Children of Dreams, An Adoption Memoir

by Roberts, Lorilyn

  That day God showed me forgiveness. I left knowing I didn’t deserve that kind of mercy. I realized God had revealed to me a greater truth. I had to forgive everybody that I had any bitterness toward if I wanted to receive God’s forgiveness. The day marked a turning point in my life. I knew I was without excuse.

  I couldn’t just forgive once—it had to become a way of life. How could I be a good mother if I brought all of that baggage into a “forever” family with Manisha and Joy? Forgiveness was the cornerstone of my healing and essential for God’s redemption.

  It wasn’t until after my painful divorce that I understood it is God who shapes our dreams and directs our paths. It was then that I gave all of my life to Jesus Christ—including my dreams. Little did I know what wonderful plans God had in store. Not that my life has been easy; if we embrace a radical Christianity, I don’t think it will be. God took me as I was—bitter, hurt, and angry—and began a huge reconstruction project.

  One hot afternoon when I arrived at my favorite pool to take a cool dip, a group of swimmers were already there with an assortment of things, including tanks, snorkels, flippers, face masks, and unusual, intimidating gadgets that I came to know later as octopuses and BCs. I jumped at the opportunity to learn how to scuba dive.

  I could not have known then how God would use such an amazing pastime for His divine purposes. God had a plan to prepare me to be a single mother—He wanted to equip me to rescue two children from the remotest regions of the earth.

  I was mesmerized by the unparalleled beauty of the waters of the deep. With unlimited visibility, air becomes blue, sand glistens like snow, eels mimic wavy stems of plants, and blue rays glide like a flock of birds. The high definition, Blu ray cinematography created a world of enchantment dotted with multi-colored coral, sea anemones, blue damsels, and grouper. If I was lucky, the occasional eel and nurse shark would reward me with a surprise appearance.

  I often wondered why God would create an underwater world with so much diversity that most would never experience. I never felt closer to God than when swimming weightlessly in the ocean’s depths, feeling His presence in every breath inhaled through my regulator. I had indeed met the Great Master, who cares for the simplest of creatures—even the little worm I discovered clinging to a sunken ship at fifty feet on a night dive. Never would I doubt that God was the Creator.

  My dives throughout the world gave me allegorical clues to the great battle waged in the unseen world of good versus evil. The immediate dangers that lurked in the deep became metaphors to me for human sin and evil.

  On a more practical level, Scuba diving helped me to develop self-esteem, overcome insecurity, face my fear of failure, and deal with not always being physically comfortable. I have some pretty tall tales I could tell.

  Without God’s work in my heart on so many different levels, I would have remained a miserable, wretched, person—codependent and insecure. I cringe when I think what I would have missed out on if God had not had mercy on me, but God promises to heal the brokenhearted and restore what the locusts have eaten.

  God brought me through many adventures that became life lessons, more than enough to last a lifetime, but it was during the years in the “wilderness” before I left for Nepal, while in the crucible of suffering, that God did His greatest work on my heart. I realized, sitting in a chair at the Jacksonville Airport that cold night, it was only through forgiveness that God was able to fulfill my dreams, redeemed by His grace and mercy.

  …choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve…

  Joshua 24:15

  How are my daughters doing today? This was the most common question asked by the proofreaders of the first draft of my book. As I put the finishing touches on Children of Dreams, I can’t believe how quickly the years have slipped away. We have our children for just a short season. One day we turn around and our babies and toddlers are headed to school with backpacks and a lunchbox. We barely blink and they want the keys to our car. I hope the wedding bells and nursery are still a few years away.

  Manisha Hope, my oldest, will be eighteen in just a few months. She would have died when she was seven if I had not adopted her. She would never have known the Lord, never felt a mother’s love, or had a chance to become everything God created her to be.

  Joy would have remained in the northern reaches of Vietnam without the opportunity to achieve her creative potential, to know Jesus personally, and to fill my heart with so much love. I would have spent the rest of my life never knowing the child God had chosen for me. Our Lord doesn’t put any child with any parent. There is a great plan crafted by our heavenly Father from the beginning of time.

  As much as I would like to think my children are mine, they aren’t. They belong to God and I do not own them. They are on loan to me to raise and love for a few short years, painfully fleeting as I look back, but hopefully, when the Lord returns, He will say to me, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”

  Now that Manisha is almost an adult, I have been reflecting on what words of wisdom I will impart to her as she approaches adulthood. She will soon be stepping out into the world on her own, and I wonder whether I have done enough to prepare her for the harsh realities of life.

  In so many ways I know I have failed because I am not perfect. We have all failed and come up wanting. But God loves Manisha and Joy more than I do, and I know my prayer and my heart’s desire, above all else, for both of my girls, is for them to love the Lord with all their hearts. Ultimately, they will have to choose which road they will travel and which God they will serve—the God of the Bible, or a manmade god that could entice them away from everything I have tried to teach them and show them.

  God was the perfect parent and Adam and Eve disobeyed Him. If the perfect Father can have rebellious children, it doesn’t make me a bad parent if my children go up against everything I believe. Part of letting go is allowing them to choose how they will live and accepting them as they are, whether I agree with their lifestyle or not. I must love them anyway. God is our example. Help me, Lord Jesus, to be like You.

  Some of the saddest stories I have heard are from adoptive parents whose children have chosen the wrong friends, made incredibly foolish choices, squandered amazing opportunities, or refused to acknowledge Jesus as their personal Savior. Often times the parents blame themselves for their children’s mistakes.

  Hopefully, in twenty years God can write HiStory, the testimony of two orphans who faithfully served Him, whether Manisha becomes a missionary, Joy a doctor, or they are “ordinary” in the eyes of the world but “heroes” to someone in need. For now, that part of the story must wait. At seventeen and ten, my daughters have barely begun to live, but God has given them the opportunity through adoption to become everything they were created to be. I hope as they both mature, they will dream big dreams, climb huge mountains, and continue to walk humbly with their God.

  My treasure hidden in the mountains of Nepal, it seems like yesterday when Manisha and I first met and walked around the building picking flowers and admiring the birds. She is almost eighteen and the biggest issue we “fight over” is why I will not buy her a car. She is a beautiful young woman who has accepted Jesus as her Savior, and there is evidence of her relationship with Him in her life. Friends call her the “little mother,” because she has been such a wonderful big sister to Joy (most of the time) for which I am thankful.

  Getting through the teenage years with my oldest daughter has not been easy. We still have a couple of more years to go, and I pray that God will be with her each day, draw her unto Himself, and keep her safe. There is no room for pride when raising a teenager; it has been hard work but rewarding.

  As an aside, Manisha’s Algebra teacher this semester is the same professor that gave me the “F” and for which Santa Fe College removed the failing grade from my record—the object lesson God used to teach me the meaning of forgiveness. What would I have thought twenty-three years ago if I had known that someday that same profes
sor would be my daughter’s instructor?

  Joy just turned ten and is now in fifth grade. It’s been eight years since I was in Vietnam. My pearl of great price—how empty my life would have been without the one I almost didn’t get. I have been homeschooling Joy for the past two years and I try to make it a lifestyle and not a drudgery (most of the time). We bought seasonal passes to Disney World for a year and have made several trips to study the African animals, learn about wildlife, and develop a greater awareness of history through the elaborate exhibits. At Epcot, the World Showcase, I have introduced Joy to other cultures from around the world, and we’ve eaten at several of the restaurants offering French, German, and Moroccan cuisine.

  Soon we will go on a kayaking trip to Atsena Otie Island off the coast of Cedar Key to study migratory birds and the history of the island. I have used homeschooling as an excuse to have fun and learn about God’s great universe, where His handiwork is revealed in the precious life and beauty around us.

  Joy is also a talented gymnast on the girls’ gymnastics team and will compete at level eight in January. If she stays injury free and I can afford it, she has the physical agility and strength to go as far with it as she wants.

  She received Jesus into her heart when she was young and asks many questions—she is my deep thinker and shallow thinker, my creative one and challenging one. Give her paper and pencil and she’s happy. I learned early on how much she loved to draw when walls had scribbles that appeared from nowhere and books had marks that I knew weren’t “copyrighted.” Her love notes have inspired me to someday make a book of “Love Notes to Mom.” I wish there were a way I could bottle up her creativity and sell it. I could make a fortune. With great creativity and talent come great challenges. I am sure my hair will be a beautiful shade of silvery gray by the time I get her through the teenage years.

  I wouldn’t trade my children for anything in the world (although they might trade me in for a younger version because, in their words, “you are old”). As God’s precious gifts, I am amazed, especially now that I wrote Children of Dreams, how God did what was humanly impossible—without an awesome God, I wouldn’t have either of my daughters!

  Parenting is the hardest job in the world. Imperfect and full of flaws, my ability to be a single parent has been harder than anything I could have imagined. My kids could give plenty of examples of all my foibles, but love covers a multitude of sins, fortunately.

  I never set out to be a homeschooling mom. It just happened because both my children do so much better academically with one-on-one teaching, as shown by the Iowa Skills test scores each year. But my main goal has been to give my children a Christian worldview. If I accomplish that, I feel my most important objective will have been reached and the academic achievement will be gravy.

  My favorite line for “keeping on” is something I heard a few years ago at the Homeschooling Convention in Orlando: The worst day homeschooling is better than the best day in public or private school. I have done all three and truly believe it.

  Both my daughters would receive an “A plus” in Americanism. I did westernize Manisha after all my worries to the contrary. They have adjusted well to growing up in a single-parent family (they don’t know anything different, unlike children from divorce). As far as I know, they have never experienced any prejudice. I don’t even think Joy would know what it means. On the surface, an outsider would never know the depravity from which they came.

  …I am the Lord who heals you

  Exodus 15:26

  Praise the Lord that Manisha has been off seizure medicine for six years and hasn’t had a seizure in eight years. Hopefully neurocysticercosis will never raise its ugly head again. As I told the insurance company, the parasite died and can’t come back to life. Good riddance!

  He will respond to the prayer of the destitute

  Psalm 102:17

  There was one bit of unfinished business that haunted me. It was so deep I never shared it with anyone because I didn’t think anyone would understand. In some ways I couldn’t understand, except in quiet moments, light, wispy thoughts would drift into my consciousness from the past, dream-like, from deep within my soul. Just like the little dog, Fifi, that many years ago I rescued, I wanted to know that the little girl, Thi My-Sa, whom I prayed about for so long, was happy and loved. The image of her sitting in what looked like a steel cage with bars never left me even after I came home with Joy. I never got over the fact that I had left her there with an uncertain future.

  Even when Anne mentioned to me in passing, while I was at her home in Ho Chi Minh, that she was being adopted in March, I struggled emotionally, for I felt that I had let her down. I had prayed concerning Thi My-Sa for months after she was found in a store being beaten by somebody that was not her mother and taken away to the orphanage by strangers. I wanted to ask Anne more, but every time I tried, something prevented me from finding out anything. Perhaps Anne was unwilling to talk about it, but I had loved this little girl that had such a difficult beginning.

  I was glad she was eventually adopted, but there are always the “what if’s”? Suppose I had waited just a little bit longer? I knew that Joy was supposed to be my daughter, so why did I have such a hard time letting go of Thi My-Sa? Could it be that my prayers were meant to “keep her,” like I had kept Fifi many years earlier until her new master arrived? Maybe my prayers had protected her, given her a chance, even as she waited month after month.

  Several months after Joy arrived home from Vietnam, Jackie, the adoptive mother from Canada, whom I had met in Hanoi, emailed me asking if the person who had adopted Thi My-Sa could contact me. She knew someone that knew her, and through the grapevine of Vietnamese adoptive parents, had somehow tracked me down. I wondered, could this be God’s way, in His mercy, of bringing me closure? Of letting me know that Thi My-Sa was loved, was being raised in a Godly home, and that my prayers had made a difference? Could I be sure I had done the right thing in relinquishing her and not feel guilty about it?

  I knew Anne would never tell me the name of the family or give me their contact information. Anyway, who would understand how I felt? I had my two children, so what difference would it make? It made a difference in my soul. Once you have a place in your heart for a person, that spot belongs to them, whether it’s a child, a friend, or a mentor. No other child can replace that child. Every child has her “special place.”

  When I received the email from Jackie, I was stunned. Strangely enough, they lived in Gainesville, Texas. I was thrilled to think the family wanted to contact me, but reluctant to think it would ever happen. I didn’t want to get my hopes up. After all that I had been through, I didn’t want to be disappointed.

  I will let Kris speak here as she says so well how God in His mercy called her to get in touch with me:

  I said to Anne, “Well, Joy is the name I want to name her.”

  Anne laughed. “That is a coincidence. The lady who was going to adopt her named her daughter that she adopted Joy.”

  I said, “A coincidence?”

  She said, “Well, she was destined for Gainesville, but not Florida—Texas.”

  I asked her for your email or address, and she wasn’t forthcoming, pleading disorganization. She didn’t want us to get together, for Abbey had two different sets of documents and was two people. The birth certificate you had put her three months older than the one I had, with two different names.

  Interesting.

  I was compelled to find you.

  I knew I had to find you.

  I knew in my heart you hurt from it, at least then.

  I had to see you. I had to show you.

  I had to let you know she was happy with us.

  I knew instinctively you were like me, and when you could find her happy, any leftover feelings would dissipate.

  I knew when we drove thru Gainesville the first Christmas and I didn’t know how to reach you [by phone], I grieved for you.

  For me. For her.

  I knew s
he had to make that connection.

  I felt empty for the whole trip, for you to be with us for a brief time.

  For you to see us. For us to see you.

  For her to know that she had people pulling for her, even if she was never to know her bio mom.

  When we were invited back to Orlando the second Christmas by our-brother-in-law, he paid for our trip and motel. I told Kirk, “We have to meet her.”

  He understood as a man would, but I felt it deeply. He goes along with what I think is right, as he did to see her Dong Nai Orphanage and the market where she was found and abandoned. Now she talks about it quite often.

  It was the right thing to do in both instances, because with the orphanage, the director had gone home, and he drove back in to see her and hug her. We took pictures of him and his wife. It was a God thing. Like meeting you.

  I still have the papers you sent me somewhere in Abbey’s file. I want her to know her whole story, because only then can she honestly resolve it.

  I emailed you a couple of years ago (Kris contacted me by email initially, but I didn’t receive her email on their first trip to Florida. It wasn’t until another year had passed, when she emailed me a second time that they were passing through Gainesville that we met) and asked you if Abbey and I alone could come and visit you, and you never responded. It hurt me a little. I thought, well, maybe you have a boyfriend, a live-in or maybe you don’t want to clean house, or some random thoughts. Maybe you didn’t like me.

  I just let it go. I thought, well, maybe you didn’t get my email. I just thought, there is this connection, and Abbey and I talk about you. She has a place in her heart for you, because she knows when she was too little to understand or control anything, you were praying for her.

  She has a love for the thought of you.

  I wanted her to have a knowledge of who you were, and a trip, or a halfway meeting someday, would be so good for her (and you), and your two daughters… we would probably not have her had you not held onto her until you couldn’t any longer, and had you not been there to pray for her constantly.