Children of Dreams, An Adoption Memoir (22 page)

One difference in personality between Manisha and Joy was evident early. Manisha was happy to go with the flow and enjoyed talking to everybody. Joy wanted to swim upstream and have nothing to do with anybody, but as I watched Joy play with her ducks in the tub, I could tell she was frustrated with the language barrier that separated us. It was obvious she wanted to tell me how much fun she was having. She would sit in the bath tub and try to mimic a few sounds.

I knew enough about the Vietnamese language not to even attempt it. Considering that it is tonal makes it even more difficult for non-native speakers. The doctor at the clinic had told me that Joy understood the Vietnamese commands that he gave her, which meant at fourteen months she already understood two languages, her mother tongue as well as Vietnamese.

Depravity would describe Joy’s life before I received her. As she became more comfortable and not so traumatized by her new surroundings, a beautiful flower emerged displaying a gentle delicacy wrapped in beauty. It was encouraging to see her come so far in such a short amount of time.

My new daughter spent hours stacking the blocks that I had brought in my suitcase from home. Sometimes the things children do when they are young are a foretaste of greater things to come. I saw a glimpse of what made Joy who she was, her giftedness, as she patiently and meticulously stacked the blocks into various shapes and designs. When she tired of that, she would stack the pots and pans she found under the sink. I think she enjoyed hearing the clanging of them as much as playing with them.

By far the most fascinating item in our hotel room was the mirror that vertically hung on the wall. Joy rearranged my suitcase so she could sit on it in front of the mirror and make funny faces. I don’t think she had ever seen herself before.

Checking out the contents of my suitcase provided interesting and new things to look at. My new daughter pulled out each piece of clothing and examined it. The only one that grabbed her attention was my bra. She tried to put it on several different ways but it didn’t fit. Perhaps two might work better. She went back into my suitcase and retrieved a second one. As the first one dangled down her back, she unsuccessfully tried to put the other one over her head. Returning to the mirror and frowning at herself disapprovingly, she ran over to me as if to say, “Here, you wear these things. How does this work?”

An afternoon nap was needed each day so I could stay sane. I would put Joy down in my bed—there weren’t any cribs—and snuggle up with her reassuringly. After she fell asleep, I’d grab my book from the
Left Behind Series
and read until she woke up. Compared to the Tribulation, living in Hanoi for a month seemed tame. At least I wasn’t fighting the Anti-Christ.

In the basement of the hotel was what I called, “the dungeon.” Dark and dreary, I only went down there once a day. It was the small restaurant where Jenni and I had eaten previously on that one occasion when we talked about the ad. The cook was an overly-indulgent, thin, dark-haired, middle-aged woman who went out of her way to be helpful to the guests. She knew how to make the best rice soup in the world for adoptive babies. She showed me how so I could make some for Joy in our hotel room. I never ate any, though, because it reminded me of that soupy stuff they served in the “restaurant” in the Himalayan Mountains.

One morning when I went down for breakfast I ran into one of the other adoptive mothers, Jackie, whom we had eaten with at the expensive hotel. As I walked in and sat down, I noticed her little girl, just a few months older than Joy, was walking around with a limp. When I looked closer I realized she had a club foot.

Jackie told me how excited she was that her daughter, Jenni, had started walking. Since she came from the orphanage and was crippled, she never had a chance to try. Now she couldn’t wait to take Jenni home so her foot could be repaired. I marveled at how doctors could fix a limb so badly mangled. I never heard how it turned out, but I can easily imagine her running track in the Olympics.

Shopping was more fun in Vietnam than in Nepal. I didn’t have to worry about running into unsightly things like dead animals hung out as food or cows and their dung in the streets. There were many stores near the hotel, and we had an abundance of shops to choose from. Most of the items were cheaply priced, especially children’s clothes.

Since Joy was much younger than the one I expected to adopt, I had brought no clothes that fit her. It was a good excuse to shop, and we bought lots of cute dresses and matching knit tops and bottoms for just a couple of dollars each.

When the weather turned cool after the first week, I bought her a red coat that kept her nice and cozy, especially Christmas Eve when we were out in the night air. Joy soon discovered most of the things I bought were for her and couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel to try them on.

Since it was the Christmas season, I indulged and bought some festive ornaments to decorate our hotel room. It was more fun than I thought it would be to put up strands of ribbon and a small Christmas tree. After commenting to one of the restaurant owners how
much I loved the nativity scene displayed in his window, he tried to sell it to me, but it was a little out of my price range.

I didn’t watch CNN—news reminded me too much of work—but after awhile, I started watching MTV. I studied classical guitar as a teenager, never having liked rock or jazz, and I was pleasantly surprised by the variety of the songs enriched with an Asian influence.

The quaint Vietnamese stores that lined the streets of downtown Hanoi were family affairs. It was quite common to see a mother and father with two or three young children out front with welcoming smiles to come in and shop. At one store I bought a beautiful twelve by fourteen inch hand-stitched picture of a Vietnamese house surrounded by mountains. A child that reminded me of Joy sat on a donkey. It was hard to choose which one I wanted but I settled on this one, because it seemed symbolic of Joy’s home in Vietnam.

I also bought Joy several souvenirs, including a child’s ring, a red velvet lined trinket box, and a gold and blue laced fan. I had lamented in the years since Manisha’s adoption that I had not brought home more souvenirs. For the next several years, on the anniversary of Joy’s arrival, I would give her one as a present to remember her “Gotcha day.”

It was fun in the evenings to go for a walk when the shops were closed. The families would cook in front of their stores, which were also their homes, on little open grills. Corn on the cob was a staple. The aroma from the freshly cooked corn and other vegetables each night whet my appetite. Sometimes they would offer us some, but I always turned it down. I didn’t want to get sick.

Each day brought us closer together. Despite the difficult beginning, I knew Joy was the child God meant for me to have. On December 8, 1999, at 1:40 p.m., I received this email from Jill at the adoption agency:

I just wanted you to know that I am at home today. We are having another snowstorm. I am rejoicing in all that the Lord has worked out. It seems that you were never intended to parent that other girl, and God knew that. He knew this little one needed you to be her mommy.

God is so amazing! He knew what He was doing. We just need to have faith. I just think it would be so much easier if God just clued us in a little more. But then we wouldn’t have the opportunity to polish our rough spots. I hope and pray you are enjoying your time with Joy. Please try and send me your email photo. I can’t wait to see her. God is all powerful, Jill.

Jill’s prayers and emails while I was in Vietnam seemed mightier than a legion of valiant warriors fighting a battle of lies, betrayal, and deceit. Only after I arrive in heaven will I know fully the demons of evil that were raging in the unseen world about me. She had just the right word to help me refocus on God even when things seemed bleak.

Everything seemed to be falling into place until...

Chapter Twenty-Seven

What is truth?

John 18:38

As time passed and I met other adoptive mothers, I became aware of “things” that worried me. The adoption agency was thousands of miles away and seemed dependent on me for all of their information, almost as if their contact with Anne was non-existent. Anne was several hundred miles south and very difficult to get hold of except through email. Email at the hotel was down as much as it was up. I was left to ponder too many things.

Sometimes ignorance is bliss. While Joy and I were enjoying our time together, there were obstacles that I eventually became aware of that were disconcerting. Looming like a huge thundercloud were continuing questions about Anne. I didn’t know if I could trust her. She told me the Vietnamese government was expediting Joy’s adoption. Normally taking two months, she said they promised to do it in three weeks, but they still couldn’t do the ceremony until the end of December, which wasn’t soon enough for me.

And what about the U.S. side of things? Once the Giving and Receiving Ceremony was held, the U.S. officials would need to approve and sign off on the paperwork. I was told by Anne they wouldn’t approve the Vietnamese adoption until the end of January. Why would the Embassy be so slow? In fact, I had been told by other adoptive mothers that their adoptions were being expedited because of Y2K. The Embassy wanted adoptive families to return home before the end of the year in case there were worldwide computer failures. They didn’t want families to be stuck in Vietnam. Why was I being treated differently?

I couldn’t imagine missing Christmas with Manisha. I didn’t have the money to leave Vietnam and come home for one day and then return. In addition, if I left Vietnam before the Giving and Receiving Ceremony, Joy would go into foster care in the orphanage. I knew that would devastate her.

Without the finalized Vietnamese adoption papers, I couldn’t give Anne Power of Attorney. I realized reluctantly I had to stay until the Giving and Receiving Ceremony, which I still hoped could be done before Christmas. Then maybe the U.S. Embassy could expedite Joy’s adoption like they were expediting everyone else’s. I desperately wanted to be with both my children on December 25th. As I spent hours praying for one more miracle, I received a phone call from a man I later came to know as Mr. Nathan King at the U.S. Embassy.

“Ms. Roberts,” he said, “you need to come to the Embassy to discuss something very important.”

“What is it?” I asked. He refused to tell me over the phone.

“Please come alone and don’t tell anyone you are coming.”

That was easier said than done. When I asked the hotel clerk how to get to the U.S. Embassy, she must have told Anne’s representative that I was going to meet with someone. Either that or someone working for her overheard the phone conversation. Shortly afterwards I received a call from Anne in which she wanted to know who had called me from the American Embassy.

“I can’t remember his name,” I told her. It was the truth. “But he told me to come by myself.”

“I will need to send someone with you,” she insisted. I wasn’t in a position to protest and it made no difference to me one way or the other. I could tell in the tone of Anne’s voice, however, that she wasn’t happy about this new development. Was I being paranoid, I asked myself, or was there something going on that was cause for concern?

I asked Jenni if she could baby sit Joy for me so I could go and meet with Mr. King. I wanted to leave the hotel as quickly as possible and I made an appointment and took a taxi later that afternoon. Anne had a young woman who spoke very little English to accompany me. Upon my arrival at the Embassy, I introduced myself to the receptionist. She quickly picked up the phone and buzzed someone that I was waiting.

A large, handsome, middle-aged Vietnamese man stepped out of an adjoining office. He introduced himself as the Mr. King who I had spoken to on the phone. After shaking my hand and exchanging the usual pleasantries, he glanced over at the young woman who had accompanied me and the two spoke in Vietnamese. I didn’t know what he said to her, but she nodded in agreement. I was motioned by Mr. King to accompany him into his office. My traveling companion remained reluctantly seated as I followed closely behind him and shut the door.

Feeling nervous and intimidated about being there, I sat down in front of his desk with a queasy feeling in my stomach.

“How has your stay in Vietnam been?” Mr. King asked me.

“It’s been okay.” I looked around his office which was immaculately clean and well organized.

“Where are you staying?”

“The Lillie Hotel.” I was surprised he spoke such fluent English. I later learned that he had been adopted by an American family as a child and returned to Vietnam to work for the U.S. Embassy in charge of adoptions for the entire country.

He smiled and commented, “That’s where a lot of families stay.” We chitchatted for a couple of minutes as I told him about what had happened upon my arrival. I got the feeling as he quietly listened he already knew more than he wanted to let on. It would have been nice if he could have validated Anne’s story to me about the kidnapping, but instead, the conversation took on an even more sober tone.

Leaning over his desk and looking directly into my eyes, he stated, “You must keep this confidential, but I need to inform you that Anne is under investigation by the U.S. government. I can’t tell you the details, but we have grave concerns about whether your Vietnamese adoption is legal and if we can approve it under U.S. international adoption laws. We have a higher standard than Vietnam.”

I sat frozen in my chair speechless.

Mr. King continued, “We would highly recommend you not leave until the approval process has been completed. If there is corruption, the U.S. Embassy will not issue Joy a Visa.”

He held up several case files involving adoptions where the U.S. Government refused to issue Visas. Adopted children were left behind, stranded in Vietnam, while their parents spent thousands of dollars in legal fees. Without an American Visa, a child can’t enter the United States.

“Are any of them hers?” I asked.

He refused to tell me.

“We are not processing any of her adoptions now. They won’t be done until after the investigation has been completed.”

I thought about all the other adoptive families I had met who arrived after me and yet were being approved ahead of me. Jenni had been right about Anne all along. It was unlikely the adoption agency even knew about the investigation. My adoption was the last one they were doing with her, and once I returned home, their business relationship would end.

Earlier I asked Anne about why it was taking so long.

“They won’t be able to finish your paperwork till the end of January,” was all she would say.

“What is holding up my case? Other adoptive families who arrived after me are being processed by the U.S. Embassy almost immediately,” I tried to tell her.

“That’s not possible,” she said.

I could take Joy home before the end of the year if they would do my paperwork like everybody else, I lamented. Anne continued to be evasive, but she did offer to escort Joy home for no charge along with some other children.

Suppose I couldn’t adopt Joy after all, I thought to myself, as I sensed a veil of evilness in all of it. Satan, the father of lies, had done everything he could do to stop me from adopting in Vietnam. God, the Author and Father of Truth, would have to swallow evil up in victory. I had to believe. As the man said to Jesus in Mark 9:24 concerning his son, “I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!”

Many times I had almost given up. Would I be afraid to love Joy, fearful that things might fall through? I thought of Romans 8:15. God, my heavenly Father, had traveled this road with me before. Was there too much of my fearful self wrapped up in this and not enough of Him?

Mr. King warned, “Stay in Vietnam until we complete our investigation, and be careful in your dealing with Anne.”

Uncertainty consumed me. Mr. King gave me his name and phone number and told me to call him if I had any questions. As I walked out of the office, I looked away from the woman who had accompanied me. I didn’t know what to say to her.

Jenni had offered to change her plane ticket and stay with me until I left, but I knew Sylvia and Curtis would want her to come home for Christmas. I also knew if she left she could take pictures back of Joy. Even though I missed Manisha immensely, I felt like this Christmas Joy needed me more than she did. I had to trust God because I had no control over the U.S. Embassy. As I had done with Manisha’s adoption, I had to render under Caesar the things that were Caesar’s and render unto God the things that were God’s.

My flight was booked to leave Hanoi on December 30. I would arrive home just before 2000 when Y2K would hit and all my documents would expire. Joy’s adoption had taken to the very last possible day of the millennium. If one other thing had happened to cause a delay, I wouldn’t have been able to adopt her. If Manisha had not had a miraculous healing, I wouldn’t have been able to come to Vietnam at all. If the U.S. Embassy found something wrong with Joy’s adoption or with something Anne had done, she would never be able to leave Vietnam.

I continued to wonder about the little girl that sat in the orphanage whose paperwork was never completed. What about the little girl I came to Vietnam to adopt? Years later, I would realize the truth, not just as head knowledge, but in my heart, that “… in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28).

I had to put my trust in God, despite the evil which prowled around like a hungry lion. As I pondered these things in my heart, I was determined not to give in to worry. Certainly that came easier to me than prayer on the heels of Mr. King’s admonition, but I would pray to keep away the demons that threatened to take away my dreams. I had to cling to the hope that in spite of everything, Joy was the daughter God meant me to have.

Her name seemed so fitting at Christmas. Galatians 6:7 says, “Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked.” Was it not part of God’s plan for me to be in Hanoi at Christmas and adopt a little girl named Joy?

I was determined to remain positive and thought about having a late Christmas with Manisha when I returned home. Christmas doesn’t have to be on December 25. On December 19, I sent this email to Manisha.

Dear Manisha, I love you and miss you, too. I wish I could be home for Christmas. I could have, but it would have been so hard to come back and expensive, and we might not have gotten Joy. I prayed and I knew God would take care of you, along with Uncle Curtis and Auntie Sylvia. Pray for God to bring Jenni and me home safe. Lots of hugs and kisses, Mom.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men…

Luke 2:14

By the time December 21 rolled around, I think Jenni had her fill of “tasting the culture.” She had crashed in a xichlo, visited the school where her 12-year-old little translator attended, spent some time with Australian backpackers, and ate exotic fish cooked in honey at a hole in a wall.

When she left, most of the other adoptive families were also gone. The hotel was largely empty and quiet. It was too expensive to call home often, so I sent emails every day to all my prayer warriors. The highlight each day was my email from Sylvia about all the holiday activities—baking Christmas cookies, shopping at the mall, cutting down a Christmas tree, wrapping presents, and watching several movies at the theater. I knew they couldn’t take my place but Manisha would have a wonderful Christmas.

Tired of being a tourist, time goes by slowly when you can’t do what you want. The shops were closed for the holidays and few restaurants were open. For the first time in years I was bored; the boredom was far worse than being too busy.

God had His way in using what I considered a waste of  time to bring redemption. Staying the extra nine days in Vietnam gave the two of us as mother and daughter hours together without the distractions of daily living in a hectic world back home. We spent hours each day playing with blocks and at night I would read to Joy from some books I had brought. I lavished her with lots of hugs and kisses, and as she thrived on the attention, her insecure, little personality began to peek out. She was now smiling and for the first time in her short life had all of her needs met. Even the little sores on her arms that she had picked at in the beginning were going away and three new teeth were visible.

The Giving and Receiving Ceremony was scheduled for December 24th, Christmas Eve, but was delayed to December 27th—three more days of waiting. It eliminated any chance for all of us to be together on Christmas. I was left with counting down each day knowing I was one step closer to coming home. In quiet moments I reflected on the Bing Crosby song, I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.

I asked several people if they knew of a Christmas Eve service we could attend, but because Vietnam is communist and Christians are persecuted, nobody was very forthcoming. One person told me about a sanctioned church service, but that it probably wouldn’t be what I wanted. Anything seemed better than nothing, and without giving it much thought, I made plans to go.

It was Christmas Eve, December 24, and we dressed up for the occasion anticipating something memorable. I called a taxi and gave the name of the location to the driver. He dropped us off at a church that appeared to be at least several hundred years old.

We walked in and the sanctuary was packed with a large crowd seated in pews. A man in a robe at the front was conducting the service in another language besides Vietnamese; maybe it was Latin. His voice reverberated and echoed off the ancient walls of the building and the chanting put me ill at ease. I was disappointed for having gone to the trouble of coming and had no desire to stay. We left after several minutes and returned to the hotel.

As we entered the hotel lobby, I was greeted by the young woman who was working the night shift. Despite not being home with her family, she was cheery and festive.

“Here is a present for you,” she said to me with a big smile. She pointed to it on the counter. “You are back so soon?”

“Yes, it wasn’t what I thought it would be, but what is this?” I picked up the present and eyed it with a sense of wonder. I couldn’t believe someone had thought of me for Christmas. It made being away from home almost bearable. The present was beautifully wrapped in green Christmas paper.

“It’s Christmas, isn’t it? She answered, “Your custom?”

“Yes. Can I open it now?” I asked.

“Yes, please do.”

I unwrapped the small gift and hidden inside were two handmade white doilies, one for a cup and the other for a plate, lined in green stitching along the outside edges.

“Thank you; they are beautiful.”

“You are welcome,” she beamed back. It was a special moment in what otherwise had seemed like a gloomy day.

“Merry Christmas,” I said. “I am sorry you have to work.” I knew she had two kids at home, but I wasn’t sure if they celebrated Christmas.

“It’s okay,” she said.

We said good night, and Joy and I headed back up to our room. I thought we would spend a quiet evening watching CNN and MTV, but as always, at least for me, there is the rest of the story. After feeling sorry for myself and moping around for an hour, I called the Murphys. It was late enough I hoped I wouldn’t wake them up, but I couldn’t wait any longer.

“Merry Christmas!” I shouted excitedly into the phone. A lot of love can be shared in a short amount of time. Manisha was happy to talk to me and told me about all the things Santa had brought her.

“When are you coming home? I miss you,” she said.

“I miss you, too, Honey. I will be home soon.”

I thought in my heart, though, not soon enough. Tears welled up in my eyes as I regretted that I couldn’t be with both my daughters for Christmas. Jenni had shared the pictures of Joy with Manisha and I hoped she could focus on meeting her new baby sister. It was a short conversation, but I felt better having heard her sweet voice across the ocean, reminding me that although we weren’t together in person, she was with me in spirit.

As I watched television feeling homesick, I heard noises outside, louder than the usual honking of horns and vehicular traffic. I picked up Joy and we walked back downstairs to the lobby. I felt excitement in the air with faint Christmas music barely audible above the sporadic street noise.

“What’s going on?” I asked the young lady who had given me the gift earlier.

“It’s the Christmas celebration,” she said.

What celebration? I thought to myself. Vietnam is a communist country and they don’t celebrate Christmas, or so I thought.

I quickly ran back up to our room, grabbed our coats and stroller, and carried Joy down the steps into the cool night air. I could see crowds up ahead on Hue Street walking toward Hoan Kiem Lake. We joined the crowd, and as we approached, Hanoi’s version
of Christmas spread out before us. The lake was decorated with Christmas lights, and a large Christmas tree adorned with presents took center stage. A cardboard Santa Claus was displayed near the tree. A little baby swing decorated in a colorful leis was set up to take pictures.

Crowds gathered in the streets wearing red Santa stocking caps and carrying balloons. I couldn’t decide if the “party” resembled a parade or people gathering for a concert. A festive, family atmosphere filled the air, and the lake was packed with Vietnamese families.