Moon Miracles

Burundi Journey Episode. 4

Genesis 28:15 “I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

Each evening after we received word of our match of this litle girl in Burundi, the one whose name means, “The one who brings the harvest”, this harvest child, this person placed before us with need of care, with need of home, each evening I would look up to the moon and find my miracles. The moon became my hiding place, my gentleness in the chaos, my peace in the storm, my light in the darkness. Each evening as I looked to the moon, I would feel her presence, I would feel the presence of God and be reminded that the same God who exposed our eyes to this girl, the same God who is the very creator of the moon, the stars, the earth and the sun, the same God who knew her name before we did and was there as her heartbeat began, this God was with me, was with us, was watching over us, and would deliver us through the valley towards unification as He has promised our hearts in so doing.

The moon became the rich soil, the place for me to plant my dreams, desires and hope despite tornados of doubt, disappointments and heartaches happening in our midst. We endured heartache, failure and loss within our paperwork status over the course of the year we were in process post match. To say that adoption is for the faint of heart is to not see the full picture of all that it entails. To the outside world it costs money; to those walking close with us, they know it costs a piece of our very selves. To which we happily gave, but it is an interesting emotion; to stand on one side of the world and be told this child whom you hold a picture of shall be your child, shall dwell in your home, shall laugh with you and cry with you, and you have never heard the sound of her voice. To be told you are to become her guardian, the one to care for her, to nourish her, to listen to the cries of her heart and soul, and yet she has lived 6 years of her life without you. To feel as if you are walking into darkness, grasping hold of any tangible light you may find, while the waves of worry haunt your mind “Am I making the right decision? The best decision for this child? What will others think of our family? How will she be treated in America? Will she miss Burundi every waking day of her life? Will we ever truly discover the delights of her soul? Will we be able to bond as we have with our other children? Will we be strong enough to endure the storms?”

Winds howling in the insecurity of the mind, but this is what I would come back to time and time again in the storms of waiting, “I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you”. (Gen 28:15 as quoted above). This is not to say that Theresia’s suffering was an answer promised to us. But rather this adoption to which God called us to show up for, was going to be fulfilled. And we would await until God’s perfect timing allowed all the details to sort through and for our feet to land on Burundian soil, or fingers to meet, our palms to merge together into the beginning of a story we never saw coming, yet one God had been lighting the way to for years. Our moon miracle.

The Start of Suffering

Wednesday, Dec 1, 2021

The days continued much in a similar rhythm: breakfast, pool or play, lunch, activity, dinner and bed. Yet the tensions began stirring this second week in Burundi. The waters were being tested. All the classic traumas of adoption were already beginning to unfold. Could we be trusted? Would rejection occur? Did she fit in with our family? Suddenly, over the course of 4.5 years, but then just as suddenly as a child exits the womb into the harshness of existence of life outside the womb, a requirement of breath, and bodily functions of temperature regulation, a need of food, neaurological connections to keep brain in step with body, this entire process of keeping oneself in balance begins, the struggle becomes real and the tear evident. In fact, this is a sign of health as we exit the womb, proof that air and breath has entered our lungs correctly, and we cry out from the pain we so bear in this literal gift of existence. The literal cutting off from the umbilical cord, the very space of life giving nutrients from the first nine months of creation. And so too, there was no exemption through adoption.

This sudden birth from two to three children, a merging sharp and sweet. This severing of life from an orphanage, from the place that had become home, become heartbeat, become natural, become routine. Tears began to flow. Tears of grief, tears of loss, tears of frustration and deep sadness. For change is a scary thing. We desperately shall cling to the shadows all of our lives unless we are ushered into the light through encouragement, through an act of courage. The shadow spaces that have always surrounded us, those places we have always known, whether healthy or not are the hardest spaces to leave because they define us, they become the framework for how we view the world, they feel like home. Even fear itself can become the place we choose as our blanket. For if it is what we have always known then we find shelter and comfort in its presence, however sharp and painful it may be to bear. And yet growth asks us to step into the light, to have courage of sacrifice, to wrestle with the sin and selfishness of flesh to make room for another. For one whom we do not understand and for whom we have yet to know. And on a day to day practical level this was really hard, IS really hard. For our ways many days are set, our rhythm as a family is natural, it ebbs and flows through its normal struggles sure, but the knowledge of each other is known. The areas to which we are sensitive to, compassionate towards, tender around are known, the fractures have been evidently on display for years to come and there is an understanding in it all. Empathy for the pain and trauma because there is a mutual understanding. But now? But now our entire surroundings have shifted. That which we knew so well before has now unraveled into complete disarray. Nothing is the same, and yet at the same time, peace is still held, courage remains, hope remains. And the foundation remains the same. This foundation of a heartbeat seeking the One who knit us together, the One who is making way for light in the midst of incredible darkness. The One who holds space for the darkness, for darkness is not dark to the Creator of all things. And there is a tenderness, a humility, a deeper level of patience that arises out of the ashes of grief. For as one grieves we have an understanding that grief takes time, and so we shall allow it to be instead of rushing it away, for it must fully come, fully emerge to be able to heal. And this I am finding can be a journey of a lifetime.

And so, as the euphoria of wears off a bit and the reality sets in that the birth has arrived, the healing process begins. And healing is slow. And some things we do we find are helpful to mend and heal, and others we think we are healing, we come to find we are rubbing raw, irritating the burn. And so the “I’m sorry’s” and the tears and the “I wish this were easier” or “I wish I had more patience in this” moments begin. The moments we thought may wait weeks to come, they come knocking right away. And we are scared that we shall not be enough to do this right, and we know that there is no “right” way, there is only showing up each day and trying our best each day again and again. And we know that we shall never be the same again. But isn’t this birth? It marks us, literally scares our bodies, and yet the process in a way allows us to see so much more. We see courage like we never knew we had within us. We see what was once sadness as now a deep empathy. We see that the fruit of life is not in serving ourselves but within serving another. We see that the greatest gift is genuinely to give ourselves away. We see that love is more powerful than anything else on earth, that loving another will defeat any and every darkness. And yet why is the flesh so present and real each day? Why does my heart plead for grace, but my tongue spews from impatience? Why does my soul long for compassion, but my flesh closes doors of intimacy for barricades of complaint as a protection against vulnerability?

And yet, we know that the exposure of our vulnerability becomes our relatablity, our extendability, our humility.

And yet day in and day out, my selfish, arrogant, fearful pride rises again and again.

Why is it that the very things that ask us for the most courage, also ask us for the most humility?

And this is the road we have walked this second week in Burundi. One of many smiles and laughs and outright joy to be certain. But now, we also grapple with the struggle of a human heart, a selfish heart, a fearful heart of the reality of life as it is now. An understanding that we would never change an ounce of our journey, and yet a reminder that the call of obedience is not a call to a life without struggle. The reality is that pieces of this are really hard. That sometimes we feel very undeserving and underqualified despite all the books, classes and resources we walked through before this moment. Because isn’t it true that you can be as knowledge filled as possible, but when you walk the road of experience, the foundation of knowledge crumbles at the crack of deep suffering?

And so we declare this to be true, “I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

We know that each of us one day shall breathe our last. The days we have here shall come to a close, and through all the heartache and struggle we can be sure of this, at least we had the courage to try.

I remember the moment our plane first landed on US soil. Chicago O’Hare to be exact, and the pilot had a smooth, gliding landing for us. But, there was an emotional wave of completion that rushed over me. Similar to the moment of walking out of the hospital with Shiloh. There is full knowledge that the journey is just beginning, and yet, there is a deep exhale too, a moment of acknowledging the birthing road that has just been walked and lived through. And yet, as we landed I also felt an extreme sense of pressure. In Burundi, this process of adoption was honored, respected and valued. It felt as if we were entering into suffering together, hand in hand, leaning in, looking each other eye to eye, as if we were family and we would support each other. A mutual respect, love and care. We each had understanding of the pain that has occurred to be in the situation we are now, there was no denying it. But also this mutual desire and heart to invest in action, to look into the eyes of heartache and lean in close, close enough to see the pupils, to hear the heartbeat, to touch the skin of flesh of the pain and to not look away, to not become indifferent or think the country is better off trying to solve it on their own. In no way trying to be above Burundi or impart American ways into Burundian culture, no a far cry, in fact I believe America has much to learn from Burundi. A mutual agreement to love each other well, for us to bring Burundi to America in all its culture and beauty and to respect, learn and grow in loving each other mutually. But in America, this story of adoption seems to be either over glorified, or spewed with hate. Either we are seen as “saviors” or “white saviors”, both leaving a bitter flavor of disgust. Here we are vilified by the look of our family before our story is known. And yes, there is quite a piece of brokenness to this story to be sure, but, I felt the pressure of all that adoption is seen as in America. It is a heavy load to carry, a struggle we shall gladly bear, but we were not entering the US blind to the stereotypes and struggle we were bringing upon our family. And yet, I couldn’t help thinking still, in this first moment upon US soil, solidifying Theresia’s US Citizenship, at least we had the courage to try. At least we didn’t let indifference steal our hearts. And as much as we get this wrong, I pray good shall come, for the cost has not been cheap, this merge is hard, yet I pray that one day we are able to see the holiness of God in it all. And within that holiness is equal space to hold the injustice, hardship, humanity and hope of it all.

Dearest Theresia,

I know our struggles our just beginning because, well struggle is a part of life. But I also believe that it is worth every moment. And so we acknowledge the hardship this transition may be for you Theresia. How do we even begin to do justice for all you deserve? For how do we give space for you to be uniquely and wildly you while also protecting you from the harshness of humanity? How do we find a balance of honoring and blessing this culture of your past, while also teaching you ways to thrive here?

But in it all I hope you know we are grieving with you, that we are forever WITH you. For whatever struggle comes, may it be true that we stay, the withness WITH you. Whatever comes we stand in devotion to never leave the struggle, never leave the chance to wake up each day to you, to try again and again, to each day discover more of you, to each day learn what lights you up inside, just as the delight of the moon, to learn your dreams and loves oh beloved one. For though our worlds have begun as separate, I believe that this collision of story has power to change the world. For you dear one are the courageous one. Each day waking up to say, at least you have the courage to try. We see you in the struggle, we see you in the pain of this all, we see you and we love you dearly, we are transformed by you, and each day we know you are kept by Almighty God as He is keeping us the same. Together, cultures merge, languages shift, humility stretched, pride crushed, surrender extended, vulnerability exposed, relatability risen, cruciform lengthened, humility harbored deep within. This journey with you an adventure of a lifetime, a cradled gift, a wildly beautiful story, and its only just begun. Oh the miracles shining forth from the light of moon, from the story of you.

I’ll see you soon then, on this journey across the mountains of Burundi, one of my favorite places I have ever been. For when you find the roots of your child, you find the roots of treasure.

~Laura

Miss any of the previous Episodes of our time in Burundi? Here is some easy access for you!

Episode 1. Back to the Beginning: https://www.lauradugglebyphotography.com/blog/2022/2/26/back-to-the-beginning

Episode 2. Heartbeats from Heaven: https://www.lauradugglebyphotography.com/blog/2022/3/9/heartbeats-from-heaven

Episode 3. Harvest Days: https://www.lauradugglebyphotography.com/blog/2022/3/16/harvest-days