Before Easter

I did not know what to expect. I just knew this was something I was supposed to do. There isn’t a manual for parenting, so there certainly isn’t one for taking your adopted child back to his homeland to visit biological family.  It is a mix of exciting and terrifying.  And now that I’m back home, it’s a mix of anger, guilt, sadness, and joy.  I’m taught as a therapist that these polarized feelings are normal.  I “know” it.  And experiencing this paradox is a whole other ballgame.  Sidenote – as a therapist, I’m also a person. I don’t counsel people because I have all the answers or have it all together. I counsel people because I get it.  I have compassion and some useful tools to share. I suffer too.  And I am resilient too.  We’re all doing this hard shit together.

I am still processing this trip.  I am still processing being a parent.  I’ve learned not to write about things (in public) I’m still processing.  And even if I wasn’t still in the beautiful chaos of it all, there are so many moments from this journey that are far too precious to share. Some moments are too holy for the whole world to see – they are meant just for my little tribe. But some moments are meant to be shared. Sometimes there is no other way to be in the suffering but to let it roll off my fingers onto this keyboard and into some form of viewing existence. Because then it’s real and not all funnel clouded up in my heart causing destruction.  And every time I write I desire to connect with myself and others.

So what I know for sure about this trip and am ready to write about is the obvious connection to this part of my life and the season of Easter.  When I was little I always had the cutest new Easter dress, bonnet, and basket.  I hunted eggs, ate Peeps, and took pictures with the Easter bunny.  I heard the story of Jesus’ resurrection and felt all the good feels.  I also heard the story of how Jesus was crucified, but as a child, not much time was spent thinking about that.  Jesus flying up in the air and watching those Cadbury commercials were way more fun.  But as an adult, I contemplate the crucifixion much more.  What was the purpose of that? It came BEFORE the rising, BEFORE the joy, BEFORE all the good feels.  Most importantly, we had to have a Savior that knew what it felt like to suffer, so He could really get that with us.  I’m not a Biblical scholar, but I haven’t seen anywhere in the Bible where we were promised to not suffer. But each time we were promised we would not be alone in the suffering – that Christ would always be near.  He can be near, because He gets it.  When I’m in my parenting shame shack, I immediately text 2-3 safe people who I know have been there and will affirm they get it (I literally just did that seconds before writing this).  I do this because I don’t want to be alone.  None of us want to be alone.  And even if we don’t have a person with skin nearby, Jesus is always available. Sometimes I imagine myself right next to Him in the garden the night before He was crucified. We sit and cry together, asking God why, admitting our fear, and surrendering to the pain.  It doesn’t feel “better,” but I’m not alone, and that does feel better. And I remember His story turned out pretty rad.  So maybe mine could too.

So, back to the Haiti trip, one day we were stuck in a van for 6.5 hours in traffic. This is not Nashville traffic.  Let me paint a picture for you.  No traffic signals or signs.  Cars, motorcylces, trucks, goats, cows, disease infested dogs, pedestrians just moving forward slowly (or not at all) and hoping to be getting somewhere.  Piles of trash line the streets with people and animals digging through it with hopes of sustenance.  Windows down and deep breaths don’t bring relief – they bring toxic polluted air into your lungs and dirt into your nostrils and earlobes (think crusty black boogers and charcoal qtips later).  Men walk by your barely moving vehicle hoping to sell you water or plantains, because you’re so effing hungry and thirsty from being stuck in there.  You contemplate going number one in your water bottle, but you need your water.  You might go number two in your pants from whatever you have eaten there.  You want to scream when you find out you’ve been going one direction for 2 hours only to find out a bridge is out, so you have to turn around and find another way.  No radio warned you of this – just a guy who is now driving the other direction after someone told him.  No system. No structure.  Just chaos, trash, and delirium.

I looked over at Todd, and we shared our WTF glances.  We squeezed each other’s hands and knees.  We couldn’t cuddle because it was too hot.  But we were stuck in that van together – doing what we thought we should be doing as parents.  We started talking about how it felt like a waste of time – that we intended for our son to have this beautiful and meaningful time with this bio family in their village, yet here we are in this stupid van in traffic. Why?? We both hate wasted time.  We were able to talk about that (we had 6.5 hours to talk about a lot of things).  And then I said, “hey, remember that time in NYC when we were so sick and we had to stay in the hotel in bed all day? What a waste! But then we crawled out of bed after our last diarrhea and got on the subway to take a picture of the Christmas tree in Rockafeller Plaza before going back to bed.  Maybe we’ll at least get a Christmas tree moment today.” We hung onto that – and each other’s sweaty hand.

And by 4:30pm that day we made it to our destination. I walked behind and watched my son hike up a mountain to his parents’ hillside tent and be greeted by numerous brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews. It was our Christmas tree.  We were welcomed with smiles, hugs, and a feast of goat and plantains they had lovingly prepared for us.  As I said, there were too many precious and painful moments to be shared publicly, but this moment is universal for all of us.  Whatever your suffering is, whatever you are waiting on, whatever you think is a waste of time, whatever is painful, whatever is not making sense on this point of your journey – You are not ever alone, and eventually you get little Christmas tree moments.  Reach for Jesus.  Reach for your safe people.  Trust the process of suffering to grow you, heal you, and bring you ever closer to yourself, others, and Jesus.  Suffering invites connection.  Lean into it.  There is always the hope of a resurrection coming.