Our calling to China...written in January 2007

It was the Christmas of 2002 in which I first felt that my biological clock was ticking. My husband Bob's dear grandmother Mary had passed away and Bob's grandfather Jack was letting myself and my sister-in-law Monica go through some of her drawers and choose which of Mary's treasures we wanted to take home. We came across adorable little ponchos that Mary knitted for a baby girl. There was no baby girl in the family and they had never been given to anyone so it is a mystery why she knitted them. Perhaps she made things and had them on hand for gifts when they were needed. It was in this time of sentimentality about family--Mary had died that past fall, it was Christmastime, and the bond with my wonderful husband Bob was growing stronger every year--that I felt for the first time that I would want to have a child some day. There's also something about sitting alone with your spouse by your Christmas tree at home, when you don't have children, that makes you feel as though there should be children gathered around the tree, enjoying the childhood magic of Christmas.

That is when the topic of adoption surfaced. Typical, I felt I wanted a little girl someday and Bob said he would like a little boy someday. Ok, so two children were in order. But how do you plan to bear one girl and one boy? And why have your own children when there are so many orphans in need of a good home? At first, Bob was averse to adoption, afraid of what we might get (what kind of genes does the child have?). But please, people! Look at all the children with autism, ADHD, or other abnormalities born to "normal" parents these days. It seems much more risky to wonder what's going to come out than what you're going to adopt, if you sign up for a healthy baby through your agency, if you ask me. But anyway, after a time, Bob was warmed to the idea of having one biological child and adopting a second. Tied to his family and tradition, he was set on having one of his own biological children. So if I had a girl, we would adopt a boy, and if I had a boy, we would adopt a girl. We had this nailed down, for the time being, despite our not being ready yet to actually have children.

Fast forward to 2004. After five years of marriage, we were feeling like we could actually be drawing close to doing this incredibly life altering thing: having children. By this time, Bob was in agreement with me. Why reproduce any children when there are already so many children who need homes? Don't get me wrong. Having your own children and the miracle of birth is very special, and I believe God calls some people to have their own biological children. However, God also calls some to take care of the abandoned orphans of this world. And I believe he would call more parents to this, if only they would get unstuck from the sometimes selfish, egotistical and ethnocentric desire to recreate themselves, realize all children are God's children, equally precious in God's eyes, set aside the ridiculous notion that biological children will come out more "normal," be open and listen to God's voice . . . But again, I hope no one misunderstands me. I have many pregnant friends right now and am very excited and happy for them all. It's natural to want your own children, and it's much cheaper than adoption, given that insurance typically covers delivery but not adoption. Adoption costs are very high, too high for some people to afford, unfortunately. And I don't have the right to judge any individual person and what they are meant to do. It's a very personal decision. I just wish more people, especially people with financial resources, would at least open their minds and CONSIDER adoption.

So where would we adopt from? Native American reservations, perhaps? At 4'10", with dark hair, an olive complexion, high cheek bones, and squinty eyes, my mother was identifiably part Native American, enduring teasing as a child because of the width of her nose. With rosy skin, green eyes and freckles, I am your typical Irish gal. According to my mother, I'm only about 1/8 Native American. This isn't much and is only mirrored in my short body. However, the ancestry has always been a tie for me to that culture, which I am enchanted by, with their cohabitation with nature and colorful ceremonial dances. It's also a culture that I empathize with. The poverty stricken barren lands that were given to Native Americans, called "reservations," are a reminder of this nation's cruel history, the historic genocide that took place by red-necked cowboys, greedy fortune hunters, and land-grabbing entrepreneurs. These disrespectful, self-serving Donald Trump types paved the way for more European settlements, the "beginnings" of America as we know it. An example is the "Trail of Tears," literally translated from Cherokee "The Trail Where They Cried," the event in which our government forced the civilized Cherokee people off of their Georgia land in order to mine gold in the Georgia mountains and make room for the expanding European population, causing 4,000 of the Cherokees to die on their way to Oklahoma. It can be read about at http://ngeorgia.com/history/nghisttt.html.

Whoa! I digress greatly. Anyway . . . Already an attender of the local annual pow-wows and the sketchy, secretive history of my great grandmother named Valley, I thought we might be good parents for a Native American ophan. But in order to adopt from a tribe, you need to prove you have a Native American ancestor. Without documentation, which many many descendants lack due to their ancestors trying to hide their ethnicity, I was unable to prove the blood ties. Valley _________?, named Valley Mills after marriage to an Irish-English man, was not on the Cherokee tribe's roll. Perhaps it was because she supposedly ran away from the reservation when she was a little girl. I wish I could have talked to my grandfather more about his mother, Valley, before he died.

Our next thought went to Mexico, South America, or Eastern Europe. If we adopted a baby from a Spanish-speaking country, I could share my knowledge of the Spanish language and my love for the culture with our child. If we adopted from Eastern Europe, we could take a siteseeing trip we've been wanting to go on while getting our child. Two perks for the price of one. Now, isn't that tacky? And Bob could share his love of European culture and family ties with our child (His father is from former East Germany/Poland). However, Mexico, Central and South American countries that adopt out internationally were insanely expensive and out of our price range (such a shame!) and/or the country wanted us to stay there for a month, which Bob could not do with his job. And unfortunately, we weren't sure a certain close, but mentally unstable family member would be open to us adopting from Africa, which would create a very stressful situation and possible bad vibes for the child. We would both love to adopt from Africa, though, so maybe things will change someday before we adopt our second or third or . . . God will tell us!

So, after an information meeting at Bethany Christian Services, we were pretty set on adopting from Eastern Europe, specifically the Ukraine. Although China is a very popular place to adopt from and we had considered it briefly, we decided we liked the Ukraine better because we didn't want to make the long trip over to China, the Ukraine seemed like an interesting and beautiful place to visit, and there was a possibility of adopting siblings in the Ukraine, with a pretty reasonable cost for the second child. Unfortunately, one must think about cost when the costs are enough to need long-term loans. Nothing drew us to China, with the exception of a doable price tag and a reputation for "service" that's smoother than some other countries. Hispanic, African and European countries were a draw for us. But not Asia. I have Chinese friends and love going to Chinatown in the city, but that was as far East as I was interested in going. Plus, it seems like all the yuppies adopt from China, having bought into the stereotype that Chinese children are born quiet and smart, having observed Chinese families who expect their children to work very hard and act a certain way.

Plus, I believe SOME families laden with societal stereotypes who adopt from Russia/Eastern Europe or China may secretively and ignorantly think other ethnicities, like Africans, might turn out more like African-Americans in poverty-stricken neighborhoods than the little competitive high-achieving AWARD they'd like to have, not realizing that the culprit is poverty and all the evils that can accompany it, like drugs and a history of violence, starting with white slave owners beating, raping, torturing, and psychologically dehumanizing African-Americans. Come on, people. Every innocent baby is born with as much promise as the next, given the right opportunities and environment. Parents want their precious little AWARD to perform well. Why would I want to be like every other yuppie? But God had something else for us in mind.
Although we were "set" on adopting from the Ukraine (not because we wanted a little white AWARD who looks like us but because of reasons I expressed earlier), we both knew we really shouldn't be "set" at all, having not had a strong leading from God about where to adopt from.

We were both praying hard, with open minds as to where God might lead us, even if it was a country we might not want to go to or thought we shouldn't go to. God knows best! One day, while I was heading into a local Chinese restaurant and the door was closing behind me, I felt a warm, fresh wind come in behind me, circling my body and sending goose bumps up my neck. I suddenly felt at home, standing there waiting for my pick-up order, smelling the fresh scent of steaming chicken soup and stir-fried vegetables. I caught a glimpse of the wisps of black hair from the elderly Chinese lady, the white pottery with soft green accents, and heard the sound of bells attached to the entry door, which reminded me of the Chinese restaurant I used to go to as a child. The sights, sounds and smells felt eerily familiar and extremely comfortable, and seemed beautiful. I left wondering if it was a sign from God to adopt from China, and suddenly the barrier I had built in my mind to keep me from traveling to Asia was disappearing. Childhood memories tied to the Chinese culture kept surfacing in my mind throughout the week.

There were the times my parents took me to Chinatown as a little girl and bought me neat little colorful trinkets, like rice candy, bright blue and floral pajamas and a miniature tea set. My favorite thing in my plethora of pink Barbie set-up was a tiny traditional red and jade green Chinese lantern. My mom let me use one shelf of the hall closet to set up a Barbie apartment. I scotch-taped a loop attached to the top of the lantern to Barbie's ceiling. I loved the bright colors and red tassles. These were memories that were long forgotten and were only now surfacing from the depths of my memory. I remember the joy of picking which tea set it was that I wanted from a Chinatown restaurant. It was a big event because the tea set was more expensive than silk pajamas and slippers, straw hats and fancy painted chopsticks. I believe I was somewhere between the ages of 7 and 9. I sat mesmerized, looking up at various tea sets circling the Chinese restaurant we were eating in. I chose a softly colorful one, with mostly jade green and pink designs.

Another memory was the local Chinese restaurant my parents started taking me to in 1976 when I was a baby. Cheap and yummy, we ate there often. Called Lee's Chopsuey and located in Bremen Mall in Tinley Park, it led to the ultimate sign from God.

Loving art from birth, it seems, I would stare at this "hole in the wall" restaurant's long tapestries, decorated with Chinese ladies in traditional clothing, and an intriguing painting hanging over the cash register. Year after year, from a little girl to a teenager to a young woman in college, I never tired of looking at this intriguing painting of Chinese fishermen with straw hats, pulling a very large net overflowing with fishes--what looked like thousands of fishes. Even more interesting, the men were near the shore, walking into the white billowing waves as they attempted to haul the heavy net. Could the waves have actually brought in that many fresh fish to the shore? It looked like a miraculous event.

As I was remembering this painting, wondering what became of Lee's Chopsuey restaurant after I got married and moved to the western suburbs, the words of Jesus speaking to his disciples Simon Peter and Andrew came to me: "Come, follow me," Jesus said, "and I will make you fishers of men." (Mark 1:16-18) Here's the story from chapter 5 of Luke in the NIV version of the Bible (very close to all other Bibles):
Luke 5: One day as Jesus was standing by the Lake of Gennesaret (Sea of Galilee), with the people crowding around him and listening to the word of God, he saw at the water's edge two boats, left there by the fishermen, who were washing their nets. He got into one of the boats, the one belonging to Simon and asked him to put out a little from shore. Then he sat down and taught the people from the boat. When he had finished speaking, he said to Simon, "Put out into deep water, and let down the nets for a catch. Simon answered, "Master, we've worked hard all night and haven't caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets." When they had done so, they caught such a large number of fish that their nets began to break. So they signaled their partners in the other boat to come and help them, and they came and filled both boats so full that they began to sink. When Simon Peter saw this, he fell at Jesus' knees and said, "Go away from me, Lord; I am a sinful man!" For he and all his companions were astonished at the catch of fish they had taken, and so were James and John, the sons of Zebedee, Simon's partners. Then Jesus said to Simon, "Don't be afraid; from now on you will catch men." So they pulled their boats up on shore, left everything and followed Him.

The miraculous scene of fishermen trying to pull in a net of thousands of fish reminded me of the words of Jesus. Bob and I were to be fishers of men, or fishers of orphans. James 1:27 states, "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world." This is not to be confused with the way of salvation (having a relationship with Christ and going to heaven). To be forgiven of sin (every human being whoever lived, lives and will live is a sinner) and to be seen as righteous in God's eyes, it is clear from the Bible that we have to believe that Jesus, God come down as man, died for our sins and rose again, ask Him for forgiveness of our sin, give our lives over to Jesus (give Jesus control and let Him direct our lives), and trust Him in order to have a relationship with Christ and receive the Holy Spirit into our minds/hearts. But "religion," good works that we should do as Christians, that should be born out of a desire given to us by the Holy Spirit to help the needy, includes looking after or helping the helpless! God cares for those who are suffering. (No, that doesn't mean everyone is called to adopt, obviously.)

Next, I brought up the topic to Bob. I said that I think God is leading me to adopt from China. He said he had the same feeling. Except his feeling was stronger than a feeling. He was sure of it. That week, God had been speaking to him, as well. One day at work, while he was flipping through the adoption agency's packet of information on various countries, he got very emotional when he got to the page on China. At the same time, a Christian song on the radio about a father raising a daughter came on. Getting emotional is unusual for Bob, a pretty level headed and practical guy who rarely sheds any tears. On the train to work the next morning, while flipping through the same packet, he felt the same emotion when he got to page on China. By the time he got off the train, he was convinced we should go to China. Quite a switch for a guy who was leaning toward a little boy from Eastern Europe. And when we compared stories, we knew that that's where God wanted us to go.

Now, I am excited about going to China. No, I'm not excited about the long plane ride, especially the long plane ride home with a one-year-old who barely knows us and might be screaming because of it. It takes 13-14 hours on a plane from Hong Kong to Chicago. Yay. And no, I'm not looking forward to eating probably only rice and cooked vegetables and whatever snacks I can bring with in my suitcase. Raw vegetables can contain water which can contain bacteria I'm not used to. I don't eat any meat besides chicken, but I won't be eating chicken due to the amount of times I've gotten food poisoning overseas. But I am very excited about picking up my little girl and seeing where she is from. I am excited about an adventure that God has called us to. And when I get impatient with the long wait and lonely for my future daughter, I want to surround myself with Chinese culture, which is good because it's important to share the country of origin's culture with an adopted child. The child's birth parents are in that country and they are unknown, causing the child to go through an identity crisis sometime in life. Adopted children need to know all the details about their country of origin and adoption story that adoptive parents are able to share.

I managed to find a little lamp like the one I had when I was a child the last time I was in Chinatown. The man who owned the store told me that the lamps aren't sold anywhere anymore and that he found a few in an old warehouse and thought he would sell them. What would be grand to me is if I can find the painting that hung over the cash register at Lee's. I've done many long searches on the Internet and stopped at an art store downtown where I spoke with knowledgeable artists, and I haven't been able to find any prints. Apparently, it's obscure. I heard from a friend still living in the south suburbs that the elderly Cantonese couple who owned Lee's retired (I believe their last name was Yee/Yhee) and that it's owned by someone else now. I might end up making my way out there one of these days to see if the painting is still on the wall, if the Yhees left it behind. If it is, I will offer to buy it and replace it with another one! It's amazing how the parts of one's life can, with divine purpose, come together like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. To me, it shows how time lapse in time-space history and the laws of physics (for every action, there is a reaction) are elements of our universe, known by human perception, but created and used by God to fulfill his purposes.