As I stood at the gate in the busy airport waiting for my plane, my mind went back to all the changes in my life during the past months. My marriage had crumbled, leaving me shattered and very confused. My dream of a happy home and children had been dashed. But somehow God was restoring my sense of purpose and desire to follow wherever he led.
It was just a few days before Christmas. In a matter of minutes, I would board the plane and be on my way to Russia to adopt a six-month-old baby girl.
How it had all happened was amazing in itself. I remember sitting in the living room with friends and quietly sharing my desire for a child. “Well, there’s no reason why you can’t still be a mother,” my friend assured me. “Singles are now adopting.”
I remember how I had smiled at the idea, reminding him that I wasn’t young anymore.
“Oh, I don’t think it will take that long,” he responded, “and anyway, it doesn’t hurt to ask.”
With that, a seed of hope was planted that I could be a mother. In just six months, I was on my way to Russia to adopt a baby girl named Oksana. Questions flooded my mind. Would she be there when I arrived at the orphanage? Would she be healthy?
I continued to pray as I stuffed my baggage in the overhead compartment. I glanced again at the little picture I had of Oksana. “Lord, please lead me to other people going to Russia to adopt.”
How I feared traveling alone, but there was no one to go with me.
Before long, in little snippets of conversation, I overheard the words “Russia,” “babies” and “orphanage.”
“Are you going to Moscow?” I asked the woman to my right.
“Yes, my husband and I are going to adopt two children.”
“So am I!” I squealed. “I mean, I’m going to adopt a baby girl.”
From then on, we both talked incessantly. I discovered that they were heading to the same orphanage to be met by the same coordinator. We became fast friends. I whispered a prayer of thanks to God for answering my earlier prayer.
When the plane landed in Moscow, it was cold and dreary. I immediately sensed the strangeness of the different culture and my language barrier. But then I met our coordinator, who turned out to be a very friendly Russian woman who spoke no English. Her big, warm hugs were so reassuring.
“Is Oksana there?” I asked, having heard stories of people getting to the orphanage, only to discover that the child was no longer there.
“Da,” she answered with a twinkle in her eyes.
“When can we go to the orphanage?” I inquired, ready to go on the overnight train immediately.
“Soon,” the translator said.
“By Christmas? Will I see her by Christmas?”
