigid, I'd squeak out a quasi- Albanian-English version of "Mila, gentle touching please! You don't need to hurt Momma to get my attention. Soft touches are good." and ultimately my heart would wince to see her come toward me. Two years of 'traumatic affection' starts to take a toll. Of course, I would make sure to initiate hugs, and snuggles and caresses; to both demonstrate gentleness and hopefully to heal her starved heart, but she has clearly not been able to reciprocate safely; she just hasn't had the emotional or physical skills.
But then last week...she hugged me.
It was out of no where, in the middle of the hallway, and for no particular reason. She walked calmly towards me with her arms open, eyes asking for permission and gently wrapped her arms around me. It was a real live hug. One that connected us and fed us BOTH. (I started to tear up but I didn't want her to think she had hurt me again!) "That is a beautiful hug, Mila. That makes me feel good. Thank you honey!" "U welcome mommy"...and then she walked away. And then it happened again the next day...and the next...and then a gentle hug was given to Gramma...AND HER BROTHER! Isaac literally looked to me in a panic, 'what do I do mom?!' Take it as long as she'll give it, dude-just act natural!
That is healing. The long, arduous task of opening up a wound, digging out the hurt, and washing it with God's grace upon it day after day after day after day...after day. Are we over the hump yet? No, we are far from it. Studies show it takes one year of family healing to 'reverse' one year of institutional care. If that is indeed the case, Mila will be nearly 28 years old before we even emerge at emotional sea level. Is it overwhelming? YES. Is God bigger than 14 years of institutional care? YES YES YES. Is she worthy of anything I can give on this earth to see her heart heal into the Lord's love? One million times YES.
So we celebrate a gentle hug. We give praise to the God to created us both and gave us to each other as forever family, then rest in the mercies that are new each and every day. That is adolescent adoption. Our hope IS in Him.
The faithful love of the Lord never ends!
His mercies never cease.
Great is His faithfulness;
His mercies begin afresh each morning.
I say to myself, "The Lord is my inheritance; therefore I will hope in him!"
Lamentations 3:21-24
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