Gotcha Day!

 First Glimpse

Six years ago today was an overcast day in Changsha, China.  Not gloomy, but warm and buzzing with anticipation in a city teeming with activity.  Somewhere in the lush, intensely verdant countryside, or perhaps in one of the city or suburbs' three-walled hovels, a man and woman were unaware of the significance of the day for their daughter, born 13 months prior.  She was gone from them, already on her own trajectory through life, her path diverging from theirs day by day as she traveled closer to us through time and space.

Scott and I could barely propel ourselves through the intensity of waiting those last few hours.  We took pictures with all the other families in the lobby of the modern high-rise hotel, then boarded a bus.  We navigated our way through avenues bursting with rickshaws, bikes, Soviet-era cars and trucks piled high with produce or scrap metal.  We arrived at the city building, a mass of nerves, cameras ready.  We had a daughter we were about to meet!  And then, as we stepped off the elevator, there she was. 

We weren't supposed to see her then.  She was to be in another room, but we were early and the nannies were still waiting, relaxing, cuddling their frightened little charges.  Xanthe was sitting on the orphanage director's lap, drinking water out of a plastic cup.  All eight of the girls were dressed in identical pink outfits, but we knew which one was ours.  We recognized her from two blurry pictures we had been staring at for seven weeks.  At the same time, you don't want to fall hopelessly in love if there is a chance you're wrong, so we tried not to look at her.  We marveled at Xanthe's every movement out of the corner of our eyes.

At last our names were called and the director, a kind and tired-looking man, handed Xanthe to me.  She was somehow rigid and limp at the same time.  She was quiet and curious, staring into our strange faces and grabbing at Scott's glasses.  She was a beautiful little baby, but she was also pale and sick, coughing and pulling on her ear.  We were handed some medicine and given some instructions in Chinese.  Fortunately we had brought antibiotics with us and administered the first dose right away.  The feeling in the room was one of wonder and awe.  One baby, Kaitlyn, was crying but her mom and dad weren't ruffled.  They just held her as she screamed.   For the parents, it was the joyous culmination of years of waiting.  For our babies, it was the most terrifying day of their short lives.

Since that day six years ago, it has been quite the wild ride with Xanthe.  I could never have prepared myself for how ingrained the damage from an infancy of partial neglect would be.  I told myself she was well-cared-for and she was, but she was in an orphanage.  It's not the same.  She was hungry, she was alone, she was bored, and it was irreparably stressful.  Yet we know that her nanny loved her and smiled at her and held her, and we know it could have been so much worse.  We were just profoundly grateful that day six years ago, to have her in our arms.  After six years, there are things we know we can't "fix," but it's OK.  Xanthe's experiences are part of who she is.  She is very, very strong and we have come to appreciate that because it is what kept her safe until we could get there.  She is very, very inquisitive and we have learned to love that because it is what will make her successful when she faces limitations.  She is very, very demanding and we can understand that because she had to be a fighter to reach us.

Sweet little Xanthe has made Scott and me stretch and learn in ways we never wanted to and never knew we could.  It's beyond miraculous that Xanthe is here with us, that this was God's plan, and that we were able to somehow bring it to fruition.  God is good, and he knows us.  He was with Xanthe before we were.  Right now, I can't think of anything more incredible, unless it's the thought that Xanthe is ours forever and she'll never walk alone.