The Revelation of Rain.
Burundi Journey Episode 5.
I have always loved water, loved rain. From some of my first recollected moments as a small child I can recall rain hitting the windows of the car, the pitter-patter of it’s call. I can remember the fresh smell after a rainstorm. I can hear the waves of the ocean, gentle whispering its love song as it crashed through my fears and worry, colliding right into me like romance. Water moves me in a way I cannot describe fully by word; calms me, soothes me, restores me. What is better than laying back, submerged in the stillness of water, the way it keeps you, holds you, molds to you and invades you, intimately knowing you, cleansing you, nurturing you. Waves in their rhythmic nature pursue our hearts in theirs. For what is more beautiful than the sound of water?
And yet, I never felt so alive, so moved or wooed by water as when I had this fresh revelation of water during our wait in our adoption journey. I remember we had freshly sent off our Dossier Paperwork to Burundi. The first set of paperwork to finally have the authority to make its way across countries and oceans and end up on the desks of those in Burundi. Six months of hard work, signing our lives away, investing in entity after entity from doctors to social workers to fingerprinting companies to police offices to tax accountants, to marriage history to home history to background checks to child protective services checks to TB tests to home inspections…. If you can think up a way to find any amount of information on someone, we likely had to fill out a form about it or go through a procedure for it. Never in my life have I felt so investigated, on trial, splayed out with every detail released and diligently pursued, as if I was in trouble, yet all to see if we were “qualified” enough to become parents to another, vetted in a way to make sure no hidden shadow was left unspoken for, unaccounted for. Every error, every mark, every blemish looked into. What a system to make you want to keep pursuing an adoption journey. It is not for the faint of heart. I used to think that there were those who may pursue adoption with dishonest integrity, that some may wish to adopt to be able to have some “prize” or some sort of elevated status to prove to the world that they do good things in this world. I know its a low level thought, but within the fragility of my humanity, I have thought it. But now, after walking the road, taking the journey, I am utterly convinced that no one on this journey for themselves would make it through to the finish line. There is too much vulnerability, exposure and expense for that. And yet I have digressed. After 6 months of work, the beginning of our paperwork journey was sent to Burundi.
The following week as I was listening to a podcast, I heard a woman speak of how the same water we drink today, the same water flowing in rivers and oceans and streams, along sidewalks after a rainstorm and in kitchen sinks of homes, within toilets for those who are fortunate enough to have them, the very water that provides nurturents to the soil and helps to oxygenate our planet. Yes that water is the same as it was in the days of Jesus. Explosion moment of the brain!!! We eat, drink, survive on the same water as Jesus. The One who was the Savior of the world, the One who leaked water from His side after His death, the One who turned water into Wine, the One who is the essence of EVERYTHING I need and EVERYTHING I am. This Jesus whom I owe everything to. It was a simple statement, not really quite revelatory within the podcast to the women. But to me it changed everything. This water that has always been a space of peace, of nourishment, of serenity now took on a new shape. It still held all those same qualities, but now it was HOLY.
The same water Jesus touched cycles through the earth, given by trees, sent into clouds, and released back down to earth in the form of rain, this has sustained millions of years and has remained the same. It is steadfast, these rains from heaven. Somehow now as it rained it felt like tears from heaven, heaven weeping with me, rejoicing with me, dancing with me, restoring and renewing me. And now not just in the tangible form, but in a spiritual revelation form. Rain became holy. Rains would come and I would hear the whisper of God in my life, feel His presence near, the Lord intimate into my story and my space and my time. Water became a place of “withness”, a space to bear witness to the glory, the holy, the wonder of God.
And so, the morning after we first heard word of our match with Theresia, that day, as we drove into town for groceries, my heart still literally swollen with Joy, delight and unbelief that all that we had poured ourselves into for over 3 years was sitting before us in a picture, already printed out carefully hung on our refrigerator, a picture in an album I had newly created in my phone, and literally life, breath, heart, soul, alive, living in an orphanage in Burundi. This day as I drove, rains released from the sky. The beautiful, heavy, full rains, but not in the violent way, in a gentle, yet abundant way. The heavens were crying with me, tears of joy, heavens come down holy with me in the car, on a simple, mundane journey for groceries, to meet tangible needs for the next week, yet God was coming down, washing over soul needs for the next year and a half to come. Reminding me of presence, reminding me of “withness”, reminding me that this story has been, and shall continue to be carried by someone, something, somewhere much higher, farther, beyond what I can ever comprehend. Oh the revelation of rain that has held me through some of the most fearful valleys of my life.
Journey East to Waterfalls.
Tuesday December 7, 2021
5:30am. An early morning start today. Wrestling the weary muscles, the journey beginning to remind me that this is not my home. Hours off, food off, weather off. But awakened for an adventure coming today. For today we head to East Burundi to see the waterfalls. So, I pry my worn body out of bed and make my way towards the restroom to splash water on my face, trying to turn my body around, towards awareness, towards energy.
6:00am. Time to awaken the children, stirring out of bed towards the dining hall for a quick breakfast of bread and fruit, grabbing a few pieces of fruit also for the road, and to the van which awaits us out front.
6:45am. We are a few minutes late to get out front for what was supposed to be our 6:30am departure, but we make it into the van all the same, ready to merge into morning traffic of Bujumbura, cars driving as if there are no rules, yet come to find out there are honks of varying degrees, giving clarifying direction to the cars swerving all directions on the road, cars so close we don’t allow the children beside the window because an arm out the window, even a child’s arm will very likely result in collision with another vehicle, Moto, or bicyclist. The waves of colors continue as far as we can see, yet we slowly crawl along through the city, picking up our lawyer, guide and friend along the side of another congested street. Eventually we creep out of the city and onto roads less crowded with cars, yet flowing with constant stream of people lining the sides of roads, making their way towards villages for food for the evening meal, or to renew a phone card, or for children to hustle in to school, or for men to transport sugar cane, glass soda bottles, corn, long strips of wood, tree trunks, chickens, and much more, to their destinations.
8:45am. We are getting closer now. The winding roads along mountains, passing through gorgeous scenery of tea planted mountainsides, valleys of rice planted fields, smoke spewing off of fields as they burn down grasses to sell as fire starters. But further in to the mountains we travel, closer we come to the highly spoken of waterfalls. This entire journey, Theresia laughing and telling stories with her dear friend from the orphanage who is also coming to America with another family. The two very close in age and closely bonded you can tell. We laugh, their joy infecting the van and we smile as we continue to take in the marvel that is Burundi.
10:15am. We are pulling in now. Approaching through gates into what I can only describe as the scene of Jurassic Park. Lush tunnels of trees lining over head, monkeys in trees and the sound of rushing waterfalls close, near enough to hear the verberating roar above the roar of the older car engine that has carried us this far. Thankfully no dinosaurs though, just the beauty of it all. We pull in just in front of the waterfall. The water cascading down the side of the mountain, sound taking breath away. The long road traveled here now seems so worth it. Isn’t it this way so often? The journey, the road taken seems long, seems unending at times, yet once the destination arrives the worth of the journey is of far greater value; the endurance worth the reward. We all leap out of the van, hearts skipping in joy, childlike wonder rises up in us all, as the kids climb rocks, and we all soak in the glory before us.
10:30am. After a few minutes soaking in this first waterfall it is time to venture on, for there are several waterfalls in the area to see. Little did I know that the journey would be quite strenuous, involving steep decent and climbs along the mountainside, with uneven surfaces and the heat making none of it any less intense. But the journey onward continued and the views amazed us each and every time. Continuing on, we had to cross a long, very high cable bridge. If you know me well, you know that this was no easy crossing for me. The one who when I was younger, riding cable cars up mountainsides during vacations would be crumbled in the middle of the floor having an anxiety attack. Heights and I are not friends. I am not adventurous in this way. I love to hike and to climb, but please do not put me on the edge, and please do not allow me to see straight down. Theresia and Modeste (our lawyer and now dear friend) on the other hand thought this was absolutely hilarious. They discovered one of my deep fears and there was a joy that rose up in Theresia’s laugh. She found an area where mama was not strong, she watched as Josh lovingly teased me, knowing my boundary lines and she beamed in radiant joy of it all. For how could we fly around the world to come get her and yet struggle to walk across a measly bridge? Isn’t is strange the things that trip us up in this life? What some deem as courageous we have strength to carry, what others deem as fun, we simply crumble at the weight of it. So, how much more do we need each other, need the differences we carry, need the helping hands through our struggle, need the courageous hands of our embarking, need the compassionate understanding that to each we have our courage, and to each we have our struggle, and to each we are human, and to each we are loved.
12:15pm. After a couple of hours of a hike I was clearly not prepared for, we made our way back to the first waterfall, back to the van. I had not brought nearly enough water with me in my backpack, so we were all thankful to return to our supply of water and food. We took time to nourish our bodies there beside the van, everyone a bit exhausted, but grateful for it because of what we got to see. Then, back into the van we went. We had one more adventure coming before we were to head back to Bujumbura. Little did I know it was the biggest adventure we were to experience yet and it would require the most courage I had yet to give.
1:00pm. We drive almost an hour towards our next stop. I look back fairly early on and notice that in the back row, where all the children have gathered as children in curiosity do, Shiloh has fallen asleep. This is not surprising. She is always my one to fall asleep in the car, the repetition of the rubber to the road, the vibration of the vehicle carefully rocking her to sleep. Yet, you know when you just have this visceral, mama gut response? It is the only thing I can describe it as. Her face looked too red. Yes, we were all hot and sticky in the van, for we had hiked miles up and down the literal side of a mountain without enough water, yes we were all hot and tired. But something was different. Her face too splotchy, white areas that didn’t look right. Her sleep looked disturbed, not rested as usual. I chalked it up to my overactive brain, that nothing was genuinely wrong, she was just tired, her body a bit out of whack. We were entering our third week in Burundi and our bodies had conquered a tsunami of change in this time. She has always been our tough one, hardly crying when she faced those two surgeries as a baby, always ready to take on any challenge. Our little warrior. So I expected nothing more of this. I was tired and seeing more than was there. That was it.
1:15pm. We pull in on the side of another large hill. We have made it to one source of the Nile. They have built a small pyramid on the top of a large hill to document this special place. Yet, as we are walking over towards the next large hill we are to climb, I hear Shiloh “I don’t feel good. I think I am about to throw up…” And I know it’s coming. I know that my intuition in the car is correct. I can count the number of times Shiloh has thrown up in her life. Now poor thing allergies wreck her each spring, sneezing, itchy throat, watery eyes, all of it. But vomitting? Vommitting is not like her. She did go through a short period I will say where she got carsick a few times and vomit was the ending result. But outside of that, the only times she has vomited have meant severe infection….
1:20pm. This was one of those hard parenting moments. We had to make a quick decision, the party already beginning to hike up the mountain, not understanding the full gravity of how poorly she felt. We knew one of us must go, we had driven all this way and it would be rude to not continue on, yet we could not ask Shiloh to climb another large hill the way she was feeling. Josh told me he would stay. If he needed to carry her off somewhere, he was much better suited for the task. So, with heart breaking, splitting in half right there on the side of that mountain, I began to hike my way up with Theresia and Thomas at my side, leaving Josh and Shiloh behind. Modeste said it would not take long, we would not be gone long. I told myself everything would be ok, but once that dam of worry begins to crack open, it takes almost everything you have to keep it from rushing right through you. And I could feel the leak beginning to break through. I could feel the cracks in me as I took step after step up that mountain. I could feel my own stomach churning in nerves for my child, in a foreign country, sick.
1:30pm. We reached the top. It wasn’t a bad hike after all. Praise God. But I didn’t realize we were about to endure a history lesson. Any other time I would have been more than excited for this. I actually LOVE learning all the details behind just about everything. I feel as if everything in life is connected and there is such beauty found in that connection. But right now, right now, all I wanted was to appease our gracious hosts and to make our way back down that mountain to my girl. The man speaking, being translated into English, and all the while I was wishing they could translate my heart, see the way it was breaking with each passing moment away from my child who wasn’t feeling well. And then sweet Theresia, “Mama, toilet?” Oh no. We have one at the bottom feeling she may explode from the top and not another from the bottom. This was only getting worse. I tried to explain we had to be patient, asked her if she thought she could hold it just a few more minutes until we were able to climb back down? She said yes, and we both impatiently waited atop this glorious view. Honestly it was likely the most beautiful view we encountered the entire trip. The view showed boundary lines of Burundi to Tanzania. You could see for miles, mountains upon mountains, the light catching in glorious wonder. And all I could think, was “God if you are glorious enough to create this masterpiece before me, could you also create an escape for me to get back to my girl?”
2:00pm. Thankfully, we made it through, and the decent shortly thereafter began. I couldn’t walk fast enough. It didn’t matter we were all exhausted at this point, I was practically sprinting down this time. For when your heart longs to be reunited with a love, you will cross whatever you need to get to your return. Praise God, we get to Shiloh and Josh and she is smiling. “I feel much better now Mommy”. “Yeah, she had a nice vomit into the trench over there, and we had some interesting conversations with the Burundians while you were away” Josh explains. He smiles, we are all thankful for a moment of relief. Maybe it was just car sickness I think to myself, maybe it that’s it. I hope for the best. I mean we are all exhausted. It’s been a long day. We find the restrooms, find our way back into the van, back on the road for Bujumbura, back on the trek towards home. But the dam is still cracked, mother intuition fresh. Was this just body’s response to a long, hard day, or was this indeed something much, much more?
We’ll continue on the journey here next week as we approach our final days in Bujumbura.
I’ll see you soon then, as I stand with you in the middle of the breathtaking beauty, and heart wrenching pain of life, layered together, layer upon layer of life.
Rooting for you dear friend. Thank you for being here.
~Laura
Miss any of the previous Episodes of our time in Burundi? I am providing the links here for 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
Episode 4. Moon Miracles: https://www.lauradugglebyphotography.com/blog/2022/3/29/first-signs-of-struggle