Olivia, Part 1

*Written in April 2017....Olivia has been with us for two years  currently. This post was written last year.* 

Once upon a time, my daughter needed me. 

Correction. My DAUGHTERS. 

In February, 2014, I flew to Ethiopia for Natalie. She was having a rough time waiting for us, and I wanted to show her that she was LOVED. No one could communicate with her; reassure her that wee were coming. So I went. Physical proof that we cared. Enough to pay thousands of dollars and fly halfway across the world. 

I remember that day. I was tired from travel, sick, dirty, and exploding with the anticipation of meeting my daughter. I stepped out of the van, and a horde of children immediately surrounded me, latching onto my arms, chattering away in Amharic. One big girl caught my eye; she shyly glanced at me from the outskirts of the group, gently smiling and casting her eyes downward. 

I was shuffled to the front of the building where I met Natalie. I have a post about that day, that moment. Go back and read it. But know, that as with almost everything I post, there is so much more to the story that I cannot share. 

Today I am sharing another small piece. 

That first day, while Natalie clung to me and we began bonding, the sweet girl from outside the van followed me everywhere. She held my arm, and kept whispering, "Mom. Mom," and something about her face and manner stopped me in my tracks. I don't know what it was. All the kids were clinging to me and calling me mom. But something about her was different. I was drawn to her, wanted to know more about her. I fell in love with her. On the spot. Best of all, she and Natalie were friends, and even had a little communication system going on. 

I emailed Abe that night. "Babe, there is another teenage girl here that we HAVE to adopt. I LOVE her! Please, we have to!"

Because Ethiopia is eight hours ahead of the U.S., he was asleep when I sent the email and then left for my second day at the orphanage. Once there, I immediately inquired about the shy, beautiful girl, who held my hand and followed me everywhere. I was told that she was not available and would be going to America soon. 

Once, as she was staring at the pictures in my phone, clicking through each one, she came across a picture of Micah. Her face lit up, and she excitedly started saying his Amharic name, followed by a stream of sentences I could not understand. I managed to figure out that she had been in the orphanage with Micah for several years before moving into the location Natalie was at. I told her in Amharic, "Micah is my son." and she grinned at me.

As the week progressed, so did my love for this girl. She spent every moment with me, calling me "Mom" every chance she got. I finally had to push her away because poor Natalie was jealous of all the attention the girl was giving me. 

The day I left Ethiopia, the girl cried. I cried too. For both her and Natalie. When I returned a month later for Natalie's court date, the girl was by my side. I left. We cried. On embassy, the last day, when Levi, Z, and I got in the van for the last time, the girl was sobbing. She had made me a beautiful bracelet that I knew must have taken hours, and as she stood outside the van in an ocean of tears, I felt my own eyes welling up again. Inexplicably, my heart was being torn to shreds. I ripped off the ring I was wearing and gave it to her. "I LOVE you," I whispered, and hugged her hard. The last thing I remember was her tear-stained face, heartbroken and alone, as the gate swung shut and locked. And something inside me died. 

Fast forward a year and a half. I had followed the girl's journey. I won't go into detail, but I watched from afar, always checking in. I loved her from a distance, prayed for her, hoped she was okay. 

Last year, after a series of events that will never be told (things lined up only by God), I received a call, asking me if I wanted to be her mother. 

I never even hesitated. (So much that I said yes without even calling Abe.) There were so many factors, so many reasons to say no. It would put Micah at risk. Our agency would drop us. We didn't know her. She'd been in America a year and a half. She had a lot of issues. But it was never a choice. Never an option. She had always been my daughter. Subconsciously, I had always known it. I had always loved and wanted her. She belonged with me. And so she came to be with us. 

The girl who came to me was not the same child I had known. Life had not been kind, and her walls were a fortress of bricks and stone. These kind of walls cannot be torn down. They cannot be scaled. The only way through them is to come, every day, offering love, giving love, proving love. 

We went through hell the past year. HELL. Adoption is born of brokenness. And my girl was shattered. 

So we loved her. We loved and we gave and Jesus pulled us through. No walls are too great for Him. His love always wins.  

And slowly, ever so slowly, the drawbridge to her heart reopened. Minuscule inch by minuscule inch, the girl returned to me. And I fought for her. Fought for her love, her heart, her trust, her life. 

Now she sits next to me, watching me write this. She smacks on her gum and leans over my shoulder, reading my words. I look into her beautiful face, and my heart bursts with love for her. This girl was always meant to be mine, and I will always love her with everything I am. 

Olivia Rose, you are loved more than you can ever know.