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I
never get to this day and not think about that day.
It
was that day ten years ago we stood in a courtroom in a former Soviet Block country. In two and half hours I remember looking up
only twice.
In
those 150 minutes I watched as my black leather shoes began to glisten with the
stain of tears and I prayed harder than I have ever prayed. I prayed with everything in me. I
stood next to my husband. Next to him
stood our translator. Next to her stood
the doctor and director of Lily’s orphanage.
He had come knowing we faced a larger battle than I realized.
Across
from us sat the judge, a prosecutor and a representative from the state. The latter two were convinced taking a child out
of her home country, even out of an orphanage, would not benefit her.
We
had prepared for twelve hours for this moment.
For an entire day we sat between our Russian coordinator and our
translator to review every question that could possibly be asked. We were taught the customs of the court. Do not raise our heads unless asked to
speak. And if my husband was talking, I
was told to not comment on his answer.
If asked to leave the courtroom, we were to leave quietly and not look
at those in discussion.
We
were told the proceedings would be run in a Muslin court, meaning there would be a
man asking questions and Brian would be responding. Brian had prayed about this moment, and he
had dreamt about it. The Holy Spirit had
assured him all would be well. But then
we walked into court, all seated were women.
And the questions suddenly and without warning were fired at me.
I
prayed to God for wisdom but I asked Him to somehow control my emotions, a
heart wrenching sob stood ready at the brink of my lips. This was my daughter and her fate, our fate
as a family seemed to rest on our words.
According
to the law we had spent seventeen days with our daughter. Every morning a driver would come. Every morning we would feed our Lily her porridge. Every moment, we fell deeper and deeper in
love with her.
We
had fulfilled the first phase of the process.
On paper, everything looked in order.
What
those seated could not see and did not know was that my heart had been given
away to a little girl in a metal crib whose Russian name I could not pronounce
and whose nannies I could not understand.
What
I could understand was the fierce call of adoption and the fact that leaving
this country even for a matter of weeks without our daughter was not an option. We had agreed no matter what happened one of
us would stay behind until the court granted us what God had already given us.
Brian
carefully and with great poise answered the questions of faith. Ministers of Christ were not embraced in this
courtroom. One
recess was called, then another. I
watched as our typically calm, collected Coordinator whispered in Russian and
paced the hallways. She seemed frantic.
I
wanted to ask what could go wrong and if these delays were typical but I knew
better, this was the worse of scenarios.
My daughter had been ill. The
prosecutor waged a claim that she was not still well enough to travel and
larger than that parents like us would forget or ignore her language, her history,
and her culture.
Everything
seemed completely out of control. We had
no cell phones to call friends and ask them to pray. We had no congressmen or senator to intercede. We had only one ally. And I turned to Him.
I
realized in those seconds pacing the hallway and hearing my heels click against
the hard floor that this is what freedom is.
Up
until that moment, I had thought of freedom as Fourth of July parades and
waving flags, the symbols that make my country great. I believed that even in the most wrong
situations, we have laws and officials that attempt to make things right,
perhaps not in the eyes of God but in the oracles of the land and in so doing
there is a sense of justice and liberty.
But
freedom is not that.
Freedom
is being able to call on a different citizenship and a different liberty. It
is the capacity to call on the Creator in any corner; any hallway, any
situation and feel His Spirit fill the room.
It is the power to look into the eyes of a judge and find compassion
where contempt had moments earlier reigned.
It
is seeing mountains move.
It
is the freedom to dig into a well of grace that has an infinite depth. It is liberty to love fiercely and know the
ocean that we swim in for our children is nothing compared to the universe He
created for His.
It
is hearing that despite the objections of the prosecutor and the arguments from
the state, the Judge had overruled. Not
only were we granted the custody of our daughter that day but we were granted
permission to leave, without two trips.
We had witnessed a miracle.
Freedom
Beloved, is knowing miracles occur every single day of our lives in the most
extraordinary ways. They occur not
because we seek Him but because He is in an unrelenting chase after us.
We
simply forget to look. Perhaps the flags
block our view and newspaper stories cloud our thoughts as we falsely believe
our citizenship is simply red, white and blue.
It
is so much bigger than that.
This
freedom, this citizenship was paid by the suffering and death of a Savior.
It
is an extraordinary ability to communicate with Jesus from any corner of the
world and about any agony of the heart.
He is before all things, and in him all things
hold together. –
Colossians 1:17
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