December 2022

Dear Friends and Family,

We hope this Christmas season, you and your family are well. As 2022 comes to a close, faithful is a word remaining prominent in our thoughts. God has been faithful in providing his peace through the ups and downs of another year of young family life. Our days, weeks, and months are filled with making mistakes, saying sorry, learning within and without textbooks, growing physically, mentally, and spiritually, and trying again when we don’t get it right the first time. What a blessing to know God is faithful every day and in all seasons of life. 

Brandon continues to balance work, home, and farm as each ebb and flow at different times. His legal work is going well as he expands his practice into Georgia. On the home front, Brandon aids in homeschool, mostly with history lessons, family devotions, and science projects. On the farm, we doubled the size of our goat herd this year by adding many more registered doelings some born on our farm and retained while others we purchased from breeders. We also added a polled and blue-eyed registered junior buckling named Leviticus. We are excited to see what offspring he will give us in the upcoming years.  

Amy’s days are filled with homeschool, housework, and whatever else is thrown in the mix with four kids. Some days are long and hard, but she feels blessed beyond measure as our children are thriving, growing, and learning. One of the greatest blessings of homeschool is the unrushed casual conversations. It’s not unusual to hear Brandon as he’s cooking breakfast explaining how stocks, interest, and investments work or to catch him reading to the kids from Proverbs. The discussions on how to choose wise friends, why it’s important to work hard, and what it means to turn from foolishness are invaluable. And as our school days unfold with different struggles and successes, Amy finds herself talking a lot with the kids about how God created each of them differently for a reason and how He has a purpose for their life and plans for their future. 

Everett, age nine, is now almost as tall as his mama and is very happy about his new privilege of occasionally sitting in the front seat of our vehicles. He still loves reading and sports. He can talk forever about which professional baseball player is being traded and which basketball teams have the better record. His favorite teams right now are the Atlanta Braves, Charlotte Hornets, and Duke Blue Devils. He and Emmett currently play on a basketball team with many of their friends. They recently won their second game, and the whole team was so excited! Everett is performing in a Christmas play at his homeschool co-op next week and has a lead role as Michael the Archangel. Not only are we excited for this program, but many of his aunts, uncles, grandparents, and cousins are planning to come and cheer him on as well. He has been disciplined in practicing his lines, working on his acting, and, most importantly, mastering his bow. The evening is sure to be spectacular. Everett is the most passionate and excitable member of our family, and we love him!

Emmett, age nine, keeps busy with riding his bike and helping on the farm. This year we found out Emmett has dyslexia and is a very strong picture thinker as the Davis Method calls it. After some evaluation and training, we are doing the Davis Program at home with him. So far it’s going well and is a much better fit than what we were doing. While school can sometimes be tricky for picture thinkers, Emmett is blessed with so many hands-on talents and skills because of the way he thinks. Today he spent all afternoon chopping wood, and this evening, he came inside and drew up plans to build a covered shelter to keep his wood dry. But even more than chopping wood or sitting beside his almost daily campfire, his most favorite thing to do is give John Deere Gator rides to friends and family. He not only can dodge every pothole in the driveway, but also can back the Gator into our garage. He tells us he can do it with his eyes closed, but we aren’t brave enough to let him try. We certainly are blessed to have Emmett in our family. 

Allen is 6 years old and continues to bring such joy to our family. Whether it’s cooking something in the kitchen, doing a history lesson, or just going for a stroll, there is no one sweeter or more pleasant as a sidekick than Allen. He just began playing on his first basketball team with Brandon as coach and is enjoying learning a new sport. His team won their first game, and they were thrilled. Allen loves school and does most of his studies with Ms. Wendy. Ms. Wendy has been with us over a year now and comes to our house and helps with school days several times a week. She’s such a blessing to our whole family. You never know what Allen and Ms. Wendy might be up to, whether it’s eating animal crackers and graphing how many of each animal they got, having a bubble gum blowing contest, playing the floor is lava, or having a dance party. It’s all these witty and fun ideas that keep him on task with schoolwork, and he enjoys all his mornings with Ms. Wendy. Anyone who knows Allen also knows what a gift giver he is. On Thanksgiving, he took a bag of gemstones and coins to hand out to his cousins. His piano teacher always lets him choose a piece of candy after his lesson, and Allen usually gives her a piece of candy in return. We love his generous spirit and loving nature and thank God for putting him in our family. 

And last but certainly not least is our Mila girl. What a spirited and spunky, perfectly delightful little girl who is just as bossy as she is sweet. Mila is now three years old and communicates with a combination of words, gestures, and signs. She receives speech services through a private company and through the school system. She attends a preschool three mornings a week and loves her class. Mila is a girl with places to go and things to do. She just can’t sit still. This makes her an awful cuddle buddy as she twists and wiggles incessantly, but on the flipside, it makes her a wonderful dance partner. Mila has awesome dance moves, and her favorite dance is the macarena. She gets everyone to do the macarena, even the cardiologist and the echocardiographer at her last visit. It’s funny to watch people try to remember the moves as Mila brings back this once famous 90’s song. We are looking forward to celebrating the Colombian holiday Dia de las Velitas (Day of the Little Candles) which celebrates the beginning of the Christmas season. On December 7^th all over Colombia during the evening and night hours, people light candles and paper lanterns along walkways and porches. We plan to do the same. Holidays are even more special as we add Colombian traditions to our own American ones. We’ve had Mila in our family for a year and a half now. We can’t imagine life without her, and while we know in our heads she hasn’t always been in our family, in our hearts she’s just one of us. We thank God for the blessing of Mila. 

We began this letter talking of God’s promise of faithfulness. Sometimes it may be difficult to believe that promise. One thing we have been meditating on this year has been the Israelites’ time in the wilderness. There have been many times this year when we too have felt as if our family has been wandering. Yet, instead of thousands of Israelites, we have two whiny adults and four whiny children. We first looked at this season with discontent as if it was pointless. But as the months passed, God began to change our perspective. He has begun to teach us that we’re in a season of preparation, not aimless wandering. It’s a time for us to learn to deal with the frustrations of everyday life. It’s a time where God is teaching us not to whine and question His goodness and plan. And it’s a time to abide and remain obedient – ready to act when He calls us to our next step of faith. It was in the wilderness that Moses built the Ark of the Covenant. In Exodus 25:16, God told Moses, “And you shall put into the ark the testimony that I shall give you.” God was working in the wilderness. He was preparing them for a future testimony He would give them. We cling to this same hope. 

Whether this Christmas is joyous for you or is one marked by sadness, we pray you rest in knowing God is faithful and desires to walk with you through every season. May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. – Romans 15:13

Merry Christmas! With Love, The Leebrick Family – Brandon, Amy, Emmett, Everett, Allen, and Mila

This is it! If you read any of my stories, make it this one, for it tells of a modern day miracle that our family experienced firsthand as God brought us home from Colombia.

It’s long so it’s broken up into two sections in case you don’t have time to read it in one sitting.

Adventures – Post # 5 – God at the Airport
Part 1

He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress: My God; in him will I trust. Psalm 91:1‭-‬2

My heart is full as I write this story telling how God brought our family home from Colombia.

Throughout this whole adoption process, we’ve had to hand over the logistics to God. Anyone who knows Brandon and me understands that we like order, schedules, and plans that make sense. No matter how we looked at it, no matter how long we’ve been parents, no matter how much planning we put into it, the bottom line is that there was no way to get two adults, four children, eight pieces of luggage, six backpacks, a stroller, and a case of important documents from Bogotá back to the US in an organized way. Add in the fact that we realized we’d have to manage checked luggage in Bogotá and in Miami, go through security in Bogotá and in Miami, go through immigration and customs with an added adoption process in Miami, it seemed overwhelming. We hadn’t known all the steps when we booked the flight that only had an hour and a half layover in Miami. We realized too late that an hour and a half would not be enough time. We were overwhelmed and didn’t sleep much the night before. Brandon said, “You know that scene from Home Alone where everyone is running like maniacs through the airport? That’s going to be us.” I laughed as though he was kidding but somehow I knew he probably wasn’t.

On the morning we left, God kept putting, “The joy of the Lord is our strength” on my mind. I kept thinking how it seems like it should be reversed. Like, the strength of the Lord brings joy. But no, God let it sink in that morning that it’s the JOY of the Lord that gives us strength.

Also, God brought to my mind how a few days prior Brandon had suddenly received hundreds of spam emails in his outlook account. When a “spam bomb” happens, someone is usually hacking into an account and those hundreds of spam emails are sent to distract from what’s really going on. After some searching, sure enough, we found a legitimate email from a Walmart online purchase for over $700 and it was buried in the copious amount of emails. We got the hacked Walmart order canceled and reset the password. But on the morning we were leaving, God brought to mind that all these stressors of where our van was parked, our not long enough layover, and all the logistics were being used as a distraction from what He was actually doing. We should have JOY in that God has been faithful, and JOY in that we were bringing Mila home! And that JOY would bring us strength. We prayed that morning praising God that he goes before and behind us and asked Him to protect and help us.

We left our hotel that morning at 10:30am and arrived at the Bogotá airport around 11am. After about 2 or 3 hours of waiting in line, we got to our boarding area, ate some squished pb&j sandwiches that we had made that morning, and used the restroom. As soon as Mila and I returned from the bathroom, Brandon said, “I think the flight staff called your name.” I went to talk to the American Airlines staff and in mixed Spanish and English, I learned a few things. I had been randomly chosen for a special security check, I needed to get my passport, boarding pass, and carryon, and I needed to follow a certain lady. I was carrying Mila in the ergo baby carrier looking back over at Brandon with the three boys, five backpacks, two carryon luggage pieces and a stroller. The flight staff said, “They can go ahead and board right now too.” I motioned to Brandon and followed the lady.

While I stood in line waiting my turn to be “special” security checked, I watched Brandon step up to the regular security tables and watched as our bags were searched. It didn’t take long, and I motioned and told Brandon to go ahead and board with the boys. As he was passing by, he said, “She told me they upgraded our tickets. We are now in premium seats?” He shrugged his shoulders, and I told him I would find them.

I was called to go behind the partition by a man who only spoke Spanish. As instructed, I set my bag on the table and unzipped it. The first thing I saw was a big bag of meds, some prescription, some not, many of them Brandon’s. “Oh great,” I thought. This is going to be painful. But as I pulled the bag of meds out, he motioned that it wasn’t necessary and said I could put it back in. He then took a small white wipe and began wiping my bag, my hands, and the straps on the ergo carrier. He kept sticking the wipe into his computer. Then he told me to sit and take off my shoes. I didn’t understand his Spanish. “Sit down. Take off shoes,” he said as he pointed to a metal barstool. Oh, so the guy did know a little English. I did as he asked, and he bent and twisted my shoes until he was satisfied that I wasn’t carrying a bomb or drugs I suppose. He handed me my passport, smiled and told me something in Spanish that probably meant have a nice flight.

It wasn’t hard to find Brandon as their premium seats were in the first cabin. When it was confirmed that Mila had a window seat right beside Emmett, that’s where she and I sat. Brandon was in the second row behind us with Allen at a window and Everett had a whole premium middle row to himself. You can imagine how nice of a flight it was. Mila was so excited as she looked out the window and pointed. We taxied on the ground for a while and by the time we were taking off, that smiley little girl was laid out across my lap sleeping. She slept most of the flight while Emmett sat beside me enjoying a complimentary Coca-cola with his tray table out and headphones in watching a Disney movie.

Mila was awake by the time we landed in Miami. She officially became a US citizen as soon as the wheels touched down in the US. We celebrated with a few quiet whoops and hollars over the sound of the plane landing.

We had made good time and hoped to get off the plane early. However, there was another plane unloading at our station and it ended up being about 20 more minutes until we were finally able to pull up and get off. “Emmett you get that bag, I have Mila’s and mine.” I saw Brandon getting the overhead luggage. We were some of the first few people off the plane. And we were ready to do all we could to make our next flight in an hour and a half. The problem was, everyone else was in a rush too.

I’m not even sure how to begin describing the next two hours of our journey. But I’ll start by saying that the flight scene from Home Alone looked calm compared to our time at the Miami airport. Plus, how long was that frantic running scene in the movie? Maybe 30 seconds? Our crazy airport scenario lasted over two hours in our case. Yes, I said two hours, and I know we were only supposed to have an hour and a half in Miami.

Adventures – Post # 5 – God at the Airport
Part 2

As soon as we got off the plane in Miami, we took all four children, a stroller, two carryons, and six backpacks and hurried around the corner to find choices: an up escalator or an elevator. We were already in a crowd, and we didn’t have time to wait on the elevator.

We have one boy child in particular who doesn’t handle escalators well. I won’t say which boy, but it isn’t my youngest and it isn’t his twin named Emmett. He usually is scared and stalls blocking other people. Or he does get on but stretches his legs way far out like Buddy if you’ve ever seen the escalator scene in Elf. Or he falls and sits on his bottom until he reaches the top. But all this didn’t matter since waiting for every elevator at the airport wasn’t an option. We went for the first escaltor. He stalled a bit and a few people were interrupted mid-stride, but overall, it wasn’t bad. We continued dashing with the crowded mass, holding hands, wheeling luggage, and counting children. We took a few of the moveable walkways and kept pace with the crowd. We ended at a skytram entrance and waited only a couple minutes until the next tram appeared. As the doors opened, Brandon said, “You get on and I’ll stay back and make sure all the kids make it.” I heard the announcement “Doors Closing” just as I went forward in the crowd. We squished and shuffled and somehow got all the kids and luggage on as the doors closed. The tram slung us as we grabbed handles and each other to steady and in less than a minute we were stopped and the doors were back open. People flooded out in a running speed and we ran with them. Down an escaltor, Brandon had gotten ahead of us, and I motioned to tell him to keep going. I’d keep up with the kids. We rounded the corner to two people ushering us. One was a lady speaking Spanish telling non-US citizens to go one way and the other was a man shouting, “US Citizens, right this way.” I won’t lie when I say I felt relieved to be back with people who speak English. I love Spanish but handling business in Spanish is stressful. From here on out, the paperwork and business aspects would be easier. Brandon had been ahead of us and stepped up to the man and said, “Cinco US citizens y una adopción.” The man looked at him funny. Brandon realized he was still trying to speak Spanish and switched, “We have five US citizens and one adoption.” I breathed a sigh of relief as we followed the direction of the man’s hands who was directing citizens.

We stood in line, catching our breath and watching time tick on our watches. When it was our turn, we showed passports and adoption papers. They took pictures of us that I really hope never surface for we were all sweaty and disheveled from our mad dash. The man handed our passports back, and I said, “Gracias.” I mean… Umm.. Nevermind. Three weeks in Colombia had our brains on automatic Spanish.

A lady officer took us back with the adoption paperwork. Brandon mentioned that we were trying to catch a 9pm flight and asked if it was even feasible. She said that she thought we could make it. However, moments later she walked back and said, “Just so you know, there are two adoptions in front of you.” We sat and stood in a crowded immigration room with a soccer game playing on television and a lot of immigrants all waiting for their names to be called. Time ticked by. We went to the vending machine and bought waters, Gatorade, and peanut butter crackers for supper. Time ticked by. It was 8:30. We began realizing there was no way we’d make our flight. Thoughts of hotels in Miami, policies on switching flights, our van in Raleigh, all the logistics started flooding our minds. But then, “Milagros Leebrick” was called.

The man stamped her visa page in her passport, told us that it serves as proof of citizenship until she receives her next paperwork, and directed us to our next stop. Checked luggage. Yep, as if 2 carry on luggage pieces, 6 backpacks, a stroller, and four children wasn’t enough, we headed to baggage claim to get our five huge checked luggage pieces to re-check to Raleigh.

It was 8:45. We wondered if we should even try. But we scurried until we found rows of conveyors spiraling as far as we could see. We stopped at information who told us to check #7. We rushed and got there just as they were loading up our luggage to put away since it hadn’t been claimed. Somehow, I still don’t know how, we skirted along with all the luggage, kids, stroller, and backpacks. I myself had a backpack and an ergo still strapped to me, was pushing the stroller with Mila in it, and trying to quickly steer two huge rolling check bags. We rushed. 8:55. Brandon stopped to ask a lady which direction to go and darted off in the direction she pointed. I told Allen, “Hurry” as we started off and the lady said, “There’s no need.” I turned back trying to process what she meant, and then asked, “You mean there’s no need to hurry because we will never make our flight.” She nodded, not in meanness, but just in honesty. I turned to tell Brandon that it was over. That we could slow down. That we wouldn’t make it. But he was already gone up ahead and had turned the corner. I hurried along with Mila and Allen to catch up. My purpose was to tell Brandon to slow down. But God had different plans.

An American Airlines lady rounded the corner going in the opposite direction. “Where are you going?” She asked hurriedly. I told her that I was following my husband who was up ahead and that we were late for a flight. Before I could finish speaking, she said, “Hurry!” She grabbed the two checked bags and rolled them for me, and we ran together to catch up to Brandon. When we reached the American Airlines desk with our check bags, the lady said, “Leave them! We have them! Run!” And the lady grabbed our boys backpacks and took off to show us where to go. We ran following her. I was pushing Mila and hollering back to my tired kids. “Everett, Run! You have to keep going!” When we reached the next line, the lady handed our kids’ backpacks back to us and told us, “Have a nice flight.” I don’t know if it’s normal for Airline employees to carry luggage and run across the airport with families, but she was amazing. I knew God had sent her.

The line we were in was security. Again. Belts off. Shoes off. Suspenders off. Neck pouches off. Wallets out. Laptops and electronics out. Out of the stroller. Juice spilled. Bag being checked. Lady Officer wrapping spilled juice and baby food packs. Belts on. Shoes on. Suspenders, oh just cram them in a bag. Baby food bag handed back. “Here Allen, this is very important. Hold Daddy’s wallet!” Those words were actually spoken as we tried to put ourselves back together. Chaos. Back in the stroller. Running again.

At that point, I counted children. I didn’t care if we lost a piece of luggage, but did we have the children? Yes. All four. Still running. Brandon hollered back at me, “My pouch! Do you have the passports?” I looked down to see I was holding them in my hand. “I have them!” I hollered back. We rounded the corner to E7 our gate at 9:15. Late. But was it too late? We had tried so hard.

No one. No one at the desk and the doors were closed. “The lady was right,” I thought. We missed it.

All the logistics entered my head again. Hotels. Flights. Van. What would we do? But Brandon cut through my thoughts and pointed, “The plane is still here.” I looked out to see the plane we were supposed to be on still attached. So close, but we didn’t make it.

Brandon looked around for someone and at the next desk over was told if no one was at the desk and the doors were shut, then the flight had closed. “It’s over,” we thought again. So we stood and waited for someone to come tell us our options since we had missed this flight.

Then a man wandered up behind us in line. “Did you miss this flight too?” we asked. “Yeah, I fell asleep and have been waiting right there since 7pm.” He stood and waited with us. Long minutes passed. We felt tired and defeated. But God had plans.

From around the corner and behind us, a man and pregnant woman came running up along with two Miami-Dade police officers. The couple got in line behind us catching their breath as the police officers went through the doors onto the airplane. Brandon turned to the couple, and asked “Are you supposed to be on this flight?” They nodded and said they had a long crazy story. They told us the police officers were trying to get them on the plane.

The Miami police came back out and joked that they had strong armed the flight staff and they were going to let us on. “They’re getting you guys on the plane,” he said with a swoop of his arm. Only he was looking at the whole group of us standing there. All of us.

We were dumbfounded. Astonished. Right before our eyes, the empty desk was lit up with a flurry of keyboard typing as American Airline flight staff returned to the closed station. We were the first in line and they asked for our tickets. As Brandon handed over the tickets in disbelief, he turned back to the couple who had come with the police officers, “I don’t know your story, but you guys are angels tonight.”

The staff was very friendly, not even acting the slightest upset or inconvenienced. More astonishment. They scanned our tickets, and I looked at the closed doors. Not wanting to set off any alarms, I asked if they would open the doors for us. “Just step on the mat,” the man said, “The doors will open.” Allen stepped on the mat and nothing happened. “Oh, I closed the flight,” the man said. And he mumbled, “You didn’t hear that,” as he swiped his card and punched in a code for the doors to open.

As we walked onto that plane, I was in shock. It was past 9:30pm. How was this happening? The airline staff had told us, “There’s room but you don’t have your assigned seats anymore. Just sit wherever you can and try not to leave the kids by themselves. Put your luggage wherever.”

I dreaded facing the fellow passengers as I was certain they’d be irritated with the late people filing onto the plane. We walked right into three rows that were empty. They actually had been our assigned seats. We stuffed backpacks and luggage and got situated. A pleasant lady sitting next to us was not irritated at all. She sweetly talked with the boys who offered all kinds of information about our adoption journey and why we were on this plane. I pulled out Mila’s baby food pouches to find them all wrapped in paper towels and the juice dried up by the security lady. As Mila ate the food, I was grateful the lady had cleaned up the mess. Grateful for the American Airlines employee who had grabbed our bags and run across the airport with us when we were about to give up. Grateful for the police officers. Grateful for the pleasant lady sitting beside us. As we were sitting on a flight we should have never made… JOY! It was JOY we felt and as late as it was and as tired as we were, we had the JOY of the Lord and it gave us strength!

We took off and the lights were dimmed on our way to Raleigh. Allen fell asleep and the kind lady held his head as we were landing so he wouldn’t get hurt. As my phone began getting signal around Raleigh, it lit up with messages of friends saying, “I’m praying for you!”

We sat still as everyone filed off the plane once the plane had docked in Raleigh. We thanked the kind lady and told her goodbye. We would just wait to be the last ones off since we had sleeping kids who would be slow and cranky most likely.

As the couple who had brought the police officers walked by our seats, the man stooped beside Brandon and said, “God intended our paths to cross this evening.” Brandon replied, “I’d love to hear your crazy story if you have a couple minutes.” The man’s wife up ahead started trying to explain, but people were waiting in the single file aisle and her words faded as she kept walking. We never got the chance to hear the story. But it didn’t matter. We all knew God was at work and had navigated impossible circumstances. He had made a way. When we came to closed doors, He had opened them. When He calls us to do His work, we do not walk alone. He walks on water with us. He goes in the fire with us. And He was at the airport with us and brought us safely home.

P. S. We had previously worried about a situation with our van. But by the time we landed, I told Brandon, “Don’t worry about the van. It will be there.” And it was.

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Looking back, all the appointments run together. There certainly was a checklist and sequence, but in Colombia, it kind of felt chaotic as we found ourselves running here and there with one driver or another. Plans were always finalized the night before, and it took a while before we became comfortable with last minute arrangements.

Part of it was that we had to wait on this paperwork to do that next paperwork and so on. No dates could be set in stone as we waited on embassy or government offices to finish so we could complete the next task.

One appointment that I remember clearly was an early medical embassy appointment. At the time I had no idea where we were as we walked into a side building off a busy street. Later we became familiar with this area as it was very close to where the Usaquen Market was held every Sunday. But this was the first time being here, and I followed Julie, an adoption worker, into the building as Brandon took the boys to play at a nearby park. Julie was quick and bounded up two flights of stairs as I followed. I was carrying Mila, and by the time I reached the top, I was panting ridiculously. I found myself in a waiting room and shamelessly pulled my mask out from my face so I could breathe and not pass out as I gluttonously sucked in thinned high-altitude oxygen. We had gone from our North Carolinian altitude of around 900′ to Bogotá’s altitude of 8,675′. Climbing those stairs proved that my body was still adjusting. After a few minutes which seemed much longer, I finally was able to put my face mask back in place and breathe normally. With my oxygen intake under control, I now noticed there were a few other adopting families with their children, and we chatted as we waited to be called.

The appointment was more red tape formalities than a true medical visit. We were called back first to have Mila’s picture taken. Her passport picture experience had been a struggle, so I sat her on a stool as I knelt beside steadying her. I used to think family pictures were stressful but government ones are far worse. For, they need just the right face angle, expression, ears have to be showing, no stray hairs in the eyes, etc. Anyone who has multiple kids, with at least one older than age five, has low expectations of family pictures. The session usually ends with the phrase “good enough” and the product is a less than perfect picture that hangs on the living room wall as a monument raised in honor of a studio struggle. But with governmental photos, “good enough” has to be quite perfect in fact. Thankfully, this medical appointment photo session only took a few tries until we had an acceptable shot.

Julie, Mila, and I went back to the waiting area and soon were called to see the doctor. I was told the embassy doctor spoke English, so Mila and I entered by ourselves without a translator. We had found communication difficult among many in Colombia. For a number who were heralded as “English-speakers,” in fact often looked at us blankly. We usually resorted to a mix of Spanish and English. As such, I greeted the embassy doctor in Spanish and was prepared for a Spanglish conversation until he spoke. His English was superb. He had gone to college in the States, and I relaxed as I realized I could communicate unencumbered with this doctor.

It was, in fact, one of the most interesting conversations on our trip, for this doctor looked straight at me and asked why we were adopting a child with down syndrome from Colombia. Knowing no other answer but the truth, I told him it was a calling from God and that through following Him, we were led to Mila. I finished with, “And there is no doubt in my mind that Mila is the child we were called to adopt.” His gaze continued to level as he took in what I was saying. He then nodded and said some beautiful words that unfortunately now escape me. It was something about angels and how Mila would be a blessing to our family. His kind words left a sweet feeling in my heart that still remains as I write this memory. Aptly spoken words of encouragement are powerful.

We left the appointment with a lab slip for some blood work the next morning. It was an early morning appointment where we left around 6am. We had been forewarned and were told it’s a miserable lab appointment where adopted children ages 2+ have to have a blood draw for a TB test. This test is required for entry into the States. At the time, Mila was 2 years old and one month. If we had adopted just one month earlier, she wouldn’t have had to go through this.

We arrived before 7am and looked out at a white stone building. At the door stood an attendant and streaming out was a long line of people waiting. As we exited the van, I prepared my legs for long standing as I gazed at the line. We were sharing the van with another adopting family and child and along with Julie we approached the building. I expected us to head to the back of the line, but Julie walked up to the attendant. To my surprise, the attendant ushered us right into the cramped and crowded hallway and waiting area.

I was told many times that Colombia is family-oriented, and we got to experience that firsthand. At the Bogotá airport, there is a separate shorter line for families traveling with children under seven years old. And here at the laboratory, they didn’t make parents wait in the long line but ushered us right in.

We waited for a little while until Mila’s name was called. I sat in a chair holding her at the direction of a Spanish nurse and placed Mila’s arms forward across the table. They tied her arm with a tight band and poked at her vein with their fingers. Poking and more patting. Spanish conversation. They moved the band to the other arm. More pressing and patting to find a vein.

At this point, I was braced for the worst. Thankfully, I am not squeamish, but worry did set in as it appeared they may have trouble with performing a blood draw on such a small child. That’s when another woman walked in the small room and the others stepped aside. She looked at Mila’s arm, poked to the side, and nodded. She cleaned and prepped the area. With three nurses total and me holding Mila, we braced ourselves as the needle was inserted.

My muscles were tense, and I was holding my breath as I was steadily holding Mila, braced for a reaction. But nothing. This child of mine was new to me. Though she must have had many blood draws given her past medical history, I hadn’t held her for a single one. And I couldn’t have been more surprised as Mila didn’t flinch. She didn’t cry. She just sat there and watched. The nurses were just as shocked as I was.

“¡Gracias a Dios!” one exclaimed as the other talked soothingly to Mila. “¡Muñeca, eres muy fuerte!” They filled several vials with a small amount, withdrew the needle, and put a bandaid on her arm. I exhaled a huge sigh of relief as Mila and I exited the double doors, passed the long crowd still waiting outside, and found our van.

There were many more appointments over the days and weeks that passed. We kept trekking along until one day we got a message that our adoption decree would be ready. So many months of work. So many documents and appointments. So many firsts with our new child. And on June 2, 2021, Mila became officially ours. And that’s when room 504 at Park 101 hotel turned into a party room.

My meticulous overpacking of craft supplies became useful as we decorated. We had balloons and streamer. We made hats and signs. We had party blowers and cake. We video called family to join our celebration. And Mila loved every minute.

She couldn’t have known what had just happened. But Mila smiled and laughed. She ran repeatedly into Brandon’s arms for him to soar her up high.

We went to bed that night joyfully tired. We still had a ways to go before we could bring her home, but she was ours. June 2 is a new holiday added to our calendar, and surely every year as we party and celebrate her adoption, we will go to bed thanking God for his goodness in allowing Mila to be a part of our family. For it bears repeating those beautiful words of the embassy doctor if I could only remember. Something about angels and blessings, but it’s all true. She is such a gift.

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During our time in Colombia, we were able to have some adventures and explore unique places. I’ve outlined a few of our excursions.

• The Salt Cathedral –

Emmett had done a school report on the Salt Cathedral before we left home, so he was particularly excited that we were able to see it in person. The Salt Cathedral is an old salt mining site that has underground sanctuaries and enormous crosses carved within the mine. It was a really fun experience as we joined another adopting family and went through the mine together. A loud and rickety train came into the tunnel, and we rode out with a few jolts and bumps. The kids loved it!

• La Candelaria –

La Candelaria is the heart of Bogotá, housing historical buildings and beautiful architecture. We were fortunate to be able to visit during our time there as it was sadly one of the places where much of the protesting was occurring. We were permitted to go on a non-protest Saturday. Our driver, German (pronounced Hare-mon), walked and guided us in all of our touring of La Candelaria. This personal touring was unexpected as usually our drivers would send us on our way and show back up when we called. However, our adoption agency was a bit hesitant to let us tour, and German must have taken the responsibility of keeping us safe during our visit of La Candelaria. Beautiful colorful houses seamlessly line the busy streets.

La Candelaria – Plaza de Bolívar

The Plaza de Bolívar usually overwhelms tourists with its historic dignity, but it actually made us a bit sad. We stood there in the middle of the plaza, masked, as we peered out at protective black sheeting. The statue of Simón Bolívar sculpted in the late 1800s and had since remained a predominate figure in the plaza was wrapped in black sheet to protect the history. Long black sheeting draped in front of the ancient government buildings and a cathedral that has stood for hundreds of years and likely is unmoved by our trials of 2021 was also draped in black. German took our picture there in the plaza on a sunny Saturday. It isn’t a beautiful photograph as one might imagine a family picture in the middle of the Plaza de Bolívar might be. Our faces were masked because of the pandemic and our backdrop was black sheets because of the protests. It’s a perfectly dated picture that needs no description. A noteworthy piece of 2021 for our scrapbook. We continued on with German who wanted to show us the president’s home. Yet, we turned the corner to find the roads were blocked and guarded, new safety measures because of the protests. German talked to the guards asking if we could have our picture made and a guard agreed. So, instead of a picture in front of the president’s home, we stood smiling behind our masks with a Colombian guard. Another one for the scrapbook.

La Candelaria – Santuario Nuestra Señora del Carmen

In La Candelaria, there were many beautiful churches and sanctuaries. Allen did a report on one he called the “Candy Cane” church. The architecture was gorgeous and we all enjoyed seeing it in person.

La Candelaria – Botero Museum

Before coming to Colombia, we had so much fun studying Botero, a famous Colombian artist, whose large disproportionate sizing makes for unique and very distinguishable art. Naturally when we saw the Botero Museum while exploring La Candelaria, we had to stop in. However, taking four children to a museum of fine art never goes without a few mishaps. The museum is a beautiful courtyard with two levels of quadruple rooms. These rooms have a natural flow as you weave from one room to the next greeted by paintings, sculptures, and art. The art is mostly Botero, but the museum was speckled with work from other artists as well including Picasso. Despite multiple directives and warnings from Brandon and me, in the very first quiet and airy room, one of our lovely boys got too close to an original Botero painting and an alarm sounded. He panicked as we began shouting at him to step away, and finally after throwing his hands out and freezing, he stepped toward our gesturing hands and the alarm stopped. Every room had an attendant, and we didn’t disappoint amusing them whether it was from sounding an alarm, the kids making off-handed comments about the paintings, “Mom, why is that baby so fat?” or from simply just watching a family of six navigate four young kids around sculptures and past fine artwork. Nothing was harmed during the course of our visit, and we left the museum with much satisfaction and a sigh of relief.

• Usaquen Market –

We twice visited the Usaquen Market that is held on Sundays. Locals even enjoy shopping at this market where you can find handmade artisanal products. We saw dancing and mimes and loved the cultural experience.

• Monserrate –

What a lovely experience this was! Monserrate is a mountain that overlooks the vast city of Bogotá. From the top, looking down on the small outlines of houses and buildings and cars and people, all of it combined and rolled into one wide and seemingly endless city in one frame creates a notably overwhelming view. Often fog and low clouds partially block the view allowing the onlookers to take in the city in sizeable looks. We rode a tram car straight up to Monserrate and a cable car back down. This whole trip was thrilling!

We were so blessed to be able to venture out for these excursions amid the pandemic and protests. In my next post, I will switch and tell you about the serious outings, our adoption appointments. I also will share with you what we did the day Mila was officially adopted.

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From mid-May until June of this year, for over three weeks, we stayed at Park 101 Hotel & Suites on Carrera 101 in Bogotá, Colombia. Our room was a family suite with two bedrooms, one with a king bed and crib and the other with two single beds. This suite had two full baths and a kitchen with a mid-sized fridge, microwave, stove, oven, and the biggest rice cooker we’d ever seen. It had a living room and dining room. We stayed at this hotel for 40 days and 40 ni… just kidding. We stayed for 24 nights total.

Most of our days in Bogotá had flow and rhythm. In the mornings, we would wake up around 7:30am and putter around until everyone was dressed. Then we would head down to breakfast.

The hotel had a complimentary buffet breakfast seven days a week. The food choices slightly varied from morning to morning, but we generally knew what to expect. Lunch is the largest meal of the day in Colombia, but breakfast is also important. And Park 101’s breakfast buffet showed us just how much emphasis Colombians put on their first meal of the day.

The buffet had a brothy potato, meat, and cilantro soup which Mila loved and ate every morning. They had fresh coffee and delicious hot chocolate. They had platters of fruit – watermelon, cantaloupe, honeydew, papaya, and pineapple. They had lunch meat, ham and salami. They had white American cheese, gouda cheese with a red waxy cover, and a thick squeaky cheese we didn’t know the name of. They had small bread rolls made of various flours and flavors. They had eggs cooked in different ways; some mornings they were scrambled with peppers and onions and other mornings they were hard boiled. They had arepas (corn cakes) with some meat and vegetables. They had short stubby hot dogs that were cooked until they split. And they always had rice.

Sometimes the rice had chicken in it, sometimes beef or pork. I remember one morning in particular it had a dark, almost black meat in it. It was darker than any meat I had ever seen before. Giving in to curiosity, I asked the waiter what kind of meat it was. His answer was “sangre.” Blood. Blood sausage probably. As Brandon overheard, he cast a scowl in my direction and for the rest of breakfast, he communicated in curt words through pursed lips. He was irritated with me as the thought of blood dampered his appetite and he couldn’t stomach eating the rice dish that morning. After that I agreed to stop asking about curious-looking foods and just enjoy the delicious Colombian dishes in blissful ignorance.

After breakfast, we’d usually head out to the park or go for a walk. There was a small green space and park right beside our hotel. Some days we’d coordinate and meet up with other adopting families. Other days we just played with local Colombian children who happened to be at the park. I’d often chat with other moms, grandmothers, or caregivers. Not many spoke English, and I frequently had a hard time understanding the Spanish muffled behind double masks. Our conversations were usually basic and had a lot of gestures and voice inflection.

I distinctly remember one little boy, about age four, with his mother. He was energetic and excited when he saw us entering the gate at the playground area. I heard his mother telling him a string of sentences littered with “inglés.” I knew she was telling him that we spoke English. He just couldn’t understand, though. He couldn’t understand why my boys didn’t answer when he plainly asked them, “¿Qué vamos a jugar?” I tried to translate some for the boys, but eventually the kids ran together, chasing each other, playing without words.

Another park excursion I remember well is when we decided to bring balloons to the play area. It was a bit windy and we had trouble keeping them from blowing away. A little girl about three was at the park with her dad. She saw the balloons and kept yelling “Bomba!” I had the idea of giving her one of ours but we were having enough trouble holding them in the wind ourselves. The dad and little girl didn’t stay long, and we eventually made it back inside our hotel with all the balloons we had brought out.

Yet still another park memory happened one morning when Brandon was working remotely in our hotel room and I took the kids out for a bit by myself. We wore our rain jackets and brought bubbles. But it was dreary, rainy, and everything was wet. The slides and ropes were wet. The seesaw and tunnels were wet. The sky was a gray haze of low hanging moisture that seemed to envelop us. We stood outside the gate of the playground and blew a few bubbles until the sky overflowed with rain that popped the delicate floating circles. The rain continued and became heavy as it pelted and plinked off our rain jackets. Sucking through our masks, we took in a few last breaths of fresh wet air and trudged back under the safety of the hotel awning.

To enter the hotel, a doorman would greet us, spray the bottoms of our shoes, and sanitize our hands. I assume this was extra Covid precautions and not standard procedure. We surely felt safe inside Park 101 as the hotel was inaccessible to outsiders. The front desk and door staff kept a close watch and often locked the doors.

During our weeks in Colombia, there was an ongoing nationwide protest. From my non-political outsider understanding, the protests began when the Colombian president put a tax on bread and basic food items. This tax caused an uproar amongst many who felt it was making it even harder for the poor to recover from the devastating effects of Covid. The president quickly rescinded the tax, but the uproar and protesting continued. Some of these protests were turning violent and our adoption agency monitored the situation closely. As such, there were many days when we were directed to stay inside our hotel for safety.

It was on these protest days and rainy days in Bogotá that we had to get creative. My meticulous packing lists had included what turned out to be ample art supplies for our whole trip. We had stored all these supplies on some upper shelves in the boys’ hotel closet. And on indoor hotel days, we pulled out drawing pads and coloring books. We got out water color paints and blank paper, Color Wow sheets and markers. We slid the blue clasps and opened the clear container to find the scissors and glue.

We painted, drew, cut, and colored pictures of views outside our hotel windows. There were streets and cars. There were stories-high apartment buildings and hotels, some with interesting Terracotta roofs below and high buildings in the distance. Beyond the city, we could see the Andes mountains. Some days the mountains were hazy as the humidity and rain lingered above Bogotá. Other days the green peaks were accentuated by blue skies and white clouds.

Whether it was rainy or sunny, outside our hotel windows we could see and create art. We hung our artwork on the walls in the hotel kitchen, and before leaving I packed them away to bring home. The art from our days at Park 101 in Bogotá are now keepsakes.

We had also brought chapter books and devotionals. We finished reading “Hatchet” and stories from “Wisdom and the Millers.” I had brought school materials as well, but quickly found both the boys’ and my attention span and patience for school was minimal. We did a few math and reading lessons but decided finishing lessons through the summer once we got back home was a better option.

We hadn’t planned to stay at Park 101 for our whole trip. For our court date, we were supposed to have traveled to a tropical area called La Mesa and stayed at a hotel with an outdoor swimming pool. However, due to the protests, we were advised not to travel and our adoption court proceedings were done remotely. In many ways we were grateful that we didn’t have to pack up from one hotel to unpack at the next, but we also had feelings of disappointment as we faced the monotony of our daily schedule.

Of course our ” daily schedule” was also interspersed with adoption appointments and meetings. Some of these required our whole family to go and took up a whole day, while others just required Mila and one parent to head out for a few hours. Between appointments and finalizing the adoption, we did have a lot of down time.

We hadn’t really given much thought to the amenities at Park 101 as La Mesa was going to have plenty of rambunctious activity and pool days. But with La Mesa canceled and protest days keeping us inside Park 101, desperate times called for desperate measures.

Park 101 had a spa that we had no intention of even visiting until we got desperate. But somehow, in a language not our own, we inquired of the doorman if children were allowed to use “la piscina.” A nod of the head told us it was possible for “treinta mil cada persona.” 30 mil for each person sounds really steep to our American minds, and actually, it was pretty steep in Colombian prices too.

But they said we could swim, and we didn’t mind paying a price if it meant a good hotel activity for the kids. We got on the elevator and pushed – 1. As we got off the elevator, we saw the spa to the left. The sign said “abierta,” but it was dark and no one was there. Brandon found a hotel worker who came up and showed us the spa after he asked about the pool.

No lights were on and the pool was dark and hard to see. We knew it was small but decided it would be sufficient for the kids.

That evening we got the kids in swim clothes, snorkeling vest, water wings, and goggles, got on the elevator, and once again pushed the button – 1. As we got off, it became apparent that the spa was now attended. I heard running water and soft ambience. Oh no.

A spa attendant came out as she saw us and closed the door behind her. She didn’t speak any English but only fast muffled Spanish behind her mask. I asked about the kids swimming. She said it was “ocupados” and that we needed an appointment. We rode the elevator back up to the 5th floor with the kids in dry swim clothes and not even a splash. They were upset, but didn’t whine too much as we explained the situation and told them we had made an appointment for 4pm the next evening.

Neither Brandon nor I looked forward to the spa appointment. The lady that spoke no English and the dark spa that obviously wasn’t made for children did not seem appealing at all.

The next evening when 4pm neared, Mila was still napping, and Brandon heroically volunteered to stay with her while I took the kids. The boys put on swim clothes, snorkeling vest, goggles, water wings, flip-flops, and we tried again. On the elevator. Floor – 1.

The bell dinged and the doors opened as our flip-flop feet flapped off the elevator. I was holding my breath. The spa attendant saw us and smiled behind her mask. I let my breath out hoping this would go better than our last attempt. The attendant opened wide the sliding doors beckoning us to enter. I tried to breathe normally as I ushered my three boys into the dark ambient spa with running waterfall walls.

We passed massage tables and parlors as we followed the attendant to the tiny rectangular pool. I glanced beyond and saw rooms of showers and saunas.

It was then that I saw them. A young couple was occupying the pool, and I felt panic creeping up my neck into my masked face. They were relaxing on the far end (which in a tiny pool isn’t very far away), drinking frou-frou umbrella drinks, and conversing in mellow harmonious tones. A horrid image of my boys splashing and hollering all around this smooth and tranquil couple quickly dissipated as the attendant called to them saying their time was up.

Relief washed over me as they handed over their drinks and pulled themselves out of the pool. I don’t know their exact thoughts as they saw who had come to bring their spa time to an end. Surely they saw us as my boys stood in colorful swim clothes with swim vests and floats. The attendant offered them towels and ushered them to dry in a sauna as she motioned that the pool was ours.

I use the term “pool” very liberally, but I didn’t really know what to call it. It was so tiny but deeper than my boys were long. I don’t know the exact depth as it wasn’t marked in feet. There was one intimidating jet that blasted water. My twins swim quite well, so they immediately took to the warm water. Allen was scared as I coaxed him to get in. I told him he would be fine, but my fully dressed self did put my phone aside just in case I needed to jump in to make a rescue in the tumultuous waters. After some minutes, Allen found himself comfortable in the water, and I sat by the side as I watched them finally splashing, swimming, and playing.

All in all, our spa visit went smoothly. The boys enjoyed the warm water, monstrous jet, and the waterfall walls. After an hour, I told the boys our time was up and helped them change into dry clothes. I gave in to their curiosity and let them spend a minute inside the wooden plank sauna before we headed back to room 504. We paid 90 mil Colombian pesos for all three boys to swim and filed this Park 101 spa trip away in our memories. It was worth every peso.

Next time you see the boys, you should ask them about our hotel days. They will mention how they ordered and drank café negro every morning for breakfast. They will mention playing at the parks and painting in the hotel room. And surely, they will be excited to tell you about swimming in the tiny pool at the Park 101 Spa. For all these hotel days at Park 101 in Bogotá, Colombia have turned into memories we won’t soon forget.

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Some people have bucket lists. But I’m not one of those people. In fact, I mostly have a list of things I hope never to do. I like a decent adventure like camping, hiking, or visiting some caverns. But nothing crazy. If I get an invitation to skydive, climb a frozen mountain, or swim with sharks, my answer will be no. Those would be on my reverse bucket list – my list of things that I hope I never do.

When I realized that God was calling us to adopt from Colombia, I put off thinking through the details. This kind of trip would have definitely made it on my reverse bucket list if God hadn’t been the one leading.

The plan was for Brandon and me to take our three boys to Colombia for about a month where we would finalize the adoption of our fourth child. During a global pandemic. During a nationwide Colombian protest.

Slowly as paperwork progressed and the reality of the trip came into view, I prayed and reminded God that I don’t handle crazy adventures well. But as I prayed, I began to realize how futile it was to try to talk God out of a crazy adventure. For, our God LOVES crazy adventures and ridiculous ventures.

The Bible brims with these accounts. I think of Jesus’ own mother Mary who was nine months pregnant traveling cross country on a donkey and having a baby in a stable. Crazy adventure. I think of Moses and the Israelites and how God parted the Red Sea and then allowed them to wander in the wilderness for 40 years. Crazy adventure. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego and how they didn’t really plan to be roasted in a furnace and come out alive. Crazy adventure. Daniel who spent the night in a den of lions and hollered out the next morning that he was alive. The apostle Paul who set out to preach and got thrown into prison, shipwrecked, snake bitten, and healed. As I recollected these stories, I slowly began to let go of the thought that maybe God would listen to my concerns and agree our trip to Colombia might be too crazy of an idea.

Just as it was useless to try to talk God out of a crazy idea, it was just as futile to explain to God that I was unfit because I’m not adventurous enough. For God has a history of calling and using the most unqualified people. I think of Noah with no mention of special building ability, and yet, God called him to a 50+ years ark building project. Unqualified. Young, inexperienced David walking out to fight armored Goliath. Unqualified. Paul, who previously murdered Christians, called to write most of the New Testament. Unqualified.

My head was spinning as I realized how futile it would be to try to talk God out of going to Colombia. So, I took a deep breath and dove into the details of our trip.

The trip was overwhelming even before we left home. Packing was a monstrous task. Our plan was to spend most of our time in Bogotá, Colombia but also travel to a little town called La Mesa to do court proceedings. The weather in Bogotá is moderate (temperatures usually in the 60’s) and rainy. But La Mesa is tropical and hot. This meant some warm clothes and rain gear for Bogotá and summer clothes and swim gear for La Mesa.

I didn’t get very far into packing before realizing my kids’ clothing options were sparse. I began packing at the end of last year. 2020. The Covid year. The year nobody went anywhere. Add in the fact that we live on a farm, and I hadn’t thought much about clothes at all. As our kids grew, I had just bought overalls online in the next size up.

After telling my kids to try on their “good clothes” that hadn’t been worn all year, I was chagrined to realize they were all too small. My boys had absolutely nothing presentable to wear in Colombia. That’s when packing led me to shopping. I spent so much time shopping online as dressing rooms were still closed because of Covid. Not only was I shopping for my boys, but I was also buying for Mila. After several months of online shopping, trying on, keeping, and returning, we finally had enough suitable clothes for our trip.

Clothing: Done.

But then we had to pack toys and crafts for we were to spend much time in a hotel room with four children. And then there was bug spray, sunscreen, nail clippers, toothbrushes. There were laptops, tablets, cell phones, and chargers. There were floats and goggles and handheld fans. There were medications, thermometers, and creams. There was a travel stroller and ergo baby carrier. We had one designated hallway upstairs where we piled things to be packed.

Somehow. Someway. A day or two before we were to leave, we stuffed, weighed, and locked five checked bags, two carry ons, and five backpacks.

We made arrangements for the farm animals and pets. We packed the van. And on the morning of May 20, 2021, we left our house at 5am.

You already know the next part of the story. We arrived in Bogotá that same day and the following day was encuentro, the day we met Mila. You know how we struggled with her sickness right off and how we had ups and downs those first few days.

In my next post, I’ll tell you about how our family survived spending over 3 weeks in a hotel.

Hi friends,

Thank you all for your sweet notes and comments on our past adoption posts. We are so blessed by your love and encouragement of our family.

In the next couple of weeks, I will continue sharing some stories about our time in Bogotá, and among these posts, I will share my absolute favorite story of our whole trip, the airport story. Here’s a list of upcoming posts to be on the lookout for:

Post #1 Preparation
Post #2 Hotel Days
Post #3 Excursions
Post #4 Adoption!
Post #5 God at the Airport – Part One
Post #6 God at the Airport – Part Two
Post #7 Faithfulness in the Ordinary

Also, for those of you who have enjoyed following our story, we have designed a t-shirt fundraiser. The front pocket of the shirt has a colored outline of Colombia with the word “Miracles” and “Walk with Me.” On the back it has Micah 6:8 Act Justly, Love Mercy, Walk Humbly. All proceeds will go to supporting foster and adoption care locally and internationally.

To order, send me a pm or comment below with quantity and sizes. Available sizes are adult XS-4XL and youth S-L. Note: These shirts run on the smaller side, so size up if you’re in between sizes.

Shirts are $20 each, and I’ll pm you a PayPal and venmo link once you order.

We will have local pickup locations in Greensboro and/or can possibly do porch drop off and bring shirts directly to you. For those outside our area, pm me if you want a shirt and we can figure out a shipping arrangement. Thanks!!

The first week after encuentro is called bonding week. It’s a time to make connections as you experience so many firsts with your new child. The first night. The first bath. The first bedtime. The first breakfast. The first trip to the park.

All along the journey of adoption, committees, case workers, and agencies spend much of their time trying to prepare families and children for all these firsts. During the months leading up to Mila’s adoption, we were told so much information about her. We discussed schedules, likes, dislikes, routines, fears, and history. And here is some of what they told us.

— What they told us about BATHS —

During pre-encuentro, La Casa shared that Mila is used to having two baths a day. Two. That’s 14 baths a week. If she were my first child, I would have thought, “Sure, two baths a day. No problem.” But as it was, she would be my fourth child, and I had already experienced the realities of parenthood, the one that knows two baths a day with four children will never work.

So, I just nodded and smiled on the video call with the caregivers and professionals, but in the back of my mind, I was calculating how quickly we could compromise on the amount of bathing. I thought about how bathing used to be a nightly non-negotiable in our house, but through the years it had morphed into something we would get around to only a few times a week. I thought of all the joking from family and friends about how dirty my boys get and about how they need more baths. But young boys on a farm are almost impossible to keep clean. For just as we cycle through the water, soap, and clean clothes, no sooner do I look out the window to see them sitting in a dirt hole with a running water hose. Time after time, my freshly bathed boys will come straight out of the bathtub only to find one way or another to be covered in dirt, grime, or animal… well, you get the idea.

So, you can imagine how I felt when I was told Mila took two baths.

And so as it was, we were behind schedule from the start. Mila’s first bath took place on the second evening we had her. In the hotel bathroom in Bogotá, I ran the water and helped her undress. I made sure the water temperature was comfortable, and I lifted her up to place her in the bathtub. Instantaneously she threw her arms, legs, fingers, and toes in all different directions. This reaction took me by surprise. She was terrified. I pulled her gripped fingers from the shower doors and pried her toes off the side and managed to stand her up in the tub.

I was shocked. From her response, it appeared that this child had NOT had two “baths” a day. In fact, as I looked at her standing there with wide, unsure eyes, I wondered if she had ever even been inside a bathtub before. I talked reassuringly to her and tried to get her to bend at the knee to sit down. Nope. She was too scared to sit in the water.

So all during that first bath, Mila stood. I just used a soapy rag, some shampoo, and a cup to pour water to rinse. It was over quickly, and she seemed relieved as I wrapped her in a towel and took her from the bathroom.

While getting her ready for bed, relief washed over me as my thoughts led me to realize that “baths” in Baranquilla must mean sponge baths or wipe downs. All the mom guilt about how orphans in Baranquilla are bathed more often than my own boys faded away. And I mean, not bragging here, but we DO use baby wipes ALL the time. I’m always carrying a pack of wipes saying to the boys, “Wipe that cheese sauce off your face.” or “Smell your underarms and wipe them if they stink.” or “Here, wipe your feet. The cats left a dead mouse on the doormat again.” I know. Gross. But who knew that each time we did that, it could count as a bath. I reveled in this newfound enlightenment and toyed with the idea that I may actually be an overachiever when it comes to bathing my children.

Side note: Mila LOVES real baths in the bathtub now.

— What they told us about HYDRATION —

Hydration. In the fridge, on the kitchen counters, and stashed along the wall in the hotel room were jugs and bottles of water, gatorade, pedialyte, milk, formula, and various kinds of juice.

Bottles, sippies, straw cups, wow cups, open cups, and spoon feeding, we’d tried so many different methods. Mila coughed, choked, and spit out everything.

During a pre-adoption screening, we had specifically asked a medical professional if Mila had any eating or drinking problems or swallowing issues. They told us no.

Yet on day two and three of caring for Mila, we were struggling with dehydration. She had gone from 3am until the following afternoon with no wet diapers. But she wasn’t dehydrated for lack of trying.

We kept thinking if we just could get it right. La Casa had told us in her foster home she would drink four bottles a day of a children’s formula drink. “Klim número tres” were their exact words when they told us what kind.

We bought Klim número tres and mixed it per the directions on the box. We put it in a bottle for her and waited. She did nothing. We put it to her mouth, and she looked at us like we were crazy. Then we remembered she drank it warm. So we warmed it and coaxed her to drink it. Same look. She didn’t want it.

Four bottles a day they had told us, and they had stressed the importance of continuing to give her these bottles. So, we tried mixing the formula with juice. No. We tried it in a bottle, in a sippy, through a straw. No.

We began to feel like we were living a Dr. Seuss book. She does not like it mixed with water, a little hotter, my little daughter. Not in a bottle, not with a wattle. Not through a straw, no nothing at all. You get the idea.

Finally, after several days of struggling, I sat with an open cup of Klim número tres still coaxing her to drink. She took some in her mouth and literally gagged. Gagged. It was then I realized that she most likely had not been drinking four bottles of this stuff a day. We were done. I poured the rest down the drain.

Side note: Later we found some small cartons of a Klim product that had different flavors. She would drink some of these and perhaps that is what she drank in her foster home. With a little creativity like giving her soups everyday, drinkable yogurts, and smoothies, Mila is now well-hydrated and thriving!

What they told us about other things

There were other things they had told us. Many more things. Some proved to be true and some not. Like, “She has fun eating.” Yes, yes she does. “She loves soup.” Yep. “This jean jacket is her favorite.” Eh, Maybe not. The jacket is twice her size and swallows her.

Some things seemed right while others seemed wrong. Probably a lot of the confusion was due to the combining of our different cultures and languages. We were grateful for all the paper reports and meetings. We were grateful for everyone who shared information and helped in making Mila’s transition to our family go smoothly. But one thing we have discovered is that there is much they didn’t tell us. So much more.

— What they didn’t tell us —

Just a few nights ago as I was getting Mila ready for bed, Allen was in the room with us. I had changed Mila’s clothes and brushed her hair with some conditioning spray. She was in a playful mood as she smiled and squealed with us. She was fully engaged in this play and her antics had Allen deep belly laughing with her. It was then that he turned to me and said, “Mom, they didn’t tell us how funny she was.”

I have thought about that comment over and over. We had relied on what they had told us about Mila, but we were realizing that it didn’t come close to who she really is. Piles of reports and people telling us about her wasn’t enough. It couldn’t be enough. Because paper is just paper, and talk is just talk. We had to meet her ourselves. We had to spend time with her.

That reminds me so much of our relationship to Christ. So many times we hear about Jesus but never meet Him ourselves. Maybe we are too busy and think we don’t have time. Maybe our lives are comfortable, and we fear Jesus might shake things up. Maybe we don’t want to meet Jesus because we’ve heard certain things about Him. But to hear about Him is not the same as knowing Him. Everything we heard about Mila wasn’t true and probably everything you’ve heard about Jesus isn’t true either. Just to hear about Jesus and never meet Him is a great tragedy. Only hearing about Him will not satisfy. Only hearing about Him will not fill the deep void that gnaws at us, the one that tells us there is more to life than what we see on the surface.

And that’s how it was with Mila. No amount of paperwork or talk could compare to us knowing her. And here are a few things we have learned in our short time with her.

1 She does the best cheese face for the camera. The best.

2 We learned, like Allen pointed out, that she is funny. Really funny. She waves and smiles at strangers in a store. She keeps waving until she gets their attention. And once they wave back or speak to her, she stops smiling and shakes her head “no” at them. This is hysterical to watch.

3 She babbles in another language. I didn’t know it before we got her, but there is English babbling and then there is Spanish babbling. Spanish babbling is so much faster and much more impressive.

4 She loves shoes. No, really. She’s crazy about them. Big zapatos, little zapatos, old shoes, new shoes, cowboy boots, work boots, sandals, flats, heels, flip flops, tennis shoes, she loves them all. And she will gladly wear them all. Any shoes left out are fair game to her. She thunks around with the boys’ shoes, my shoes, and even Brandon’s size 14 men’s shoes on her little feet. It’s actually quite impressive how she manages to walk in them. She loves zapatos. And if you buy her shoes, you are her best friend forever.

We are learning more about Mila every day, and she is so much more wonderful than any description on paper. I hope you all will one day get to know Mila, but even more than that, I hope you have the joy of knowing Jesus. When you meet Him, you will discover so many things people never told you. Once you invite Him in, spend time with Him, and get to know Him, you will find everything in your life changes. Your outlook. Your goals. Your attitudes. Your thoughts. And as you give your life over to Him, you’ll find He is so much more than words can describe.

And it’s so true. If Brandon and I had continued with our idea of how our life was supposed to go, we would have missed out on so much goodness God had planned for our family. For truly, it was Jesus who called and led us to this wonderfully cheesin’, shoe lovin’ little girl.

Philippians 3:8
Yet indeed I also count all things loss for the excellence of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them as rubbish, that I may gain Christ.