Harvest Days

Harvest Days

Burundi Journey Episode 3.

October 7, 2020. It was a beautiful day outside and I decided to take the kids to explore property, looking for the places with the best light for upcoming photography sessions that weekend. The light was a soft golden hew that evening. One that I dream about for photography sessions. Well that and fog. Combine the two and you have my ultimate dream photography setting. After capturing some magic by the pond, Shiloh, my curious one by nature always rounded the corner to follow sounds of the combine. For it was harvest day. Combines hard at work harvesting wheat, corn and soybeans from the year. Dust being stirred up like fog, like wonder, like dew rising from the soil. Shiloh spinning and dancing, making magic in her own world. Harvest. The word set on me like fresh wind, like fire, like the scent just before a rainstorm. Anticipation for something marvelous, revealing, renewing on its way. Harvest.

The word continued to sit on me for 3 days. Stirring in my mind, resting upon my stomach, dwelling deep in heart. Harvest.

October 10, 2020. 6:00am. Words finally seeped to the surface:

HARVEST DAYS. 

Harvest days. 

Dust heavy, 

Beans swiftly collected by the thousands. 

Intense fog, 

Granules swirling, 

Suffocating the air. 

So we hold our breath and we watch the scene, eyes squinted, 

Sun setting just so to create a harvest glow. 

And as we watch we feel so deeply connected to the process. 

The reality that the farmer holds control of the dust, not us. 

Yet, within this space, 

Succumbed to the unknown with visibility limited, 

Breathing stalled and sounds drowned out by that of the tractor, 

There too is a piece of magic in being submerged within granules of hope. 

Submerged into the refining process. 

For the now is so very loud, clarity lacking, details swirling and visibility thin, 

But magic remains in the glow reflecting off the dust. 

Hope remains in trusting the farmer to collect the harvest. 

And soon, yes soon for harvest is here, 

Abundance shall be near. 

An abundance of beans, 

An abundance of clarity. 

For once the dust settles and the grains are dispersed the field returns to that before the harvest.

Before the planting. 

Before the reliance on weather, on rain. 

Before the resistance to animals and vehicles that threaten to destroy and take. 

Before the fertilization and steadfast waiting. 

The field returns to a barren state. 

But it never is quite the same. 

For each time we gain deeper wisdom. 

And with fields cut low, only sheaves remaining scattered along the dust, 

Visibility is quite clear now, yes. 

We can now see for miles, outstretched and beyond. 

We can look back and see all the growth and rest in the abundant spaces of harvest days, with full tables and rest filled souls. 

We can know the days of unknown, placed within the fog of harvest has changed us. 

We can know the work of planting and keeping has strengthened us. 

We see with new eyes. 

For the reflection of light through granules brought wisdom and compassion that shall not be shaken. 

The fertilization and covering has reminded us that we can endure much father than we ever thought possible. 

Our reliance on the weather, the rain, the humbling truth that we are far less in control than we think we are and that is ok. 

For these are the harvest days. 

October 10, 2020. 3:00pm. My phone rings. It is our adoption agency on the other line. Hands shaking I answer, hardly able to speak. “Well, are you ready for some good news” I hear Diedra, our case worker, say on the other end of the line. “Yes” I whisper, hardly able to make sound come out of my voice. She says “You have been matched with a little girl, and her name is Theresia. She has the brightest smile. You should be receiving an email now with her photo and all the information we have for right now”. Everything else was a bit fuzzy after that. Sobs broke out of me, the ones I had been holding, bottled up for 3 long years without realizing it. For 3 years we had awaited this very moment in, the first moment we would lay eyes upon our child. And here it was. My hands couldn't move fast enough. Mistyping letters and shaking hands, snot and tears mixing together running down my cheeks, my chin. But having it all together kind of just runs out the window in moments like these. It no longer matters if your behavior is “socially acceptable” because the heart is focused somewhere else, somewhere more important. I remember hearing on the other end of the line “Is everything okay?”. I had completely forgotten to respond, to answer in verbal form. “Yes, yes. These are happy tears, happy.” Its all I could get out of me. Diedra politely ended the call giving me space to soak it all in, telling me we would soon be in constant communication with all the things to come. I hung up, and fingers focused on one place now instead of two I finally pulled up the email. There she was. “Radiant Joy”. It was the first thought that popped into my head. “She is truly radiant Joy”.

Little did I know how much I would need that. That moment there of pure bliss. Of pure relief. Of pure love traveling time and space and dimensions. For you see, I always had this twinge of fear if I am being completely honest, “Will I love our child at first sight? Will it come as naturally as the others?” This moment calmed every fear. I knew we were connected upon instant sight. Now, moments and days to come in future, in the actual merging of stories would remind me that adoption is different. That there is a period of bonding that is happening for us at 7 instead of 0 and that indeed that is very different. But this, this moment of knowing that I would fight for this child with all that is in me the way I would for my others. There was no doubt in my mind after this moment in time. And I knew our radiant Joy would be coming.

Also, I looked up the name Theresia. What did it mean? First off, my stepmothers name is Theresa so I knew she would be overjoyed by another in the family, but I had not looked up the meaning before now. But meanings of names are powerful to me. So I had to look, and there it was : “The meaning of Theresia is ‘harvester’ and the name is of Greek origin. The name also means ‘reap’”. There it was. The reason the harvest was set upon my soul that beautiful day out exploring the fields. For the same day that Harvest Days came forth by pen and paper watching the sun rise in my room, was the same day we first discovered our daughter’s name: Theresia, the one who brings the harvest.

The Final Days of November

Friday Nov. 26 - 30, 2021.

These days we began to find a rhythm as we merged into life together. Each morning was met with getting dressed, brushing teeth and heading to the hotel breakfast with fresh tropical fruits, the best croissants I have ever had in my life, hard boiled eggs, or omelette, hot tea, or fresh juice. Learning the rhythm of praying as a family around meals, together now thanking God for Theresia here before us instead of praying for her safety, health and heart from afar.

After breakfast we would venture back to our room for a quick load of laundry in our sink to be able to hang dry before the rains of the afternoon. It was also our chance to change clothes. Change clothes for the pool.

Late mornings were almost always spent at the pool. We quickly discovered the pool was Theresia’s favorite place to be. The consistent “Kwoga?” each morning at breakfast: “to swim?”. Theresia adored the water, playing and swimming for hours until we would make her get out to eat a bite of lunch poolside, (sambosas and white rice with water or sprite) only for her to jump back in. When picking her up from the orphanage we asked one of the caretakers her favorite animal, to which they replied, “fish”. Yes it makes sense. She wants to be just like a fish in water, always in water.

Afternoons varied. Some kept us in our room with harsh rains pouring down, leaving the kids to coloring or play with the few toys we had brought along: horses, barbies, play dough and a couple of days magna tiles graciously lent us by another family staying with us at the same hotel. Other days we had been able to go on a hippo tour, experiencing hippos in the wild for the first time, out in a small wooden covered boat, slowly motoring through hippo and crocodile waters (not my favorite thing, but maybe Josh’s favorite!). Another day we ventured out to town for market. These things always have a way of becoming an adventure, a story for our family, and Burundi did not disappoint. Through miscommunication, we ended up hopping on the wrong bus at our hotel. We were on the employee bus, making stops to drop and pick up hotel employees. In time it was obvious we had gotten on the wrong bus, but in true Burundi fashion, they figured out where we were trying to go, and got us there. The only down side? We now had no ride back. But all was well and we ended up taking a Burundian taxi home. I loved being able to have the kids experience more customary Burundian transport anyways! :)

The first Sunday in Burundi allowed us to visit our lawyers church in town. With songs in French, and the sermon spoken in French and translated into Kirundi, with translators sitting just beside us then translating into English. It was a powerful experience: witnessing the same God worshipped in Burundi as in Indiana. The same God through different language. There is something so powerful, so holy about such an experience. Everything about it, the flow, the time frame, the manor of worship different, yet hearts bent and surrendered the same. Holy Spirit alive and well across every tribe, language and nation. The same Hallelujah shouted from the chairs in Gary, Indiana to the chairs in Bujumbura, Burundi. Oh how remarkable to think of the nations crying out with shouts of joy, the same worthy God! Hallelujah we praise! And what an honor to have Theresia experience this with us. To experience worship with us in her homeland, in her language. A moment where we were the “outsiders” and she is home. A moment where she understands language and tongue and we are at the mercy of the kindness of another. These experiences, these moments in Burundi were so important for us. As a family, together surrendering our pride for listening ears, observant eyes, humble hearts, gracious hands, willing feet. Such grace for God to humble us in the valley before raising us upon the mountaintops. These moments I shall never forget.

Oh and as we pulled away from church that Sunday, our eyes were met with kind waves from a woman in a car up and to the right of us in the parking lot, smiles large and full of compassion. “This woman”, Modeste our lawyer says through the window, “This woman is the one who wrote your official decrees for your adoptions. She is the one. She is so happy to see you here and to see these children with their parents.” Talk about a moment. Our decree is our most important legal document. It is the document that finalizes the adoption process. September 30, 2020, stamped, signed and sealed. The day Theresia legally became our daughter. Written by a woman who attends the church of our lawyer, written by humble hands of a woman who worships the same God. What a generous gift to witness her kind waves and generous smile. What a generous gift!

I’ll see you soon then, to share more of our time and heart in Burundi. Sending all my love from the current mess of our schoolroom to meet you wherever you are, whether it be in a space of full beauty and rest, or right in the middle of the messy, chaotic middle. Leaning in with you within this journey of life.

~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

Heartbeats from Heaven

Heartbeats from Heaven.

Burundi Journey Episode 2.

To know more of the story of our adoption journey, we must return to February 2019. IF Gathering to be exact. It was a moment in time that gave endurance for the next 2.5 years that I did not realize at the time that I would need. IF Gathering is a yearly women’s conference that is hosted in Dallas, TX and brings people from around the world. If you know me well you know I do not do crowds well. Social anxiety and myself have a long history. The first moment I can remember being at the age of 7 and vomiting before running onto the stage as the curtain were opening for one of my first, and I should also mention one of my last ever dance recitals, as I soon discovered gymnastics was more the lane I was to ride in for most of my adolescent life. Anyways, I have long since been terrified of events, anxiety rising with so many people, so many noises, and the always awkward moments I tend to create out of nervous conversation. I say this to first say, if you also struggle with social anxiety, then you are indeed not alone, but also to simply set the scene before you for what is about to transpire and to allow the miracle of it all to be in full effect.

The conference began on a Friday evening, and now we are nearing the end. I thought for sure on my drive towards location that God had whispered upon my heart that something of revelation was going to happen, something profound, something transformational. And yet, to be honest, I felt most of my weekend had been wasted on my anxiety and calming my fears for hours on end.

However, there was this moment in time where everything changed. I remember it as this: a women from IJM is talking about the work they are doing to rescue the vulnerable out of horrific abuse situations around the world. The thought of our adoption, the thought of the unknown of the story that our child would be birthed out of, kind of crumbled in me in that moment. I closed my eyes, tried to think of something else, anything else as I could feel my throat tightening, the room spinning a bit, as the emotions welled up from the tension of the unknown until they simply spilled over. Tears began to fall, then weeping, a deep cry that needed release. A friend beside me placed her hand upon my back, significant because it reminded me that I was okay to feel exactly as I felt in that moment in time. It gave me permission to release anxiety and fully be with all my emotion in that moment. I knew I was not alone. I was not alone to let it all go free. To allow all that was coming to rinse and flow out of me. And then, in what I can only describe as the breath of God, Yahweh Himself completely taking over, I felt as if I was breathing with God. A holy rhythm that felt as natural and yet as divine and miraculous as I could imagine. My breathing became synchronized, and just as with the breath, I then began to feel layered heartbeats beating upon my own. Inhale, Exhale, Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Calm. Rhythmic. Deep. A divine wave upon wave of comforting grace. Then, three hearts, stacked upon my own, beating in perfect union, synced to this holy breath of God. Tha-dump, tha-dump, the-dump. I can only describe it as divine, as radiant, as pure holiness outside of myself in every way, shape and form. And yet, as I deeply understood I was experiencing something far beyond myself, I also had never felt more true and whole to myself as I did in that moment. I was transfixed, caught in the moment and mesmerized within it in every way. The peace that passes all understand? The joy overflowing? The mystery of creation? I felt it all in those few moments of time. Eventually I felt release of breath back to that of my own. I opened my eyes, looked eye to eye with my soul sister, and we gazed deep, no words were needed. Embrace was enough, the comfort of being together was enough. We both felt it. We both experienced the hand of God in that moment. And I knew. I knew God was placing the heartbeats of our future children upon my chest. Giving me a tangible moment, a tangible memory to grasp hold of when circumstances became hard to come up for air. A moment to believe in miracles. A moment to sit in awe at a God so far beyond all that we might be able to ask or imagine. To believe in Yahweh again. To believe all of our hearts, our time, our money we had invested into this adoption journey was not to be wasted. The gift of heartbeats from heaven.

Thursday, November 25, 2020

6:00am- We awoke bright and early, the sounds of cars and people traveling roads to start the journeys of the day. After the exhaustion of the day before we all slept much better than I had anticipated, but still awoke with deep longing for more. Yet, the nerves of our first full day as a family of five, the tenderness and anticipation around the newness of it all struck me in a way in which sleep had no further chance. As the newborn exits the womb with cries, changing forevermore the important things in the world, shifting and redirecting perspective in every way. So too, was the newness felt here. The tender dance around comfort levels and adapting to the role of parent to three certainly had a feeling I had never felt before.

8:30am- After stalling in the room by people watching, learning selfies and discovering headbands, it was eventually time to meet in the hotel lobby for breakfast. And breakfast indeed was to be had. Modeste, our lawyer who was also our main source of hospitality in country ordered tea, fruit, many, many plates of fruit, omelettes, bread, and a chicken broth style soup. It was enough for a royal feast. The fruit in Burundi is always fresh, the tea local and seeping hot, the omelettes made from fresh eggs filled with onions, broth a smooth, creamy nourishment. And try as we might to finish, we left much behind. But we had places to be, for you see, we were about to experience one of the deepest cultural experiences of our entire trip.

10:00am- With the van fully loaded once more we headed to see the Burundian Drummers. In Burundi this is not like a drumline, able to coordinate rhythm and stride. No, this is much more. And not to discount a drumline that we might imagine, but much more-so to highlight the extreme talent and honor that is held here. In Burundi, becoming a drummer is honored to a high esteem. It holds the symbolism of protection, of unity, of perseverance, of storytelling. The Burundian drummers balance drums on their heads, dancing, and drumming in a rhythm quite their own. Jumping in rhythm as they tell the story of Burundi in music and dance.

The experience for us was one I will never forget. We pulled in, immediately becoming the attention of the areas as a van full of “mizungus” or “white people” exited the vehicle. We were welcomed by the leader of the drummers and given a tour of the grounds with an explanation of the history being interpreted for us. Afterwards, we were brought to a small seating area. Small wooden benches had been placed in a line to where we sat with some standing behind. Children perched on trees before us. Their pride parading our far and wide for what is coming. I wonder how har their delight whispered in the wind? I wonder how many times each week they climb these heights for just one more glimpse of the unity, one more remembrance of the country they embrace as home, one more rise and fall of heartbeats synchronized in fullness of joy.

The beat strong, powerful, not only pulsing through ears, but also surging through hearts as the drummers began their entrance through a small opening through the crowd of villagers stranding watch to the side of us. And for about 30 minutes we were taken to another place. A place captivated by the story being told before us, connected to the creativity here, covered by the blanket of beat surrounding us.

In a way I felt distinctly connected to the earth that day. As if my feet, standing there on the other side of the world were as connected there as home. There was a sense of being held in the music, carried by it, just as we are carried by the earth each day. Breath syncing with heartbeat, feet resting upon the red clay ground that has carried Burundi for centuries. Smelling the dust kicked up in the air from the performance. The drumming, Burundi’s own heartbeat coming alive, culture displayed in wonder and awe.

And when it was all over, we cheered and clapped, exiting our enchantment, and thrown back into the arms of gracious hospitality. We bought each of the kids a mini drum, to be able to bring just a piece of this story home with us. To bring a remembrance of the heartbeat home.

12:00pm- After hearts were filled with the joy of Burundi in every way, we began our journey back to Bujumbura, the place of our hotel. Thankful for our large breakfast now, as we were to skip lunch, and have many delays in getting back, such as routes being blocked without notice for government officials in the area, road closures due to broken down vehicles, and gas pumps where military vehicles are served first, no matter what the occasion. But eventually, hours after our projected arrival we did manage to make it back to our hotel in Bujumbura; the first time Theresia gets to witness where we will bond and stay for the next 2.5 weeks. For now, we quickly set down the gatherings of the day, and turn around for a dash to dinner here at the hotel.

7:00pm- Another long day had been laid behind us. A day of exquisite learning, of fumbling through the delays of travel and finding that Theresia LOVES mayonnaise and ketchup. Indeed also, many moments of gratitude for having Shiloh and Thomas with us. I do think it has helped Theresia feel safer with us, but also, it has been an amazingly helpful tool to cross language barrier to show Theresia what is to come. Like a shower. A warm shower at that. I shall never forget that precious smile light up on Theresia’s face when she first felt the warmth of that shower. We have since discovered that water is her favorite and she wants to be in the water as much as possible. But here, this first full day with her, we experienced it for the first time. For the first time, water pellets rushing over her little body and bouncing off to the walls in such delight as she let out a shy giggle and continued to splash the warm water on her face time and time again. Such a tangible reminder of ALL the joys, ALL the miracles we have before us each and every day, if we simply take the time to let them in, to notice them. Today, it was the extraordinary gift of water, clean, fresh, warm water to clean and enjoy, to find radiant laughter and fun!

8:00pm- Bedtime quickly approached shortly after. All the children nuzzled in with me on the large bed and Josh found his place in the small bed beside us. Dozing to the quiet of our dreams rather quickly, yet with a fullness that was hard to describe. But in the moment before sleep took me by its persistence, I pondered on how Theresia had yet to shed a single tear. Rolling away from the orphanage yesterday, smiles and waves. How do you transition from living one life your whole life, then simply transitioning to another in the wake of an afternoon? How do you wrestle the fear down into the dirt while you summon courage into your palm? How do you bare the weight of all the change with a smile and a Burundian head nod? It kind of breaks me in a way. You know, feeling like you have to be so tough through it all. Feeling as if you have to transition this well. But oh how I hope that when the day of crumble comes, I may meet it with patience and love. For how can one soul be so divided and not shed a single tear?

I’ll see you soon then as we continue on this journey together. Thank you for being here for Episode 2!

~ Laura

Miss our previous Episode 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

Back to the Beginning

Back to the Beginning

Where do we even begin? Where do we start to explain the completion of a journey that took nearly half a decade? I think it must begin where all stories begin. With a quiet stirring, a gentle whisper, the feeling that harvest is on the horizon, yet you know that before the harvest the work shall be long and wearisome, the turmoils shall advance like a typhoon, there will be hills to hurdle. And yet, that still small whisper remains, lighting soul aglow with a flame that cannot be extinguished. Launching you into wild courage, not of yourself, yet of the curiosity to follow this deep longing of the soul. This is where it all began 4.5 years ago.

There are many here who I feel do not know the roots of how our adoption story began, and to be able to understand the miracle this journey has truly been, let me begin here. But first, also let me state that a journey of adoption, is simply choosing to say “yes, I am available”. It is not to say “I want this, I have always dreamed of adopting.'“ For how can we long for the trauma, destruction and immense hardship of a child? May it not be so. I wish adoption were not a needed avenue. I wish it never existed, because I wish the harsh reality of death, poverty, mental illness, cultural curses and more did not exist. However, in the world we live, there are all of these things. And occasionally that means there are children left in need. Children without another option, children who need a home through adoption. Let it also be said of me as we begin, that for us, we believe adoption to be the last option. We desire first for a child in this type of need to experience family reunification. If this is not an option our prayer is that the child be placed in the home of another family member willing. If that is not an option, then our hope is for someone in their local community to welcome them in. If this is not an option, then our hope is for them to remain at least within their country of origin. If this is not an option, then we believe in International Adoption with parents who teach , love and come alongside the child’s country of origin. This is where our story lands.

So, back to the beginning. Our adoption journey began shortly after I returned from my second trip to Rwanda in 2016. I began having dreams. Intense, vivid dreams. Each dream was the same. I was walking the streets of Eastern Africa, the red clay rich and wide. Walking upon a hillside, smelling the tea leaves, sweet and fresh, walking with a child holding each hadn't gently and another skipping joyfully ahead. Each time there was a peace like no other. Everything was alive, present, comforting. Until I would awake, at the same place each time, right as we began approaching the top of the hillside. Each time I awoke in a dripping sweat, and for a few moments, groggy and confused I literally would not know where I was. Confused between my location in Eastern Africa or Northwest Indiana. As I came to my senses, there was a feeling of loss. A feeling of missing being within the dream, within this space that felt like my soul was alive, awakened to a courage I so deeply lack in reality. Yet, nervous to let anyone in on these recurring dreams, I let them be just this. A recurring dream. For 5 months they continued at least once a week, many times 2-3 times a week. Eventually I could take it no more. I told Josh (my husband) of my dreams. I let him in on this other world I was experiencing in the darkness of night. I expressed my concern that maybe the Lord was asking us to step into the world of adoption? Whatever it was, I was desperate to confide, desperate to find some reasoning and for a friend to tell me I wasn’t crazy. Josh and I began to pray over what the dreams meant, over if we were indeed to start an adoption journey or not.

For you see, there is a bit more backstory to this. For the 6 months prior to my travels to Rwanda, our dear Shiloh girl had developed a severe infection. An infection that had required 2 surgeries, 6 months of antibiotics with weekly appointments with a speciality doctor and a season that wiped us financially. Praise the Lord for her healing after surgery number two and for God’s grace and mercy within that. But tangibly speaking, financially speaking, we were in no place to begin an international adoption journey. A journey that on paper, as you begin you commit to the fees of a potential $60,000. And yet, that still small whisper, the gentle stirring of my soul would not release me. And in time, Josh felt the same. After 13 days of prayer he returned with the words “Well, I cannot say no, and my only response is that if this is supposed to be something we enter, if it does happen and come to fruition we shall have to declare Only God”.

And so, in October of 2017 we began our journey. Signing the papers, having no clue the journey that lay before us. And so, as we purchased plane tickets in October of 2021 for our trip to Burundi for November of 2021 we could only declare before us “Only God”.

Wednesday November 24, 2021

5:00am. Today was the day, the day we had awaited for so long, over 4 years to be exact. We awoke before the sun, getting ready with palms sweaty, heart racing, stomach churning. How do you adequately prepare to meet a child who has lived 7 years in another world, and begin to tell her you are now united to her? How do you begin to explain to a child that your heart has been shattered into a million pieces for her, that somehow in the stillness of the night the Lord tethered your heart to hers and that you have felt a connection that is not of this world, and yet you do not speak the same language or live in the same climate? How do you prepare to see the place your child has welcomed as home for the beginning of their life without you knowing a single piece of it? The honor of that sacred place? How do you prepare? For me, it was with sweaty palms, a racing heart, a churning stomach and a reminder to BREATHE.

6:00am. We met the other families at the front of the hotel. There was a shush about us all. You could hear a pen drop. We were all thinking the same thing. Are we ready for this? Really ready? We have read all the books, listened to all the podcasts, been through classes and training, learned little bits of the language, and been invested into the country of Burundi for years now. And yet here we were, standing on Burundian soil, preparing to drive 6 plus hours into the mountains of Burundi and approach the place our children have called home. Are we ready for this?

6:30am. Bags of donation items for the orphanage are loaded into the back of our 15 passenger van, overflowing into the additional little tan Toyota behind us. Each family neatly piled into a row in the van. The wheels began to turn and we were off. Thankfully that morning the weather was cool for Burundi. Lord knew the air was helpful to usher a simple relief to my relentless heat of anxiety. Minutes became hours. And quietly we took in the beauty of Burundi. Rolling hills, steep climb on the side of mountains, dangerously passing semis filled with glass soda bottles, or trucks with bellies full of sugar cane. Passing valleys with flowing streams and burning plants to sell as fire starters. Through villages with mothers with children tied beautifully around their waste in fabrics of every color imaginable. Goods and foods balanced on their heads and they walked the narrow roads back towards home. Young children playing with sticks, rocks or tires. Laughing as delightful as a honey to lips. And speaking of honey, Burundi has much honey too. Passing stands with fresh honey, milk, or fruit or vegetables. Avocados, bananas, pineapple, tomato, passion fruit, papaya, roasted corn and more. These moments felt like a lifetime and a moment all the same.

11:30am. It’s time for a bathroom break. And no, this does not mean we pull into a gas station or a fast food place. It means we pull our car to the side of the road alongside a hill. We climb the hill, find enough brush to hide ourselves from the children walking just down below and count to ourselves for what feels like eternity before the urge to go outweighs the stage freight and relief comes. Or maybe this was just my experience. :) The rest of the van seemed to have no problems relieving themselves out there, but for me? The image of that sweet boy’s eyes watching me as I walked up the hill, they kept showing up right as I tried to go, and well, it took a while…. But relief did finally come, and with a bit of hand sanitizer and a prayer of gratitude to the Lord for choosing a long skirt to wear that day, we were back on the road to our child. The one they call ours legally though we have never met face to face. The one we have loved by photo for over a year, yet never had the ability to communicate with. The one we have been praying over, the one we have chosen to walk alongside and welcome into our family, a merging of stories. The one we feel so honored to get to meet in a few short hours time.

1:00pm. We are told we are 10 minutes away from the Orphanage. And suddenly, the tears begin welling up in my eyes. Tears I knew would come this day. Tears similar to the first day we received a photo of her. The day when all my fears of not feeling connected or bonded washed away and I instantly felt love through a photo. Tears that no amount of willpower could stop. Each mother we saw in the village as we drove up the bumpy, clay road made me so grateful to get to be here. Right here in this moment in time. In this place in the world, around such a feeling of love. We slowly pulled in, the gates opening for us, and children welcoming us in song. I will never forget Thomas shouting “I see her! I see her! There is Theresia”! And then, I saw her too. She was brushed up against one of the nuns, standing with a shyness and boldness together about her. By this point in time I was full blown sobbing and shaking all over. I could not stop the wave of emotions, rushing as a roaring river before me. Handing my camera off to a friend, I stepped out of the van and walked directly towards her. I knelt to meet her at eye level, and she approached with a hug. It was a stiff hug and I almost felt bad, felt as if they had told her she had to hug me. I would have been ok without one in that moment. I understood all the emotions whirling, the bit of awkwardness it felt, the feeling of not knowing the right way to act, the feeling of knowing nothing, being a stranger and yet a close friend all in one. From there everything spun into a whirlwind, hugging nuns, children running and laughing everywhere. Slowly we were shuffled through the buildings, learning their routines of the day, getting to see how well loved they have been, how well taken care of. Then, we sat as they performed dance and song for us, next feeding us an African meal. We were treated like royalty, when truly it needed to be the other way around. But we would never dishonor the service, the kindness, the compassion they were offering to us. These nuns are genuinely the best of humanity I am convinced. Laying aside every aspect of “freedom” to live where true freedom is found. And then, in what felt like an instant we were whisked away, ushered back into the van, needing to get to our next destination before nightfall. I will never forget that moment. The strength of Theresia boldly sitting beside me and wildly waving her arms goodbye to all of her friends. I was so thankful she had another friend in the van with us that day, but oh her courage to embark on an adventure, one that shall change her life forever, with a smile on her face. It is more than I think I could have done at 7, and I pray she knows she is safe to cry, to release, to grieve and to mourn the beautiful place of her childhood.

3:30pm We are on our way to the next orphanage, yet all I can think is that I cannot believe this is real. There is a space of timidness. I don’t want to overwhelm her, yet I want her to know she doesn't have to be so tough for all of this either. She is safe to cry, safe to not be ok. So, I balance on this line of finding what little middle ground I can. The mix of car vibration, with filled bellies and worn emotions leaves us all tired as we drive to our town where we shall rest this evening. But on the way, Shiloh dozes off, her head to fall on Theresia’s shoulder. There is a sweetness in Theresia, a softness to embrace the connection as it lands. Then, she too loses the battle of alertness. Theresia dozes off too, her head falling to my shoulder, and in an instant, we have a domino of dozing heads, and a moment in time I shall never forget. It has been 4 years, and it has been 4 seconds all in one. The journey hard, and this moment a refreshing breeze of wind to break the heat of the years. Certainly there is no perfection in it. Things are still all a bit new, and with that newness comes a lot of uncomfortable moments. Yet, this moment marked the beginning for me. The beginning of knowing in the end, even if we fall as dominos do, we have a new member of the family falling with us. We are a team. And we shall embrace what is to come together. The moments of bliss and the moments of breaking. We are FOR each other. We are the Dugglebys, merged with the Wiringiyimana family forevermore now. What an indescribable gift and honor and responsibility to hold. I pray we do it justice.

10:30pm. We made it to our hotel for the evening. Weary after the day behind us, all 5 of us collapse into a King size bed, organized like a puzzle, nuzzled together as if we had never been a part. Such fear melted away. The first step behind us. We met the one God whispered to my heart through a dream over 4 years ago. The one He asked if we might be willing to leap into the Sea of fear, inadequacy and doubt and simply say yes to be a place for her to land. Not a savior, not giving her a “better” place, not giving her anything that I don’t wish a million times over her own birthmother could give. But here all the same, saying we see you, we cannot wait to get to know you, and thank you for letting us love you. We know you are going to make us better. The past four years have already proved that. Thank you for helping us learn to repent of our emotional hierarchy. Thank you for helping us see the world through the lens of a worldview, not a western view. Thank you for showing us where we had so much pride that we needed to crumble to humility. You, Theresia, the one whose name means “to bring the Harvest”, you are teaching us what it truly means to live in Harvest. To come to harvest means to actively serve, work and show up faithfully before ever seeing first fruits of a harvest. But what a faithful God to bring us to you, the day before Thanksgiving, the day we celebrate the Harvest. And what an offering this day must have been for you. And now we see a bit more fully. For us this day of unification must feel like a day of separation for you, and we are learning that there are always two sides to a story, and I pray we never leave one side to dust.

I’ll see you soon then, to continue this story of our time in Burundi. Thank you for being here and taking the time to read. I feel so humbly honored.

~Laura