The Cocoon

Dear Mia,
It's been a little while since an update. I haven't written much, but that isn't to say we haven't been busy, because we have been working so very hard. I kind of chuckle, because a family friend called on Sunday to ask if I was dead, because no one had seen or heard anything out of me for a while. But we've been here all along, working and fighting through our adjustment period.

I will be honest, your adjustment has been more challenging that your mommy or I expected. Saying nothing about the jet lag — which I think we have pretty much overcome — helping you find peace and comfort has been much more than a full-time job. Every sight, sound, smell, and sensation is different here than from where you came. The ticking of the clocks. The whirling of the fans. The air conditioner compressor starting. All of it is part of our everyday background noise, but to you, it is the sound of the earth quaking and jet engines roaring. And that's about right. Thinking of your life with us in reverse, it was the sound of the engines from three different jets lifting you away from everything you every knew and breaking your heart. Now here you are with us, in our home, on the other side of the world, and trying to find your place. Mommy, Ethan, your friends, family, and I crafted it for you, but now you're striving to learn how you fit into it. And that's ok.

All of these mega changes in your life go to show what a big world we live in, don't they? So our job is to shrink it for you so you can get comfortable, build some trust in us, and gain confidence in yourself so we all can grow together. There is some evidence that this is working. Now that we have even a little bit of experience behind us, mommy and I are better able set some limits in your life. We're getting better at picking our battles, and admittedly picking a few fights, but we just can't compromise on you going to sleep, taking a bath, or grabbing an item you want that is clearly in your reach. Setting these limits and helping you grow is possible because your world is smaller and all of our energy is focused on helping you adjust to your new family. This phase is called the cocooning period, and I can see with far greater clarity just how critical it is. That is what we are doing right now.

The idea of cocooning comes from nature, and primarily that of the caterpillar becoming a butterfly. The caterpillar weaves a cocoon and then enters it for a period of two weeks to a couple months (depending on the season and location) to transform into a beautiful butterfly. It is an amazing metamorphosis that takes place when you see the creature that breaks forth from the cocoon in light of the one that goes into it.

The cocooning phase is dramatically important for you and our family, and we have sacrificed quite a bit to make it possible. We are committing all of our time and energy to helping you bond with your family, Mia. I talked a lot about your home, your pets, your family, and friends. It didn't take long for mommy and me to see just how overwhelming all of this is for you. So as of writing this, after being home a little more than a week, you have barely seen half of your house. You haven't seen your room yet, or even the playroom. We brought down a few toys to the den and placed your toddler bed in our room. You have been in the kitchen, living room, foyer, master bed and bathroom. You've also spent a little time in the backyard, but other than that, we are keeping your new world small. We are truly devoting all of our time and energy to our cocoon and the transformations that are occurring within. And talk about transformations!

You are sleeping better.

Your appetite has normalized.

Your temper tantrums (though still epic at times) are diminishing in number and duration.

You're exploring the house now and are not nearly as fazed by the sights, sounds, smells, and sensations.

You are responding to your new name.

And you are showing signs of comprehending language and making the gradual switch from Mandarin to English.

Mia, transformation is occurring in your life! It is amazing to behold. It has been a lot of hard work — stressful days and sleepless nights — but the metamorphosis that is beginning in your life is evident. I can deal with going days without sleeping, showering, or shaving when I hear you call out "mama" or "daddy", reach out for a hug, or let out your adorable giggle when discovering something new. It has not been easy — at all — but it is worth it.

So I'm forced to reflect upon the cocoon. I must overcome my own grimacing and find great joy in the fact I haven't brushed my hair in two days, shaved in four, and am sporting some mysterious stain on my right shoulder. For when you break down into a tear-soaked rampage and come to your mom and dad for comfort, or start dancing through the living room in a spontaneous display of pure joy, I see glimpses of how beautiful the transformation truly is that is happening in your life. And when we emerge from the cocoon as a family in a few weeks, I have a feeling that the metamorphosis will be evident in more than just you, because all of us are being changed, too.

I know from being a student of human nature that change is not easy. It can be painful, scary, and heart breaking, yet I see how you are adjusting to the changes in your life and can hear your little voice say, "Good, good, good, good" (starting loudly and diminishing in volume and intensity). I know that the changes taking place in your life are re-creating us all, even though it's hard work. But I love it, and I love you, so it's more than worth it.

Another truth about the cocoon is the struggle that takes place within before the butterfly can emerge. This struggle is what strengthens the butterfly's wings and body so it can thrive outside the cocoon. Some might be uncomfortable with this struggle, but it is critically important for the wellbeing of the butterfly. The same is true for you. We have experienced some struggles while in the cocoon, especially in the midst of an epic temper tantrum, but mommy and I both know this is a critically important stage for you — and our whole family, for that matter — as we overcome where we have been to become what God has designed.

So as I still ruminate over what in the world this smear is on my right shoulder, I watch you take another bite of a waffle and bring me a piece to share. We've been through a lot together in just a little more than three short weeks, and there is a little bit of change in you each and every day. I look forward to the time when you are able to fully emerge from the cocoon, spread your wings, and show the world the beauty I get to witness day and night in the transformation that is occurring in you. And me. And in all of our family.

But we still have a lot of work to do, so it's time to dive back in to the cocoon...unkempt hair, unshaven face, mysteriously stained shoulder and all.

Love,
Dad

3 Days

Dear Mia,
We've been home about three days now, and it's great! Sure, we've had to watch our step around the house to make sure we don't land on a toy, and we've had to keep our eyes peeled for the things that catch your eye we didn't anticipate a few weeks ago, but what I really love is seeing how you light up when Ethan walks into the room and how he laughs when you do something silly. I have frequently said you are such a sweet and silly girl, and it's great that you have brought this into our home.

As in all things, it hasn't just been wine and roses. Two words: JET LAG! Honestly, I had no idea the impact jet lag would have on our family, and in particular, you. Mommy and I dealt with it some when we went to China, but since we had a couple days to rest before things got really cranked up, it didn't seem too severe. But making our way back home? After a busy and stressful two weeks of meetings, paperwork, and getting acquainted with you? And relearning what it takes to add in the rhythm and flow of a toddler? Wow! But that's on mommy and me, and we can handle it. What the jet lag has done to you, though, makes my heart ache.

Your whole life was spent living 12-hours ahead of us. You were winding down for the day when we were just getting started. You were sound asleep when we were having our meals, and you were learning and playing while we were resting. We did pretty well when we were on your time, but you coming into ours has been a challenge for which I wasn't adequately prepared. In our efforts and endeavors to bond with you and facilitate your bonding with us, we must add in the cruel vixen of angry sleeplessness.

In our middle-of-the-night adventures, I took the opportunity to learn a little bit more about jet lag. First, I learned it takes about a day per time zone crossed to recover. The farthest I have ever flown before now was two time zones, and that wasn't a big deal. But 12? Really? You mean we're only about a quarter of the way through this?

Secondly, jet lag can be tied to when our bodies tell us it's time to eat. When I learned that, the fact you were waking around 12am (your previous lunchtime), 3am (your previous snack time), and 6am (your previous dinner time), things began making sense. Your mom and dad were telling you it was time to sleep while your internal clock said it was time to party. As a result, no one was having any fun. You were angry. We were bewildered. None of it is pretty.

The third thing I learned about jet lag is the best way to battle it is light. Our biorhythms are set by the rising and setting of the sun, so even though we have been waking for the day around 4am, as soon as the sun comes up, the blinds are opened, you're stripped down to your diaper to maximize exposure, and we are pumping you full of water and healthy food. It seems to be working, because we had a better night last night, even though it was still a short one. We got about 5.5 hours of uninterrupted sleep, or the grand total of what we were getting in full the previous two days.

Seeing you this morning after that much sleep (which is still about half of what you should be getting, knowing we still could have another week-to-ten days of this) has been pretty neat. You are beginning to explore the house now, and playing with your toys. We are hearing more intelligible words from you, and that smile is shining brighter than the sun flooding our living room. We also have gone the longest period now between your complete category-5 meltdowns, but that's a blog for another day. I know it's still early, but after these three days, we are getting glimpses into our future. Together.

All that makes me think of another 3-day period in history a long time ago when there was probably quite a bit of sleeplessness. Jesus had just died on the cross, and his friends and followers were trying to understand what in the world they just witnessed. They were grieving his loss and fearful about what was ahead. When Jesus was around them, they knew they were in the presence of the light; but with His death, they felt as though they were living in darkness. Then, after that 3-day period, when God the Father raised Jesus from the grave, the promise of scripture that light had come and darkness could not overcome it was kept. A new future with hope was established as perpetual light flooded the world.

Granted it's still early in this lifelong process, I see some parallels here I want to share with you. Mommy and I have been completely and thoroughly exhausted. You have been completely and thoroughly confused. We all are grieving a little bit — you are grieving the loss of familiarity, and we are doing the same in a way. But this process is changing us for the better, and it's incredible to experience. Though we admittedly feel like the walking dead right now, we know that with the light comes all new hope. And my dear Mia, that light isn't just with the opening of the blinds, it comes with the beams from your face as you grow more comfortable in your new family and share the specialness that is you. Light always has — and always will — dispel the darkness, and we are able to experience the light you bring to our home anew. Sure, we're still utterly exhausted, but seeing you "come back to life" after a long few days of travel and the resulting sleeplessness helps us gaze beyond the bleariness our eyes can currently see.

So we still have a little bit more time before our sleep and feeding cycles are synced, but we are in this together. It is a promise your mommy and I made many months ago, and now have the time to reveal to you. I can't imagine how tough all this is on you, but we are here and will walk this path together. In time you will be better able to rest assured knowing that a new ray of light has entered all of our lives. Sure we need to watch our step along the way, and not just to avoid the toys that are now scattered around the house, but to help you process the past, look to the future, and know you can trust and love us to help you along the way.

As I click "publish" and send this post into the blogosphere, I sit and watch you play with your toys. May God fill all of our lives with new hope and a future so we can move these middle-of-the-night parties to the bright of day and enjoy the healing sleep at night that we all desperately need.

But until then, pour me another cup of imaginary tea.

Love,
Dad

It's Time to Keep a Promise

Dear Mia, 

These past two weeks have been amazing. They really have! From the anxiety your mommy and I felt the few days before leaving to come get you, throughout the entire adoption experience in China, to this very moment, our lives are forever changed. 

It is the middle of the afternoon here in Guangzhou, and you are taking a nap. We had a little bit of a challenge getting you down, but it will all be worth it when we begin traveling tonight. As much as we have enjoyed our time with you in China, and would not trade any of it for the world, our world is incomplete. 

On the other side of the globe, there is a little boy (who should be) fast asleep. I say, "little boy," but there isn't much little about him any more. He is nearly as tall as I am, has very similar hair as I do, though he wears it quite a bit longer. He loves music and plays several instruments quite well! He is good with computers. He developing a strong sense of faith. He is quiet and gentle like your mommy, and has a strong sense of what is right and wrong. He is the kind of person that others naturally want to be around, and even though he reserves his words for saying what is really important, he is a natural leader. He is generous, extremely smart, wise beyond his years, and carries a deep sense of compassion for others. He is as fine as they come. His name is Ethan. He is your brother. 

We have shown you pictures of Ethan, and you have seen him on video chats when we were able to sustain an Internet connection. You have shown him your heart-melting smile, giggled for him a time or two, and helped him to see the specialness that is you. But we are separated by a time difference of 12 hours and 8,000 miles. And as this day draws to a close, so will our time in China. We will board a plane and begin our long trek to take you to your home...to Mia's place. The same place where you're brother is currently sleeping and preparing for one more day of school this week.

As eager as we were to come get you, we were just as anxious about leaving Ethan. We missed the first 3+ years of your life, but we have never been away from Ethan this long in his 13+ years. And even though we have had fun and enjoyed getting to know you, we missed our dear son on the other side of the world. Your brother. Our Ethan. He has missed us, too. 

He has been sick while we were away, but your Nannie and Poppie stayed and took great care of him. But hopefully, as you are beginning to glean, there is nothing like the love of a mommy and daddy. As we have been here holding you, singing to you, dancing with you, and even fighting with you on occasion, there was a part of us that felt incomplete and wanted to be with him.

Some day we will show you the movie, "The Wizard of Oz." It is a classic story about the quest for one's soul while searching for wisdom, heart, and courage...the very things your mommy and I have experienced in this journey to get you. One of the biggest take-away lessons from that movie is, that in many cases, you have it where you have your home. There are exceptions, of course — which is why mommy and I came to get you — but as this part of our journey comes to an end, we are feeling the words echoing in our hearts that Dorothy said as she clicked her heels three times: "There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home."

Home is indeed where the heart is, and you are within hours of seeing your home for the very first time. Mommy and I are sure going to be glad to get there. We will show you your room. We will show you your toys. We will show you your clothes. We will show you your pantry (you'll LOVE that as much as you enjoy eating!). We will show you your yard. We will show you your pets. And most importantly, we will show you your brother...your complete family...as the three finally become four. Then, you will be home.

Early early in the morning of August 20, 2015, as we packed our bags and loaded the van for the airport, I wrote a note to your brother. A promise if you will. It was a promise that just as I crossed the ocean for you, I would do the same for him. It is time to keep that promise. It is time to cross the ocean. It is time to meet your brother. It is time to see your family. 

Four people. 

One family. 

Together. 

Forever. 

Finally, it is time to go home. 

Love,

Dad

Foundling

Dear Mia,

It's 5pm in China on Wednesday, September 2nd. And guess what! I just picked up your adoption certificate and passport with a United States visa so we can bring you home. As I stood there, holding those documents in my hand, 20-plus months of hard work, prayer, and hope culminated in a single moment. Even though you have to officially pass through the immigration line when we arrive to the U.S. on Friday to officially be a citizen, I have all of the documents we need and I promise to lead the way. 

There are a few things that make me a little sad. I look at your adoption certificate and it says the place where you were born is unknown. Your birthdate is estimated. You have a borrowed name, given to you for the city in which you were found and the name of the person who found you. But your adoption certificate lists two other things that I want you to write on your heart: your parents are Mark and Tiffany Jordan of Newnan, Georgia, and your adoption date is August 25, 2015 (your Gotcha Day is August 24). 

This has been a long time coming, my sweet child. Mommy and I submitted our application to begin this process on January 31, 2014. That time was filled with so much uncertainty and excitement. Who would God send our way? How would the way even be made? How would we afford it? Who, how, what, when, or where? The only thing we knew was why. Why? Because we felt God leading us to this, and as the old cliché goes, if God leads you to it, God will lead you through it. Standing in the lobby of The Garden Hotel in Guangzhou, China, holding your adoption certificate, passport, and U.S. visa, I was able to see all of the steps of God leading me through it. 

I saw myself walking through snow and ice around the camp during a Chrysalis Flight, dictating to your mommy the info we needed for our application, and wondering if I was getting frostbite on my feet. 

I remember telling our family and friends that we were finally going to quit talking about adoption, and do something about it. 

I remember telling the church what we were doing and feeling an overwhelming sense of support. 

I remember filling out countless forms and making countless copies, and writing thousands of words telling our story and why we felt God was leading us to this. 

I remember your mommy and me cutting things out of our budget to figure out a way to save the money we needed. 

I remember saving our aluminum cans and selling them for the pocket money we've used while in China. 

I remember feeling despondent when things weren't going at the pace I wanted and expected them to go. 

I remember getting the call about you and everything coming together. 

I remember filling out grant proposals in hopes of getting the help we needed to get you home. 

I remember training for the RACE for the Orphans and running my first 5k, praying to God and talking to you the whole way through it. 

I remember countless conversations with your mommy and others about what we had left to do, and when all this would happen. 

I remember the dates coming together, and counting down the days until we were united. 

I remember holding you for the first time. 

I remember showing you pictures of what your life at home will be like when you meet your brother and pets, and see your home. 

I remember navigating a foreign country with you and your mommy. 

I remember waking up to calm you in the middle of the night. 

I remember changing some crazy diapers as you were exposed to some new food. 

I remember the first time you called me daddy. 

I remember taking an oath, signing, and giving my fingerprints — five times! — as proof that I am who I say I am, and that I will fulfill my pledge to love and care for you. 

I remember gazing upon the American flag as we left the Consulate, thinking you have so much to look forward to. 

I remember all of this, and even as I type these words, I remember the look of joy on your face when I walked back in the room after picking up your visa packet. 

I remember. 

Tomorrow we will begin our 26-hour journey to bring you home. To bring you to "Mia's Place." Where friends, family, and supporters will greet us at the airport, before we take you to your home and begin the next phase of this journey. 

The last two weeks will undoubtedly be a blur (everyone who has done this tells me as much), but I know this one thing: I will never forget your story and how God merged your life with ours, leaving all of us changed. Forever. 

There's something else I remember, my dear Mia. I remember seeing on one of the many documents we have signed in the stacks of paperwork we have completed, listing your identity as, "Foundling." And now I have the notice that the Chinese government used to try and find your family. On one hand, it breaks my heart, but on the other, it brings me great joy. Why, you ask? Because your family is found! We may look and talk differently, but we are your family.  Your mommy and I are honored to have done our part to get you to your family. Along with everyone who gave money, or bough a craft, or ran a race, or gave a gift, or said a prayer, or stood on our side in a conflict, or just promised to be with us in this journey. Forever. 

So as I sit in our room watching you play, and gearing up for what will be another big and stressful part of this adventure — the looooong trip home — something occurs to me. Perhaps the one who was found throughout this process wasn't you, but me. Perhaps in the stepping out in courage, hope, and faith in God and the other people in our life, I am the one who was found, your daddy, the one you also call papa, or the Chinese, ba ba. That thought alone causes me to remember something else...the lines to one of the most beloved Christian hymns ever, "Amazing Grace":

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me.

I once was lost, but now I'm found, was blind, but now I see.

That pretty much sums up what my heart felt as my hands held your adoption certificate. The grace of God, sweeter than the music your mommy and I sung and danced with you to, is what saved me. This process isn't about our family rescuing you from an orphanage or obscurity, but calling me forward to take the leap of faith because I have been rescued by God. And in the meantime, realize that it was me all along who needed to be open to what God had in store, because He was orchestrating things to bring me to you. And in my blindness, obstinance, and own lack of faith, it was God who was illuminating my path to bring me to this point in time to give you your family, your future, your place. 

So as we poetically pass through immigration services in New York tomorrow — the same location where some of my ancestors came to start their new lives in America near the Statue of Liberty — your mommy and I will walk through that line with you, like strangers to our homeland, to welcome you home. And to your place. Freely, in the love and grace of God with the help and support of all those who helped us get to you. 

Dear Mia, thank you for the role you have played in my life's story. 

Thank you for helping me find out things about myself I never knew. 

Thank you for helping me find me.

And thank you for helping me remember the love that first saved me. 

Love,

Dad

Your Warrior Mommy

Dear Mia,

Bonding is a powerful thing. Seeing the way you have given yourself to two perfect strangers is something to behold. From being told the day before we got you that you now had a mama and a papa, to where we are today is, in my opinion, a miracle. But there are two sides to the whole  bonding thing. We saw the second side last night. 

It had been a stressful day for us. Our alarm was set for 6:30am, but you were up earlier than that. We had to get our breakfast and get to the bus for our trip to the U.S. Consulate by 8:50am, which ordinarily would not have been much of a problem, but adding in a 3-year-old can complicate any of the best laid plans.  We made it, and completed our adoption process with a number of other families in one of the noisiest rooms we have been in together, the grocery store not withstanding. We then had time to rush back to the hotel to change diapers and clothes before going to the Shaiman Island for lunch and sight-seeing. After torrential rains due to the remnants of a typhoon covering mainland China, trying to sleep on my soaking wet shoulder, and our bus being involved in an auto accident, all three of our nerves were frayed. By the time we got back to the hotel, I was done; mommy was also done; but mostly, YOU were done. 

You opened a fresh can of fury on us when we were trying to get you to sleep. Mommy was the first to try and withstand Hurricane Mia. After succumbing to your category 4 wrath, mommy needed a break, so I shuttered my windows and headed toward the eye-wall so mommy could do something as simple as going to the washroom. Bad move. You quickly strengthened to a category 5 and nothing could withstand the wind from your lungs, the rain from your eyes, and the storm surge from your fists and feet. I probably looked like a weather caster trying to maintain my balance and keep my cool under the unforgiving assault. Then mommy emerged from the bathroom. 

When you saw your mommy, you practically leapt into her arms, clutched her as hard as you could, and released the last bit of energy in your storm. The winds blew. The rains flooded. The surge kept coming wave after wave, but your mommy stood strong and sheltered you from the ferocious force of your own fury. And as she held on for dear life throughout the relentless onslaught, she sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." Like a sailor enduring the worst the seven seas could throw, your mommy looked to the sky for the eye of the storm, knowing that as the twinkling of the stars shone through, the storm could not last forever. Your mommy was a warrior for you last night.

All told, it took us about two hours of being battered, but we survived Hurricane Mia. We are all stronger as a result. When mommy and I had a chance to survey the damage, we thought back to the various fronts and forces that created your storm. We did not have a quiet morning, setting the pace for the rest of the day. Mommy and I were stressed, and your storm picked up energy from our angst. You had your nap on my shoulder in the middle of a rain shower, and neither of us could have been comfortable. The entire tour group was anxious during the fender bender. And the thought of shutting your eyes for sleep was about as terrifying a thought as you likely could muster. You are learning to take your rhythmic cues from us. We're bonding, after all. But when mommy left to go to the bathroom, if even for just a moment and a couple feet, the separation of that bond was felt as though you were separated by 12-hours and 8,000 miles.

With all the hugs, giggles, smiles, and "mamas and daddys" we have heard these past 10 days, the tantrum you threw at the very thought of not being able to see us was proof positive you are beginning to trust, need, and love us. It is the evidence of the hard work we have ahead of us as we help you grow to a point of self-actualization. It is also indicative, like the gathering clouds on the horizon, that God's plan is manifesting in our lives...and we still get to add Ethan to the mix!

Those clouds building in the distance are harbingers of more storms we must weather, but I want you to know you have a warrior mommy who is ready to fight the good fight and see us all through the storm. With singing. 

One of my favorite Bible passages is Zephaniah 3.17: "The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in His love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing." 

I love the imagery in that verse. A warrior God, fierce and mighty, standing in the heat of battle, while singing to soothe the storm within. That was your mommy last night. Holding and rocking you in the midst of the relentless fury you unleashed, and singing all the while. As the winds blew while the rain fell, enduring wave after wave of your surges of anger mixed with fear, your warrior mommy kept looking to the light from the sky and singing of the twinkling that we pray will envelop and engulf you so you know you are never alone. 

Regardless of what happened to you when the lights went out in the past, you can learn to rest easy that your warrior mama is able to withstand the storm in ways I'll never be capable, and maintain a song all the while. 

Twinkle, twinkle, little star...do you know how loved you are?

Love,

Dad