Reunited

“Are you Dawit, Kidist's son?” We are still around the corner and a ways up the road from their home. I nod and the inquirer runs on ahead to spread the word, “Dawit is home”. We turn the corner at the big Orthodox Church called Gabrielle. The church where this man-sized boy used to hold out his hand for birr to be fed by when he was small. As we round the corner people start coming from all directions. Smiling, hugging, laughing people. People carrying on in Amharic, embracing him and looking into his stunned eyes for recognition. 'Does he remember them?' and 'Wow, how he's grown!'

He is passed through several unfamiliar hugs on his way to the one he is waiting for- the one that he came all these miles for.

“I'm really shaky” he says to me.

He does look unsteady. As we draw nearer to the small dwelling that used to be his home, we stop for a brief second.

“You ready?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

He leads the way for the last few meters and then suddenly the moment is upon him. With arms outstretched she runs to him and throws them around her son. She buries her head in his shoulder crying, then crosses to the other shoulder and embraces again.  And then back again. She let's go for a moment to take him in. She can't believe the truth in front of her. She embraces him again. This is what he came here for. This is what she has dreamed of.

In this moment, the beautiful nature of God is plain. To reconcile- to mend the broken hearted, to make broken things whole again. This is the mysterious and perfect work He accomplished on the cross. Through his one act of selfless love, the sacrifice of His very life, He made a way out of the brokenness of this world; out of the pain and hurt and into a life of wholeness. Here, now, these lives are being made whole again, the empty spaces are being filled.  

His kingdom come.

We walk together to the house and step across the threshold. We all pile in together maneuvering around one another for a place to settle. Dawit, myself and our translator sit in a row along the edge of the bed. Kidist takes the place on a low crate in front of our dangling legs. Yetayo (her husband) takes a seat on a yellow jerry can beside the door. Faces crowd around the doorway- smiling, beaming faces, here to see the news- in the flesh. Dawit's half-brother, 3 year old Yonas, has been spreading the news around the neighborhood since yesterday, “My brother is coming!” But when Dawit is really here, Yonas makes himself scarce and is afraid to come close. People sit around outside the door. Someone puts on music. It's a party; a celebration!

Dawit looks around his childhood home in disbelief then turns to me, “Did this place shrink? It feels like they cut it in half!” His question is so genuine that the translator asks if the one room house had undergone any size reduction! They smile and reassure Dawit that it's the same as it has always been. It is only perspectives that have changed.

So many people come calling as we sit there! They come to the door and lean across the fire where Kidist is roasting the coffee beans for ceremony. They reach to Dawit to shake his hand and they congratulate Kidist on this momentous day. Each guest wants to know if Dawit remembers them and then they tell how close they used to be. “I was your childhood friend”, “I was your neighbor who cared for you”, “I tried to visit you in the orphanage but they wouldn't let me in”.

They all marvel that he can not longer speak his childhood language. I explain to them about the transition to America and how the adopted child's brain is bombarded with so much new information- new language, school, food, family and culture that it is often impossible to retain the past. They all nod in agreement and understanding. Dawit's lack of communication doesn't bother them a bit. They continue to beam and cluck their tongues in amazement. Many run home to get old photos they have of Dawit, Dagmawit (Josie) and Robel when they were small and still beloved members of their community. Photos of birthday parties and gatherings when a tiny Dawit held on to a tinier Robel and Josie is embraced by childhood friends. Depictions of children who knew nothing of the upheaval and heartache that lay ahead of them.

During coffee ceremony Dawit reads the letters from his siblings through our translator updating their mama on their foreign lives in the United States. Lives of learning to read, loving a pet dog, playing sports. She listens and smiles and stirs the blackening beans.

She thanks and blesses and thanks again for bringing Dawit back to see the family. I tell her, “God's intention for family is not to sever the bonds and send children away simply for lack of food. When you gave up your children in order to save them, there was a breaking. Dawit comes back today so that you and he can both heal. We do it for healing.” She nods emphatically, seeing him is healing her pain.

She tells us that giving up her three was the hardest thing she ever had to do. She was sick over it. Her body responded with high blood pressure and anxiety. While they were at the orphanage waiting for a family to adopt them, she wanted so badly to get them back. She went to see them and asked Dawit if he wanted to come home. Through tears he told her, “Mom, it will be better for you without having to take care of us.” And so, she left them there with the hopes of a better life for them and survival for her.

During this time, she shares a dream she once had: In her dream she asked Dawit,

“Dawit, will you forget me?”

“Mom, I will not forget you.” He answered.

“Dawit, will you ever forget me?”

“No Mom, I will never forget you.”

Then she woke up crying.

Our time together ends sweetly, with promises of coming back tomorrow to visit yet more family in a neighboring area. So many smiles, so much relief; like a great weight has been lifted.