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Boy, do I have a beautiful moment to share with you. It’s kind of a bonus. I shared a lot of Natalii’s story here but there is so much more to her story!!  A piece I’d like to share with you is when and how I first met Natalii.  Man, hold on, it’s goooooood.

So to rewind a second, let me set the scene: Collin and I were in Africa for the very first time. We were NOT expecting to adopt internationally and this little man ran by me and I realized I had been having dreams of his very face for years…YEARS! So we asked the other kids about him and no one knew how old he was or where he was from. What we learned was that he was quite reserved at the orphanage and that although he had lived there for several years, he had not learned the national language (French) which all the staff and children speak. He still spoke his tribal language, Fon. I believe the exact words that were told to us were “Oh, he does not speak. All he knows is ‘Come to eat’!” (He was more Schuiteboer than we realized! We, Schuiteboers are not afraid of food.)

When we asked our friend Patrice about him, she said Elisee’s grandmother had brought him and an older brother to the orphanage almost 3 years before because she could not afford to feed them. Patrice hadn’t seen the grandmother since then, but was willing to call her to ask about adoption. The grandmother of Elisee and his brother Jeret, came the very next day to meet us. She agreed to sign any paper to adopt her grandson to us. This was a shock since it is not common practice to adopt in general, in Benin.  We asked questions about Elisee’s parents and she covered her face each time, sighed a lot and said “They are dead.”

Altogether, it was an interesting meeting since each person had to be translated and the grandmother’s words said she was so willing to help but her body language was so closed. We were left with many questions and a huge to-do list to get the adoption going. After our meeting, Elisee was brought in to meet his Grandmother. There was no recognition, but only curiosity in him. He was intrigued by her. Patrice, explained what we were discussing and in her blunt African way, turned him to look at her and asked “Who would you like to be your mother?” He giggled, looked shyly at me and pointed. (Thank goodness she spoke in Fon, because I would not have been able to handle that question in that moment!)

Immediately, we set out to find all the necessary papers to begin an adoption. First and foremost was to prove Elisee was indeed an orphan – we needed death certificates of both parents. His father’s was easy to find with the help of Janice, but his mother’s could not be found. There was no record of her death. Patrice took a day to go into Natalii’s village and ask questions and it was there she found out Natalii was not dead but alive!  After questioning the grandmother further, her response was “She is dead to me!” (Ahem…. Different kinds of “dead” wouldn’t you say?) And so it was that Natalii was sent money for travel and food to make the day’s journey to us.

I have been blessed to see such a momentous occasion! Sweet, humble Natalii, who hadn’t seen or heard of her own young boys in over 3 years was able to come and kiss their faces. She entered our story with such humility and gentleness.  Tiny Ruth (Elisee’s sister!!) was tied on her back while she rode the moto (motorcycle)  into town. Her unkempt hair was covered with a hat and she wore what I’m sure was her only and most valuable possession, her good cloths. Her nails had been carefully painted at one time but were worn and chipped. The anxiety in her heart must have been real, but her face was full of peace and hope.

Natalii didn’t shout or smother the boys in kisses as I would have imagined, but the pride in her eyes when she saw those boys was unmatched.  Her eyes fell on each one with a mother’s gaze of knowing so much more than meets the eye. I bet she could see their Daddy in them. They were so much bigger than when she saw them last, and they were happy and well fed.  Both boys are strong and full of Jesus. It was obvious to Natalii that they had been loved in her absence.  Jeret recognized both her and Janice right away. He spoke to them in his confident, firstborn way. Elisee, on the other hand, was quite taken with his little sister Ruth. He grabbed her hand and held on tight as he dragged her around with him. Her cherub face adored him in return. He giggled and showed her off to his friends and they chattered away in their own language.

I wonder if Natalii cried herself to sleep that night. Perhaps with relief and perhaps with sadness?  Had she been wondering where her boys were? I don’t know if she knew they were even alive or whether or not they were still with their grandmother. Had she been worrying over them or laying them before the throne of grace begging for their futures? Could she possibly allow one son to leave Africa and become part of another family and culture? To travel across the ocean possibly never to return? Did Natalii trust her Papa God to keep her children safe for her?  No matter the answers to these questions, I praise God that I got to be the instigator of their reunion! Part of me wanted to stay and experience it all with Natalii. I have cried out in prayer on behalf of this woman and her son for years without knowing.  I was privileged to see them together again! Part of me wanted to take everyone away so they could be alone – be a family even for just a few minutes. ALL of me wanted to search the whole earth and find whatever was necessary to make a way for them to live together as a family forever… But Natalii was married. Her new husband was the head of his household and he said “No”to another man’s children.

Blended families are a unique and beautiful piece of American culture. I don’t underestimate the difficulties that come with blending children, spouses, traditions, and disciplines. It is not for the faint of heart. Families with a willingness to work hard and continue loving against every odd are simply inspiring! In Benin, and many other places around the world, it is not so. Natalii’s new husband would not stand for the boys to come home with Natalii. They were not his.  (Praise God that somehow Ruth was miraculously welcomed safely in his home.) And Natalii wanted the very best for Elisee, no matter the cost to herself. She was willing to help us with the adoption and signed every single document. She agreed that we could take him to America and she knew he would no longer be hers. A consent, I cannot even imagine! And we were on our way, another step closer to getting our boy home.

Elisee has a beautiful biological mother.  She has a gorgeous smile that lights up her whole face, just like our Elisee’s, but her inward beauty is so much more!  Her character is strong enough to face adversity and keep that amazing smile.  She is truly beautiful in every sense of the word. And her incredible story cannot be kept a secret. (For her own security we’ve named her Natalii.)

Natalii married her childhood friend when she was 14. They had grown up in the same village their whole lives. This village is a dark place spiritually, I’m afraid. It is the birthplace of voodoo. Benin is proud of its’ long history of voodoo, claiming it is the country of origin for this religion. Museums spell out picture for picture how Benin so graciously influenced other parts of the world with it’s belief. The people are so proud of the heritage!

The village of Elisee’s parents is at the very center of it all. The chief of the village says no one from their people have ever left the country because of the sacrifices their ancestors made during the slave trade to keep their families “safe” (in Africa). The gods of voodoo are keeping them safe still. (And I wonder why I can’t get Elisee to the US?)

Well, Natalii’s father was a pastor. (Which can mean a lot of things in Africa, but basically he loved Jesus at some point and preached something along that line. I wish I knew more about him!)  Natalii, therefore, has ancestry from both voodoo and Christianty- this lays a tumultuous path for a woman in Africa. Women do not have rights in many areas of life in Benin and her destiny has never been her own.

Natalii did, however, get to marry her friend who was her own age and they started a family.  First was Jeret, he is a strapping boy who is rough and tumble and will not be the underdog no matter which way the lines are drawn. He’s tough as nails and wild as a stallion. He was favored much by his only living grandmother (his father’s mom) and she claims him as her own. When asked who his mother is in a lineup of family members, Jeret pointed to his grandmother and smiled that knowing smile with her, “She is mine. That one is Elisee’s.” Next to the grandmother in this lineup was Natalii. Natalii has a tenderness toward Elisee as if he was her youngest, her baby.

Elisee was the second son of his father and quickly followed by baby #3: a sweet-natured girl named Ruth. When Jeret had turned 3 and Elisee was almost 2, their father had pains in his stomach.  It lasted for days with increasing intensity and he was taken to the hospital. He was given medicine for the pain and sent home only to pass away immediately after returning. The western-minded assumption is appendicitis. He was gone and Natalii was left behind. Her mother-in-law (who practices voodoo devoutly) believed the common superstitions and blamed Natalii. She had “killed” her own husband and she was no longer welcome in their village. She was sent to distant relations in another village with her nursing baby while the boys were taken from her for the grandmother to keep. “It wasn’t their fault, after all, that their mother was a murderer.”

Now Natalii has this beautiful humility about her. In this moment, she had no rights to argue or stand up against her mother-in-law, but the level of grace and dignity she holds even after experiencing this travesty of “justice” is insane. Even years later when I got to spend time with Natalii, she was kind and gracious towards “that woman” (as I call her in my own head).  Natalii was sent to her relatives with an infant and no way to protect her. She had no resources, connections nor a single possession of her own. She was “worthless” in the eyes of her culture. Even her reputation was slandered by the words of her own kin- “a murderer”. Who would care for her now? What were her hopes of a future and a family?

Natalii was introduced to a new village without a friend or an ounce of pride.  Her hopes and dreams were lost, but she pressed on. She came to befriend a man who was sick. He was dying and needed a caregiver and so they were wed.  I don’t know what love there might have been between them, but her good fortune was short-lived.  He provided for her basic needs while she cared for him but money was not plentiful and when he was gone, so was her provision. Now she is marked. In voodoo it is believed that she has been the death of 2 husbands, she is not likely to marry ever again. She is an outcast. It was at this time that she also gave birth to a fourth child- another son. Once again homeless, penniless, and with two young babes in her care, Natalii’s only hope was to return to her first mother-in-law who had cast her out and slandered her name.  The woman who had taken what was left of her youth and every last shred of aspiration.

Now the grandmother… That woman… She had two tiny boys in her home and under her care.  Unfortunately, she had also lost significance in the eyes of the village. Her son was her breadwinner. He was her hope and her source of sustenance. Without him, she also had nothing. With no income and no work, how could she feed the babes she had stolen? She couldn’t. And so, not long after sending Natalii on her way, the grandmother took the boys to the only orphanage in southern Benin, perhaps in all of Benin. They traveled 4+ hours southwest to Exodus House Orphanage and she left the two boys on the doorstep of the gracious and Jesus-loving Patrice. Praise the Lord. They were welcome, they were safe. Both boys were cared for and given the basic necessities for life, education, and friendship for the next 4 years before we had the privilege of meeting them.

And so it came to be that Natalii was living with the granmother when we returned to Africa for our Elisee.  They were two women bound together by kinship but with nothing in common. They share nothing and everything at once and there is no love or joy in their communion.

God has a future for Natalii. As I think of her difficult life and pray for her and the tiny ones she holds dear, I feel God’s heart for her in Isaiah 47:

“But you {Natalii} are my servant.

You’re Jacob, my first choice, descendant of my good friend Abraham…

I’ve picked you. I haven’t dropped you. Don’t panic, I’m with you.

There’s no need to fear for I’m your God.

I’ll give you strength. I’ll help you.

I’ll hold you steady, keep a firm grip on you.”

She has not been forgotten by the one who holds her heart.  Natalii can smile that beautiful smile because she has Jesus. He is enough. He is her strength and her song. And because of God’s work in Elisee’s life, we had the privilege of meeting her. We have prayed for her and her children and all of their futures for a year and a half now.  Our friend Patrice has taken her in as a friend to encourage, speak life and give gifts to. This year on our last day in Benin, we were sent money for some “impromptu” paperwork and the sender felt led to double the amount. That same day we met with Patrice to see if there was a way to bless Natalii with it, was there a business she could possibly start  for this amount and keep it running while being a mom? Could she become her own provider and no longer be at the whim of her mother-in-law? YES! It was Natalii’s own idea to use the money to drive into the Bush (the African countryside) and buy beans and rice to sell in the market.  Her travels would not be frequent and she had enough money to take a car instead of a “moto” (motorcycle) and the two young children could come with her. They could stay with her in the market while she sold each day and the work would not be too much for her to bear.  God is good. He has provided where there seemed to be no way. She is his favorite, His first choice and He has a firm grip on her. She is not lost. I can’t wait to return to Africa to see her smile and drink tea in her house. I can’t wait to see what God uses her to redeem in her village and what He does through her children!

After two years of knowing we were going to West Africa “someday”, that day finally came! My husband and I were traveling for our 10th anniversary to love and serve the children at Exodus House Orphanage and see what God had planned. We took off on a forever long trip touching down on 3 different states and 4 countries to land in the Republic of Benin. We had the name of a person who would “most likely” pick us up and no phone number. Oh and by the way, the national language is French- I took Latin in high school and Collin took sign language… not at all helpful!!

We were road weary and smelled like airplane food but we made it alive. Our excitement and nerves built inside of us as we waited… and waited to be picked up. It was day 3 of traveling and we had a two hour drive ahead of us.  Back at home it was past my bedtime but in Benin it was 4pm.  We had to stay awake. Finally a woman came to us and tried to pronounce our names (African French people don’t speak the best Dutch) then told us the taxi had broken down but the driver (forever named Driver to us!) was fixing it and would be along shortly.  So we sat some more and finally hopped into the oh-so-trustworthy vehicle and headed out of the city and into the villages. The culture shock of riding down a third-world African road is a story in and of itself but again, we lived to tell the tale (another time!) and arrived in the village of Pahou.

As we pulled up outside the orphanage children spilled out of the gates and rushed up to the car. Their cheering and smiles filled us with joy and we knew God’s love was in this place. They swarmed us and sang “Brother John” and “Head, Shoulders, Knees & Toes” to impress us with their English.  They grabbed our hands and pulled us into the compound. We couldn’t begin to take in each one of their sweet faces and names but they gladly shared with us everything they could think of to share. We were overcome. After several minutes of this beautiful chaos our host, also known as “Big Mamma,” instructed the kids to gather their instruments and welcome us with African song and dance. The beauty and joy that followed was incredible! More children poured out of the buildings as soon as they heard the beat of drums. I think the best part of it for them is watching us try to dance because, of course, we were not allowed to sit and rest our weary feet!  We attempted to copy the moves we saw and feel the rhythm as best we could but there was much laughter and pointing.  We were the entertainment and we knew it. As I laughed at myself I looked around at the smiling faces and noticed the concentric circles of children- outgoing and self-assured kids were right up close, the exuberant and interested kids right behind them, uncertain bystanders kept a little more distance but stayed close enough to witness it all. Beyond that were a few “outsiders” who stood by a wall or continued their playing or work. It was in this last group that I saw two boys running past and I froze. I knew that face. I had memorized that profile.

Later that night when we finally fell into bed in our African home-away-from-home, I told Collin what I had seen: “I saw our son,” “I must be crazy,” “How  could it be him!?” I couldn’t begin to process what I saw in the orphanage, never mind that our boy was quite possibly here and not in the US foster system! I was obviously beyond tired. I wasn’t sure of anything. Thank you Jesus for my even-steven hubby who soothed me with words of peace and encouraged me to search for him tomorrow and pray. “Time will tell.”

The next day a part of me wanted to bust into the boys dormitory and search every bed for our boy. I wanted to stare into every pair of eyes and ask God “is this him?” But I held back, I waited and loved each and every child I got to hold hands with and listen to and sing with. We had so much fun playing games and learning French. About midday I saw two boys running again and I reached out and snatched one out of the air. He looked at me incredulously and leaned in for a snuggle. I don’t think it ever crossed his mind to gain the attention of the Americans- there were 73 other kids who were vying for that.

I had a storybook moment. You know that moment, when a mother has just pushed until every vein on her temples stands out and she’s shaking from fatigue after laboring for hours.  At the sound of the first cry she looks down and sees the head of her very own child- the fruit of so much labor- rising and reaches out as the doctor or nurse places that baby for the first time on it’s mother’s chest. The mother can finally rest in knowing her child is alive and well.  She rejoices in holding that child because IT IS HERS.  I looked at this child’s dimples and traced the shape of his ear. I held his hands and counted every finger. I kissed his head and breathed in the scent of African dust and the hot sun. I hugged him and felt his ribs and belly and I traced a pattern on the smooth skin of his skinny arms. I memorized the shape of his nose and the way he raised his eyebrows and laughed. And he was content to bask in this attention and I was content in knowing he was alive and well and he was mine.

To begin with, let me tell you I have wanted to adopt from the time I was 10. I recently found an old journal from the 90’s where I confessed to wanting to adopt because #1 who wants to push a child out!? (eek!) and #2 our world is so full of children in need already!  So I decided then and there: I would adopt someday. When my husband and I had been married a few years and were [ridiculously] surprised twice with biological children, I had a dream.

The dream came one night when my dearest friend Megan returned from the World Race with stories of kids from every corner of the map.  (I should have realized!) We talked all night and I went to bed so filled with love for kids that I dreamed of a young African American man who was once an orphan. He was returning to the orphanage he had lived in and was challenged to “make something” of his life. He faced where he came from without knowing where he was going. A man who ran the orphanage seemed to be persuading him to the side of “evil & darkness” over and over again, yet in the end he always chose good. In the end, he even returned to run the orphanage so that he could change the fate of others and give them a second chance- to believe in kids the way his adoptive family believed in him. He was going to give back all the Father’s love he himself had received. During the whole dream I felt a protective mother’s heart for the young man. He had been through so much! And despite America’s claimed “racial equality” an African American man does often have to prove his good intentions, it is not assumed. Well, God pointed me toward that mother’s love and made it clear that this boy was to be my son someday.

God allowed me several more dreams of my boy including one just a year and a half ago where all I saw was his face. I saw him smiling at me. I saw his deep dimples and the caramel color of his eyes. I saw his light eyebrows and his shaved black hair. I saw his profile and memorized the shape of his head and ears. I saw how his skin was like midnight on the back of his neck and faded slightly until it was milk chocolate on the apple of his cheeks. It seemed like I got to stare into his lovely cherub face all night and when morning came I asked God why I had only seen him and not spoken or played or had a glimpse into his life like before? God seemed to say all I needed was to know my son- really know him. And his eyes had told me everything.

This is the face I have prayed for. After the first dream I started a prayer journal and wrote down my dreams of him and my prayers for him. I have prayed over his biological siblings, his mother and father, the “orphanage” (or in my unknowing mind, the US Foster family) where he lives. I have prayed for his past, present and future not knowing where I fit into the story. And I have prayed for my biological kids to have a heart for the orphan and my whole family to be prepared and bursting with love and acceptance whenever this little guy comes to us. And God gives me hope- patience to wait and hope to know he is coming…someday.

I know a boy whose smile lights up a room. This boy is so full of hope and anticipation and yet his eyes speak of wisdom.  He knows expectation and he knows disappointment. He knows love and loss and worry and joy. But oh that smile!  His deep dimples wash aside the fear I know he battles and offer joy to anyone who receives such a precious smile.

Here’s the proof of his hope. Look at that face! He’s looking at his Daddy. Who wouldn’t have that look when they see the face of a Daddy who loves them and seeks out their best interest before His own?