I'm not big on tests. I have a degree in art for crying out loud. We didn't take tests. We made something and concocted a story to make it seem thoughtful, deep, profound, and legitimate. We were story tellers not test takers. The last test I remember taking was in a bookmaking class where we A) had to go to a different room with desks and B) needed a pencil - and not a HB or 2H - but a regular old pencil. This was hard enough. Then came the test pages. We were all confused as to what the process for taking a test was. It had been so long. Needless to say there was much chatter and murmuring as we tried to remind and encourage one another on this archaic form of proving knowledge.  

I think I passed. I don't really remember much else beyond the trauma of it.

I came to the end of the maintained county road yesterday. I think a mudslide washed the pavement away. I was caught in the slide and went bumping off the road. Surprise. Sucky surprise. 

I had a pastor friend tell me once, when I started working with the homeless, that I needed an alligator skin but had to stay soft on the inside. The soft core keeps you caring and effective. The thick hide protects from all the slung arrows and stabbing attacks. So, I wore my alligator hide and was effective. It was good advice and I am glad I took it.

I never thought I would need this protection at home, so I have left the alligator hide hanging where it belonged. Time to try it on and be sure it still fits, I guess. My fragile heart and exposed core let its guard down and has been cut. 

What have I done? 

What have I done...

Time to pull out the number 2 pencil, lick the tip, and focus. It's test time and despite the road I've been walking down over the last three years, I was not ready. 

Alligator on.

Begin.

If my heart was a house you'd be home -Adam Young.

But unfortunately (or fortunately, I'm not sure which) my heart just pumps blood and yet still seems to be fragile. 

I don't know if coming home could have gone better. Three planes, four take offs and landings, one long trip. Thank goodness for gum and snacks. Remember when planes used to feed you? Me neither. There were moments that were awkward, sure, but we made it.

The uniting of brothers and sister started with great hesitancy and it if it weren't for escalators they may still be strangers. But an hour of tag on the multiple levels of escalators brushed away all hesitance and shyness.

The following days showed us that to a Haitian girl there is apparently no difference between humid 81 degrees and rainy 42. Barefoot and a t-shirt work in all types of weather and climates. At times I managed to get a coat on her and even shoes at one point too. I have not jumped on the trampoline so much in my life in lousy Washington weather. The first couple full days at home have proven to be busy busy busy. You'd think we were bees. Leïka came with bike riding skills so we have been peddling in circles as well. She has the riding part down but not the braking part, so there is still some work to be done there. 

Lots of games of UNO and Love Letters have been played as well. We need to get some new games into the rotation but at least she loves games which works well for us.

It seems like loosing all the familiarities of Haiti has begun to draw Leïka to us (or me), if just a little bit. We have spent time chasing and tickling my feet (a rare treat for anyone). It is good to begin this bonding but I think this is a stretch of paved road we are on and are bound to come upon, "End Of Maintained Road" signs. Until then I will enjoy this stretch of the journey.

As for my heart, well... she is home.

Departing is such sweet sorrows.

Before there can be firsts, there must be lasts. The last meal, the last walk up the hill, the last hug from a friend, the last words of encouragement, the last good bye, the last door closed behind. The last of a life lived and known. Lasts. Loss.

Before we can venture into new, we must depart from what has brought comfort. We must step toward the void and risk what fear can accomplish. I have the bravest little girl. Every parent that's walked away with a new son, a new daughter, from an orphanage knows this. I cannot begin to understand her soup of emotions as she lays sleeping here in the room with me. I know my own confusion, excitement, struggle, joy and fear. But I don't know them well for we are not old friends. How much more estranged are Leïka's feelings when all is new. New is everywhere. All she has is two strangers who she is contemplating befriending.

And so we depart. We leave GLA, and all that is Haiti behind as we watch Port au Prince diminish as flight AA2277 ascends. We have left with a treasure, a gift, that we do not understand as of yet. We depart from the life and family as we have known it heading toward something new. An adventure which I crave; butterflies, knots, bumps and all. For what was, has departed. And what will be just came into the delivery room.

Breathe.

Breathe.

The nights seem to reflect what's whirling around inside my head, my heart. From the uneasy night to the quiet and peace that lulled me to sleep last. There are still the barks and cries of the night. But the violent turmoil has subsided. The Caribbean sun wakes me gently reassuring that it will be all right. 

It is Sunday and Leïka led us down the street to the local church. We tried to blend in, kind of like a clown at a wedding. We snuck into children's church as best we could, coming in well after the service had started. We took a seat towards the back as Leïka sat through her last Sunday school with the familiar. It was a beautiful thing. The lesson was about Noah, or so we were told. 

Leaving early, we did our best to sneak out as we had a service to attend at the main GLA house. If the Haitian church is what Leïka needed, this service is what I needed. It was staff and volunteers attending with a couple leading the service who have a mission to support the staff and volunteers of Haitian orphanages. The message was about a blessings and how blessings from God are about Him giving you identity and destiny.

We left the main house and headed out on a drive. Tim (the guest house host) took us down through some Haitian poverty and up through some Haitian wealth. The contrast is so significant in a 200 meter vertical climb up the mountain. Corrugated houses with tarps to multi-million dollar homes. At the top of this mountain there was an outlook where we could see over the 4.5 million population of Port au Prince and out to the ocean. It was pretty spectacular. 

This trip was just Tim and the three of us. It was a good time together experiencing some of Haiti. The roads were a mix of potholed earthquake residue and paved stretches of asphalt. Needless to say for some of it you needed to hang on tight and other times was a smooth ride. 

I think my outlook is much like that of the Haitian roadways, some rough patches with an occasional smooth spot. And not unlike Haiti's continued progress in road rebuilding, I think our path will become smoother over time too. But I think I should still sit down and buckle up for what is ahead.

Port au Prince from the mountain - 4.5 million people below

A night of restlessness. Restless like the dogs all around with their barks and cries of suffering. Restless like the trigger finger of the gunshots squeezed off not far away. A night come. A night gone too quickly and not quick enough.

Today we headed out into a bit of Haiti yet unseen by us. A field trip to see Ft. Jacques where GLA is building a new facility that will house all the kiddos, infants on up, all staff and offices, and guests and volunteers. Someday allowing them to stop renting the currant three facilities that are spread out. It is a pretty impressive piece of property and the progress toward this goal is both ambitious and, well, impressive. Who doesn't like climbing around half constructed buildings on the top floor and climbing rope ladders to tree houses overlooking Caribbean valleys?

We also headed to The Mission. This is the baptist mission that seems to be a mission trip tourist trap stop requirement. There is a store, restaurant, "zoo", playground, church, and a hospital all rolled into one. It's a pretty cool place. Outside there are venders of wares and foods - so follow the rule, if it isn't hot, don't eat it. A little bartering and to Heathers horror we got three paintings and a machete. The knife is hers (really) and the horror to her comes from not paying the vendors enough. "Paint is expensive and the artist need to make money too. Pay them more. I'm a tourist and a sucker", she says.

It was fun. Not only for the experience, but to have this time away from the familiar with Leïka. At lunch, she voluntarily sat with us and not with our gracious guides, who she has been close with since she came to the orphanage. This was progress. She did less leaving us behind and running away. Progress. We got to feed animals, play ring the tomato slice on the goat antler, and chase one of the ugliest birds I have ever seen. Not necessarily progress, but good to have fun as a family.

Our mission is simply to not be strangers and find someway, anyway, to connect. The Mission helped us on this mission. Tomorrow is approaching, and as it does I can only pray that our mission continues to have more successes then setbacks. 

This is our mission if we choose to accept.

This message will self destruct.

After a night in a +\- 2 star hotel in Florida we boarded flight 2277 to Port au Prince. An eventless flight other then having some extra room to stretch out and pleasant flight attendants who enjoyed their coworkers and served their cliental well. (This is in contrast to flights where we were tucked in tight like some kind of canned meat waiting for someone to peel back the top to let us out. No loud, bossy mom continually scolding her well behaved kids and husband on this leg of our journey.)

Customs, a breeze. Baggage, arrived and ready. Airport hassle, none. Eighty-six degrees with a strong hint of humidity was a nice departure from 40 and damp. 

The two hour ride out of the capital to Petionville was full of Haiti: sights, sounds, and smells. I love this experience. Every bit of it. As we drove through the streets and alleyways passing people going about their lives sweeping the street, selling goods, offering services of all kinds, or walking home from school I watch their faces, the women mostly, and think. I think about the lines and concerns that are deep in all of their faces. No matter if that face is showing joy and expressing laughter or darkened with troubles and worries, they all reflect one thing. Hardship. Haiti. I think this was the life my daughter was destined for. 

Before. Before loss and her own tragedies, that came so early to her (like they do for so many here), led her to a place of refuge, a sanctuary, and now into our family. I wonder will her face bare the marks of hardships that she was dealt so early or is she safe. Or are her hardships just different now.

We pull into the guest house and were told Leïka is already inside waiting for us. No more waiting or even a chance to change out of smelly shirts for us. It was time. My girl was waiting for her Forever Family. Waiting for her new mom and her new dad, previously introduced but still strangers in most every sense of the word. Waiting to be pulled from every familiar scrap of her existence and plunged into a world as alien as any imagined. 

So we arrived. We arrived at a new cross-section woven into our thin fabric of life. What does she remember, if anything, about having a mom? What kind of man was her dad and how was she treated? As a cherished reminder of her mother? Or as a burden left behind by a woman to be forgotten? We arrived at questions of how to shape our relationships and future. We arrived at impending challenges, questions, joys, and triumphs. We arrived and I am glad. I am anxious and I am scared. I am excited and I am hopeful as she sleeps for the first time in a room with only two others, Heather and I - mom and dad. This alone is a freightening and brave step for all of us.

So here we are, but by no means have we arrived.

January 23, 2014 - we dropped off the boys at school and a friends and have bugun the journey to pick up Leïka. Heading to Seattle for leg one of our trip to change our family forever. A change that begun to happen over five years ago in Ethiopia.

It was October of 2008 when we started this process. The process of growing our family through adoption. It began with a little girl named Root in Addis Abbaba. At this time the daughter that was ment to be ours was just two and had recently lost her mother. She was on the other side of the world from Addis and about to suffer more loss.

As we began the path of adoption in Ethiopia we found it detoured and brought us to Haiti two years latter. In that time the daughter ment to be ours had endured one of the most tragic national disasters to hit her country, and North America. She had lost her father in the quake and had been handed over to an orphanage by those she could call family. Such loss.

Today we begin traveling to her for the second time. Travel to change all of our lives. Travel down the path God has led us on. Travel to unite forever and bring her into our home, our lives. She has already made it into our hearts and I cannot imagine a differnt road to have traveled. We are in love with our girl and although the journey has not been what we expected or would have chosen, the best adventures are always ones that take unexpected turns.