Greetings, church family! It has been a while since writing for this venue, and it is nice getting back into the proverbial saddle. The past two months have been amazing, though admittedly some of the most challenging of my life. I confess in advance that this article is a bit long, but I want to share with you where we have been and what's next for our now family of four, so please read on!
Exactly two months ago today, Tiffany and I were completing our travel from Atlanta to Wuhan, China. We were well trained and educated about what to expect, but had no idea what was ahead for us — it's just like a friend of mine said, "It's the difference in knowing getting hit by a truck hurts and actually getting hit by a truck!" After a few days of getting acclimated, we were off to meet Mia. That was a mind-bending experience to be sure. It started out as all fun and games, but Tiffany and I quickly got front row seats to the visceral reality of the life-altering grief associated with adoption.
Mia's adjustment to her new country and family was extremely difficult. Everything that was familiar to her — her caregivers, friends, toys, bed, food, clothes, surroundings, and even the language she heard — changed in an instant. This brought out years of latent abandonment, uncertainty, fear, anger, and grief. Even though we had some very good times together in those early days, our new little girl's life was flipped upside-down, and that's saying nothing about two-weeks of the debilitating effects of jet lag, infinitely worse that anything we could imagine.
Battle is a pretty good term to describe what the next month or so would entail, because virtually everything was a fight...especially sleeping. Though there was progress along the way, the first four or five weeks home were full of sleep deprivation, temper tantrums, and trying to find ways to survive, let alone get along. There were some long days, dark nights, and all kinds of emotions felt by all of us. Tiffany and I clung to every glimmer of hope and glimpse of the little girl we believed was buried underneath the layers and layers of loss from which Mia was trying to emerge. But we knew something else was wrong. As hard as she was fighting, that's how hard Tiffany and I were digging to let her know we chose to enter into this muck to show her the faith, hope, and love to which we dedicated our lives. And then one horrifying weekend changed everything.
Mia was sick with strep throat and battling an infection from what we believed to be a spider bite on her leg. All the progress we made leading up to that point seemed to be lost. Forcing medication in her dashed most of the trust she developed in us. She no longer ate or drank what we gave her, she did not want to be held, she no longer felt safe enough to rest or sleep, and she even refused to walk. All she was willing to do was sit in the middle of the floor, scream, shake her fists, and if we got close enough, hit, kick, and thrash at us. It was terrifying, demoralizing, and all of us seemed lost.
The combination of the infections, sleep deprivation, and trauma soon proved to be too much for little Mia's fragile brain, and one morning, she awoke with a terrible seizure that lasted upwards of 45 minutes. It was so severe, she required multiple doses of ativan to break the seizure. The ER physician told me she had enough medication to knock me out as an adult, and he was afraid her condition was life-threatening. Mia and Tiffany were rushed by ambulance to Scottish Rite where a neurosurgeon was waiting to evaluate Mia and see what could be done. She was given another healthy dose of medication to prevent another massive seizure, but the combination of these high-powered drugs disrupted her so greatly, that she only slept a cumulative fifteen minutes over the next thirty hours! During that time, however, numerous technicians, nurses, pediatricians, neurologists, and neurosurgeons were able to observe the behaviors we had attempted to explain, and concurred that something was amiss. After numerous tests and scans, the neurologists and surgeons found that even though Mia's brain was normal physiologically, there was an abnormality that caused her ailments, ultimately resulting in the seizures. As awful as that situation was, and in light of the difficulties of the previous six-weeks or so, we had a medical diagnosis, a treatment protocol, and best of all: HOPE!!!
When we got home, we experienced the identifiable turning point in our new life together. As soon as we walked in the door, Mia dropped to the floor as though she wanted to kiss the ground. She then ran into our family room to make sure her toys were still there. Next, she ran and jumped in her bed, letting out a sigh of relief. And then she went into the kitchen where again she just melted onto the floor. She was home. She was at peace. Later that evening, as we put Mia to bed, she looked up at Tiffany and said, "Mama," and then looked to me and said, "Daddy." We were terrified that the hospitalization would have ruined any remaining trust she had with us, but it did exactly the opposite! All along we were telling her that in spite of whatever happened to her before, she was not alone and mommy and daddy would be right by her side the whole time. We were. She knew it and believed us. We were home. All four of us. Finally.
The week after the hospitalization was still pretty rough, but we began to see more than just glimpses of the little girl Mia was striving to become. As the medications built up in her system, her sleep improved. The weeks of only getting two to five hours of sleep a day turned into ten to twelve. The temper tantrums that all but dominated our home ended abruptly. A rich personality and sense of humor broke through the great wall from China, formed by the grief and anger from leaving everything she had ever known. The punches and kicks were replaced with hand-holding and hugs. And the incessant screaming was replaced with honorable attempts at singing songs, namely "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" and "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star," though she is also working to perfect her toddler's gibberish versions of "Frere Jacques" and "Mary Had a Little Lamb." And this just happened in the last ten days. That's it...TEN DAYS...but we're not out of the woods just yet.
We learned last week that Mia is still battling some kind of a systemic infection. She is on her second round of high-powered antibiotics since coming home, and we pray this will help Mia find a sense of good health that we have never known for her. The doctor did prepare us, however, that if the antibiotics are not successful, surgery is possible, if not likely.
Even though we are not quite out of the woods, I am feeling antsy to get back to the good work of making disciples of Jesus Christ for the transformation of the world here, there, and everywhere. We still have a tremendous amount on our plates, and at least four more trips to the hospitals and doctors in the next week alone, but as Tiffany and I said the other day while enjoying a family meal, it is time to begin breaking out of the cocoon. Our little girl wants to get out of the house more and more, experience the joy of her new hometown, and meet new people. Tiffany and I miss our friends and family, and want to kickstart the routine of our new normal.
So this week we are venturing out from home a little bit more. I look forward to being in worship for the first time in weeks on Sunday, beginning the part-time portion of my family leave; though it will be another week before I'm back in the pulpit. We are also eager to begin sharing all of the things we have seen, learned, experienced, and the life-changing developments that are still happening in our family. But I'll warn you...this profound crash course in mercy, grace, and transforming love has changed us in some radical ways. And as we begin to see this new world through our little girl's eyes, there is a profound sense of hope and urgency we feel for spreading the Good News of Jesus, and how in Christ, God gives us all the spirit of adoption so we can know what it means to be part of God's forever family.
Even though we are breaking out to resume more of a normal life, we still have a major need for prayer. Please keep Mia, Ethan, Tiffany, and me in your thoughts and prayers as we navigate a demanding schedule of doctor appointments and hospital visits. And please, join us in prayer that the antibiotics will prove effective so Mia can avoid surgery.
There is no doubt this has been a community-wide journey. I still cannot thank you enough for all the help you provided to make it possible — from financial gifts, buying t-shirts and crafts, the baby showers, gifts, Wednesday Night Suppers, participating in the RACE for the Orphans, as well as the untold numbers of prayers, well wishes, cards, Facebook posts, and meals to help us focus on the hard work at home, you have been with us every step of the way. And I am especially grateful for the leave time, and the sacrifices by so many — Pastor Wayne in particular — that enabled me to be totally present at home for Mia and the rest of the family. A 'thank you' seems so inadequate, but as Psalm 100 teaches, it is the password into God's presence.
So as I say thank you and prepare for the next phase of this journey by slowly getting back into the swing of things at the church, know how humbly grateful our entire family is. I am eager for you all to meet the beautiful, sweet, and silly little girl now known as Mia Noelle. From a foundling existing in an orphanage, to a precious gift thriving in her new home with love and proper medical care, this little child is already changing the world. You helped make that happen, and for that, Tiffany and I are eternally grateful.
Love,
Pastor Mark
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