Hindsight

by Rhonda Taylor Madge

  I could tell that Troy had relaxed after hearing Andre’s story. How could you not have confidence in someone with a testimony like his?

  Andre told us to take the afternoon to buy a few groceries for the apartment and catch up on some rest. He said, “Tomorrow is a big day. One that you have waited for a long time.”

  We walked the cobblestone streets that afternoon, mesmerized by the sights and sounds. When we flew in, it appeared that Kiev was a large, inviting city. Up close, we could see the ravages of communism. Buildings were without repair and weeds grew upon the sidewalks. Tall buildings served as apartments that had housed families for decades.

  Growing up in the South, we were raised to be hospitable to those we met, always giving a warm smile and firm handshake. Our Southern charm did not seem to be very effective in Kiev. Most people walked with their heads bowed, and regardless of how hard we tried, they would not respond to our charisma.

  These people had lost hope long ago, and therefore joy. The country was only in the beginning stages of recouping from the fall of Communism. The middle class did not exist, only extreme wealth or poverty. The average salary was a hundred and fifty dollars per month, and vodka could be bought for the same price as a bottle of water, contributing to high rates of alcoholism. The looks on their faces were filled with despair for what tomorrow could bring.

  We found a grocery store and felt like children trying to figure out what to purchase based on pictures from the food containers. It was much safer to purchase fresh items, so our first night we made chicken breast sautéed in olive oil, with fresh bread and cheese.

  After dinner, we snuggled in bed, gripped hands, and prayed.

  “Please, Lord, let us hear from you. Make it clear which children You have chosen for our family.”

  Amen.

  TWENTY-TWO

  “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and do not lean on your own understanding.”

  Proverbs 3:5

  My eyes opened to the warmth of sunshine on my face. Today was the day we’d been waiting years for.

  “Troy, wake up.”

  As the anticipation of our appointment grew keener, my heart began to beat faster. Troy and I sat in silence, forcing down scrambled eggs and slightly burned toast lathered in butter. Butter makes everything better.

  A gentle knock at the door interrupted the quiet. Andre greeted us with bear hugs. How did he know that’s what I desperately needed? “Let’s go,” he said.

  Our ride to the adoption center was short, and we soon found ourselves in front of a large stone building. A wooden stairway led us to a small room lined with chairs. Andre walked up to a small window in the wall and began a conversation in their own language.

  Troy and I took a seat among other couples. I didn’t expect to see so many people in the same place for the same purpose. All the women were checking out what each other were wearing. Typical women, feeling competitive.

  What if they get called back first? Could they choose the child I want?

  Trust.

  “Andre Komar?”

  He arose and motioned for us to join him. A dark-haired, middle-aged woman greeted us and waved toward the three seats positioned in front of her desk. Before us were binders filled with pictures of children, all needing a mother and father.

  After Andre explained that the director did not speak English, the two of them began a long, intense conversation. They were determining the future of our family and we had no idea what they were saying.

  Finally, she stood and stepped out of the room.

  “They do not have a boy and girl sibling pair that are ready for international adoption,” Andre explained.

  “How can that be? Look at all these pictures,” Troy replied.

  I felt sick.

  Andre said with a smile, “Don’t worry. Be happy.”

  It was not the time for jokes. I could tell Troy was uptight; his clenched jaw gave him away.

  The director reentered the room with two pictures in her hands; both were of girls.

  Andre told us, “These are two very healthy sisters, ages three and four. The director is allowing us to visit these girls as a gift to me because we have known each other for many years.”

  “But, Andre, we have promised Austin a brother. We do not want two girls. What about all the children in these books? Surely there is a brother and sister who need adopting?” I implored as calmly as possible.

  “It would be very impolite and disrespectful if we do not see these girls. The children in these books do not fit the criteria in your application.”

  In other words, we had no choice.

  Is God closing a door? What if we have come all this way for nothing? How would we ever explain this to Taylor and Austin? I know in my dream there was a boy and a girl.

  After a quick bite to eat we headed to a village called White Church. Outside of Kiev the poverty was very apparent. As we drove slowly into town, we crossed over a bridge lined with people selling large cloth bags, filled tightly and tied closed.

  “Andre, what are they selling?” I asked.

  “There is a sugar beet factory here. These employees actually get paid with sugar. They are then required to sell the sugar in order to make money. The bags are filled with sugar.”

  An older woman swept the sidewalk with a broom made from sticks as another knelt on her knees to cut weeds with a sickle. I felt as though we had stepped back fifty years in time.

  Wrought-iron gates slowly opened after we identified ourselves and the director met us at the door leading to his office. He was skeptical of us after reading our application.

  “Why would you want to adopt two more children when you already have two?” he questioned.

  Andre translated Troy’s words. “We are a family of faith and we feel God has asked us to adopt.”

  He arose from his chair and walked out of the room, leaving us uncertain of whether or not our answer had satisfied his concern. We sat in silence as the smell of cabbage and bleach filled the room.

  The turn of the door handle brought us to attention, and in a unified motion we watched two little girls enter the room. They were dressed in matching sailor dresses with large, white bows sitting atop their short, blonde hair.

  Troy and I knelt down before them to get at their level. We smiled into little round faces with eyes as blue as the sky.

  Andre translated, “This is Johnna, age four, and her sister, Valerie, age three. Johnna loves to pretend she is an actress and Valerie sings.”

  We brought them each a small stuffed animal, and as we placed one in each of their hands, they reached in their pockets to give us a piece of candy. An odd feeling came over the room as the director told Andre it was time for lunch and began to usher the girls out.

  Johnna began to cry. I picked her up and stroked her hair. As I held her, it dawned on me that I felt no emotion. Actually I felt numb. I looked at Troy as he looked at me.

  The director led the girls out of the room.

  Andre said, “Let’s go have coffee.”

  Troy and I walked ahead arm in arm to have a minute alone. “What just happened, Troy? I’m a mother. I should have felt something when that child started to cry. My heart was as dry as my eyes.”

  “Rhonda, we have to remember what Pastor Rick and others told us. They said God would reveal which children we are to have. Based on that, we have to assume Johnna and Valerie are not to be our daughters.”

  “How do we say no to two babies who need a mother and father? They have already faced so much rejection.”

  Andre joined us, aware of our apprehension. Troy tried to explain how we felt frozen from emotion.

  Andre argued, “You don’t seem to understand that these are two healthy, beautiful girls. Let’s eat something and give you time to think. You will change your mind.”

  I knew Troy needed to handle this. He stated rather firmly, “Andre, lunch is not going to change our minds. You yourself told us we would know which childre
n we were to adopt. We felt nothing in that room. We had stone-cold hearts—not just me, but Rhonda, also.”

  Andre looked at me as I nodded in agreement and said, “This isn’t easy to say no. But we are following our hearts, Andre. Please try to understand.”

  We drove back to Kiev in silence as Andre made phone calls explaining that we needed another appointment. Thankfully, they agreed to see us again on Monday morning. As we got out of the car, Andre suggested we rest over the weekend and spend time in prayer.

  The second we stepped into the apartment we collapsed into puddles of tears. I had never experienced anything so strange in my entire life; to be in a situation, strangled from sensation, when normally I’m gushing buckets of tears for the children around me.

  What if we have made a mistake? What if Andre was right? I’m so confused. What have we done?

  My damp pillow welcomed sleep as I repeated over and over again, “Lord, please help us.”

  I awakened to the sounds of Troy’s deep breathing—a welcomed sound, knowing he carried the additional burden of being the leader of our family, and I was afraid he would be unable to sleep.

  I reached for my Bible, hoping to find comfort from the confusion and doubts. My fingers found Ephesians 1:11, “…having been predestined according to His purpose who works all things after the counsel of His will.”

  I read it again, pausing on the words predestined, purpose, and His will. I honestly could not believe what I was reading. Why do I question you, Lord? And why is it so hard to trust you?

  Troy stirred from his slumber, and before I could share what I had just read, he said, “Let’s go visit the American couple who lives here, Jon and Luanne Mohr. Remember me telling you about them? I think it’s just what we need.”

  He called them and they were happy to have us join them for the weekend.

  Jon, Luanne, and their six children had lived in the Ukraine for some time as missionaries. An hour-long train ride would take us to their small village, Vinnitsa, which was much like White Church.

  I forced my thoughts away from the little blonde angels who had stood before us. I can’t believe we turned away those babies. I feel heartless. We could have changed the course of their lives and we said no.

  Stop it! I wanted to scream. I had to stop thinking about them.

  The heaviness sunk in. I missed Taylor and Austin terribly, and to make matters worse, it was expensive to call home and Internet usage was limited, making communication difficult. All of my questions led to more fear.

  I knew Troy was lost in his own thoughts. The gentle touch of his hand brought some comfort.

  We pulled into the station and were greeted by a family as happy to see us as we were to see all of them. It had been some time since they’d been with other Americans. The conversation was robust, but I fell back into my old state of pretending that the smile on my face was real. My heart cracked and tears flowed from the inside, yet no one knew.

  Gathering around their table made me miss home, but when Luanne sat steak fajitas made with homemade tortillas in front of us, I began to feel much better. The food was plentiful and the laughter rang throughout the house. Troy was right; this is just what we needed.

  After their children went to bed, we were able to share with Jon and Luanne about the prior day’s events. As missionaries who were accustomed to listening to the heartache of others, they exuded wisdom in their words and warmth in their embrace.

  The double-sized bed and squeaky mattress enveloped our tired bodies. We were asleep within minutes, but the smell of bacon and fresh coffee jolted us awake early the next morning. The Mohrs had planned a day to escape from the worries of the world. First stop—Hitler’s bunker.

  Their large, commercial-sized van took us easily on our adventure. Troy and I both expected a public park made famous by Hitler himself. Instead, we drove down a gravel road through a forest that led to a clearing. Jon knew the area well and walked us to an old Olympic-sized swimming pool nestled among the trees. He explained the pool was built specifically for Hitler to exercise when his army was in hiding.

  Astonished, we walked a bit farther until Jon pointed down toward a grassed area. Unsure of what we were to see, we stepped closer. We saw a metal ladder eerily leading somewhere underground. My wildest imagination could not fathom what was beneath the soil on which we stood.

  Hitler had built this private, secure area for him and his cohorts during the war. The bunker had been bombed and the remnants left only vague reminders of what once was.

  With the history lesson over, the Mohrs decided it was time for a game of softball. What would Hitler have thought about the invasion upon his private world? For a while that day, we turned his forsaken field into a place of laughter and joy.

  After dinner, Jon decided we would worship the next morning in their home. “I really feel as though we need to pray with you instead of going to a Ukrainian church only to be lost in the language.”

  The Spirit of God decided to join us that Sunday morning. The Mohrs’ daughter played the piano as we sang familiar hymns. After scripture was read, Jon prayed for our clarity and clear direction in the coming days. Suddenly he said, “Do either of you know someone named Ruth?”

  I froze. “That’s my mother,” I said.

  “It’s okay. Don’t fear, Rhonda. Just pray for her continued good health and patience with the children.”

  What if something happens to my mother and we are twenty hours away? She’s not used to living anywhere other than the farm. I’ve already lost my daddy. I can’t lose her, too.

  Jon could obviously see the concern through my tears. “Rhonda, the Lord says to lean upon Him and not your own understanding.”

  I knew I was supposed to, but I was still in the infant stages of trust.

  I whispered, “Lord, I’m scared. I’m so scared…”

  TWENTY-THREE

  “I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.”

  John 14:18

  With renewed vigor, we arrived back in Kiev to prepare for our second appointment at the adoption center. Andre left a message that he would pick us up the following morning promptly at eight o’clock.

  We awoke early to pray. Actually, to beg God to help us. Soon after we walked outside to the curb, Andre drove up.

  “Good morning! Today is the day the Lord hath made. Today is April the nineteenth.” Andre announced.

  I gasped. “Troy, Daddy died on April 19. We are going to see our children today. I just know it.” Could God have orchestrated this to bring joy on such a dark day in my life? I wondered. Is this what everyone means by His perfect timing?

  We pulled into the parking lot with expectant hearts. Eagerly, we walked up the steps of the adoption center in anticipation of what the Lord had planned. We took our seats as Andre spoke privately to the adoption center director.

  He walked back and said, “Let’s go. We need to come back tomorrow.”

  What? No. “Andre, why?” I asked.

  “The director cannot meet with us today and she asked that we come back at the same time tomorrow. Don’t worry. Be happy. It will be fine.”

  The Lord didn’t have a plan for this day after all. It’s another day lost away from Taylor and Austin. I am tired of this game.

  Knowing we were upset, Andre drove us to an Internet café so we could write an email home. Explaining that our appointment got pushed back one more day wasn’t the news I wanted to deliver. Two weeks was beginning to feel like two years.

  After Andre took us back to our home away from home, we got our Bibles and headed to a park. It was a beautiful afternoon, even with a slight chill. We were lost in our own thoughts and sought solace on a park bench.

  The buds on the trees were beginning to bloom, making my heart long to see the dogwoods and redbuds blooming in Tennessee. The dogwoods were in full bloom when Daddy died—strange to mix such beauty with death.

  I read Isaiah 61:3: “‘To grant those who mourn in Zion, Givi
ng them a garland instead of ashes, The oil of gladness instead of mourning, The mantle of praise instead of a spirit of fainting.’”

  The cool breeze blew across my face as I repeated that verse over and over in my mind. I wanted to scream.

  Why did You get our hopes up? I just knew something good would happen on this terrible day. Where is our praise instead of despair? I don’t understand, Lord.

  I took a deep breath and turned to John 14:14. “‘If you ask Me anything in My name, I will do it.’”

  Lord, in your powerful name, I pray we see our children tomorrow.

  **********

  The birds woke us early to prepare once more for another appointment. I was scared of being disappointed again. There was only one thing left to do—trust. Climbing the stairs for the third time, my clunky heels announced our arrival. We thought it was odd to find the waiting room empty, but we were greeted immediately.

  Excitement stirred in the air as the director spoke to Andre in their native tongue. It sounded like they were giggling.

  “Rhonda and Troy, yesterday the paperwork arrived in this office for a brother and sister from the Donetsk region. We could not bring you in for the appointment because the documents needed to be prepared.”

  Yesterday, April 19. My heart quivered. Lord, I’m sorry I questioned You.

  The director laid two tiny pictures before us. Andre said, “This is Roman, age five, and his sister, Victoria, age six. Would you like to see them?”

  Troy and I nodded through our tears. I picked up the pictures and glanced into the faces of two children, both void of expression. Victoria’s hair looked much like my childhood Barbie dolls after I’d given them a haircut. Roman had deep, dark circles under his eyes that betrayed a profound sadness. Yet strangely, their beauty was captivating.

  As we walked out of the center, Troy stopped to read a plaque hanging on the wall, which had 1 Samuel 1:27 written on it: “‘For this boy I prayed, and the Lord has given me my petition which I asked of Him.’”