chasing orchids

Wednesday (I posted this yesterday, but just today figured out that no one could see it. Oops!)...

"Baba" was back at work today, so I was on my own again. This time for real. We survived (barely). I think that makes the day a smashing success!

A while back I shared about the volunteer from our daughter's orphanage who, over the course of hundreds of messages exchanged between us, several days together in China, and a whole lot of laughter mixed with a few tears, has become our dear friend (http://www.chasingorchids.blogspot.com/2012/08/the-queen-bee.html). I had a hard time coming up with the perfect thank you gift for her. But then it dawned on me that I wasn't the only one who might like to thank her. And although I wish I'd been able to locate all of the families who have been touched by her kindness so that they could have also written tributes and shared photos, I think I can safely say that she liked it anyway.

Below is the story behind the book's cover, as told by my sweet friend, and our daughter's guardian angel, Tammy:

Believe me, I am deeply gratful for your kindness.

And believe me, I am deeply honored by your contributions to this amazing little book. To Stacy and Randy, after exchanging nearly 1700 facebook messages -- that's right, nearly 1700! -- thank you, thank you for this special gift. To all the families (those who have contributed and those who were unaware of the book) who have allowed me the privilege of checking on your sweet babies, I thank you.

Below is my journal entry that tells the story of a three-year-old girl at the orphanage and how the title of the book came to be, along with an explanation as to why the word "gratful" is misspelled...


LinLin, you touched my heart from the moment I first saw you. Out of all the children in your room, I gravitated towards you. Your face was precious with those big black eyes and perfectly-shaped lips. But your body. You body told an unmistakably different story. Even though you were a beauty, it appeared as though you were done with the fight. A fight that had lasted nearly your entire life.

Your dossier did not contain what one would consider desirable:

Three years old.
Abandoned.
Not ambulatory.
No known living relatives .
Unknown terminal disease.

And, on top of that, you lay dying. Not only were you dying, but you were dying…alone.

The first time you caught my eye, you were lying in your crib with an IV in your tiny foot. You were being fed intravenously because you wouldn’t swallow. Or maybe it was because you weren’t able to swallow. Perhaps you had no choice in the matter, and the food you were forced to eat was scalding you and it burned all the way down, making it impossible to eat.

Having the ayis tell me you couldn't swallow was not enough to make me a believer. I needed to test you myself. Sadly, it was true. You agonized with each bite. You wanted to eat. It was apparent by the way you would willingly open your mouth. But your wanting to eat was overshadowed by the fact that you couldn’t quite figure out what to do with the food once it was inside your mouth. I tried to feed you, but, what took other children five minutes to eat, would take you at least thirty minutes to make a dent in. After a few days of our practicing, you were making progress. Swallowing better, and eating more. I was so proud of you. And I told you so. I didn’t speak Chinese, but I tried my best to learn a few words so that with each bite, I could remind you to swallow.

I attempted to learn the word “swallow” in Chinese. I thought I had mastered the word. But there were times when you would eat a bite, and I would gently remind you to swallow, only to realize that I had slightly forgotten, and sort of jumbled my words. At which time, I would tell you in Chinese to, “Swallow. And write it down.” Others times, I would say the wrong word and mistakingly call you the name for a swallow “bird.” I would laugh at my mistakes, but you didn’t seem amused. I never saw you smile, or heard you laugh. You watched as I laughed at myself, and stared deeply into my eyes with those big black eyes of yours.

Changing your diapers would cause a tidal wave of emotions to wash over me. It was then that I was reminded that your body was a mere skeleton.

Carefully, I would carry you from crib to crib to visit the other children. But you weren’t the slightest bit interested in them. I had to be particularly careful that your legs did not touch each other because that would have caused you much pain as your bones rubbed against each other.

Each of your days were spent lying flat on your back. Staring. You didn’t have the faculties necessary to even lift your finger, let alone turn your body over. You would lie in your bed hour upon hour, day after day, with no human contact. Is it any wonder that you became a shell of a little girl. And gave up. How must it feel to be three years old, dying, and alone in this world.

I. Can. Not. Even. Imagine.

I sang "Jesus Loves Me" to you in Chinese. Only I changed the words and sang "Jesus Loves YOU." It wasn’t nearly as important for you to know that Jesus loves me, as it was for you to know that Jesus loves YOU. There was no doubt that you could hear me. As I sang to you, you would intently study my face.

The whole time I knew you, you never made a peep. No crying. No whimpering. Nothing. Even though you desperately needed to clear the congestion from your chest, you could barely even muster up the strength to let out a weak, pathetic cough.

No one was certain what ailed you. And, for that matter, I’m fairly certain that no one really cared. That is, until I came along. And LinLin, I not only cared for you, but I loved you. Dearly.

Your frail little body captivated my heart. And because of that, my heart ached for you, and I became your biggest fan. I prayed for you. I cheered you on. I was confident that you could beat your disease. Although, seemingly, no one really knew what that disease was.

As you became weaker, a part of me selfishly wanted you to stay because I had grown to love you, but I knew that you belonged in Heaven. You needed to go, and I wanted that for you. More than anything. I imagined your playing around Jesus’ feet. Running, laughing, singing, and dancing. All those things that children love to do, but your broken little body would never allow you to do, as long as you were here.

There were times when I looked at you, and by the look in your eyes, I wondered if you were seeing angels. Angels who were calling you home.

As the time was nearing for you to pass from this life into the next, I wanted to be there for you. I didn’t want you to be alone. I wanted Jesus to lovingly take you out of my arms, and into His. Passing the baton, of sorts.

Sunday came and went, and I thought about you all day. I felt an urgency to come and see you, but I decided that I would come first thing Monday morning. But Jesus had other plans for you.

Monday morning, shortly before I arrived to check on you, you left the orphanage. By the time I stood beside your empty crib and heard the news, you, my sweet girl, were already dancing in Heaven.

When I first found out, I cried. Then I felt incredibly guilty for not being there with you. For not holding you and comforting you. For not being there when you took your last breath. I was desperate for you to feel loved. As soon as I had that thought of “your being alone,” the Lord wasted no time in reminding me that you were NOT alone. You were surrounded by a multitude of angels.

A multitude of angels?

Wow!

A multitude of angels is far greater than having just me!

Ultimately, it wasn’t necessary that I pass the baton of LinLin's life on to Jesus. He worked it out, according to His will and His perfect plan.

LinLin went home to be with the Lord one year ago this month. She lived in a Chinese orphanage where none of her caregivers could read or speak English. A week before she was whisked away to her Heavenly home, LinLin left me with this extraordinary message printed on the front of her red and white striped shirt. It read:

"Believe me, I am deeply gratful for your kindness."


(Here is a sample of a few pages in the thank you album that adoptive families came together to write for her.)