First Signs Of Struggle

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

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