The Journey East to Waterfalls

The Revelation of Rain.

Burundi Journey Episode 5.

I have always loved water, loved rain. From some of my first recollected moments as a small child I can recall rain hitting the windows of the car, the pitter-patter of it’s call. I can remember the fresh smell after a rainstorm. I can hear the waves of the ocean, gentle whispering its love song as it crashed through my fears and worry, colliding right into me like romance. Water moves me in a way I cannot describe fully by word; calms me, soothes me, restores me. What is better than laying back, submerged in the stillness of water, the way it keeps you, holds you, molds to you and invades you, intimately knowing you, cleansing you, nurturing you. Waves in their rhythmic nature pursue our hearts in theirs. For what is more beautiful than the sound of water?

And yet, I never felt so alive, so moved or wooed by water as when I had this fresh revelation of water during our wait in our adoption journey. I remember we had freshly sent off our Dossier Paperwork to Burundi. The first set of paperwork to finally have the authority to make its way across countries and oceans and end up on the desks of those in Burundi. Six months of hard work, signing our lives away, investing in entity after entity from doctors to social workers to fingerprinting companies to police offices to tax accountants, to marriage history to home history to background checks to child protective services checks to TB tests to home inspections…. If you can think up a way to find any amount of information on someone, we likely had to fill out a form about it or go through a procedure for it. Never in my life have I felt so investigated, on trial, splayed out with every detail released and diligently pursued, as if I was in trouble, yet all to see if we were “qualified” enough to become parents to another, vetted in a way to make sure no hidden shadow was left unspoken for, unaccounted for. Every error, every mark, every blemish looked into. What a system to make you want to keep pursuing an adoption journey. It is not for the faint of heart. I used to think that there were those who may pursue adoption with dishonest integrity, that some may wish to adopt to be able to have some “prize” or some sort of elevated status to prove to the world that they do good things in this world. I know its a low level thought, but within the fragility of my humanity, I have thought it. But now, after walking the road, taking the journey, I am utterly convinced that no one on this journey for themselves would make it through to the finish line. There is too much vulnerability, exposure and expense for that. And yet I have digressed. After 6 months of work, the beginning of our paperwork journey was sent to Burundi.

The following week as I was listening to a podcast, I heard a woman speak of how the same water we drink today, the same water flowing in rivers and oceans and streams, along sidewalks after a rainstorm and in kitchen sinks of homes, within toilets for those who are fortunate enough to have them, the very water that provides nurturents to the soil and helps to oxygenate our planet. Yes that water is the same as it was in the days of Jesus. Explosion moment of the brain!!! We eat, drink, survive on the same water as Jesus. The One who was the Savior of the world, the One who leaked water from His side after His death, the One who turned water into Wine, the One who is the essence of EVERYTHING I need and EVERYTHING I am. This Jesus whom I owe everything to. It was a simple statement, not really quite revelatory within the podcast to the women. But to me it changed everything. This water that has always been a space of peace, of nourishment, of serenity now took on a new shape. It still held all those same qualities, but now it was HOLY.

The same water Jesus touched cycles through the earth, given by trees, sent into clouds, and released back down to earth in the form of rain, this has sustained millions of years and has remained the same. It is steadfast, these rains from heaven. Somehow now as it rained it felt like tears from heaven, heaven weeping with me, rejoicing with me, dancing with me, restoring and renewing me. And now not just in the tangible form, but in a spiritual revelation form. Rain became holy. Rains would come and I would hear the whisper of God in my life, feel His presence near, the Lord intimate into my story and my space and my time. Water became a place of “withness”, a space to bear witness to the glory, the holy, the wonder of God.

And so, the morning after we first heard word of our match with Theresia, that day, as we drove into town for groceries, my heart still literally swollen with Joy, delight and unbelief that all that we had poured ourselves into for over 3 years was sitting before us in a picture, already printed out carefully hung on our refrigerator, a picture in an album I had newly created in my phone, and literally life, breath, heart, soul, alive, living in an orphanage in Burundi. This day as I drove, rains released from the sky. The beautiful, heavy, full rains, but not in the violent way, in a gentle, yet abundant way. The heavens were crying with me, tears of joy, heavens come down holy with me in the car, on a simple, mundane journey for groceries, to meet tangible needs for the next week, yet God was coming down, washing over soul needs for the next year and a half to come. Reminding me of presence, reminding me of “withness”, reminding me that this story has been, and shall continue to be carried by someone, something, somewhere much higher, farther, beyond what I can ever comprehend. Oh the revelation of rain that has held me through some of the most fearful valleys of my life.

Journey East to Waterfalls.

Tuesday December 7, 2021

5:30am. An early morning start today. Wrestling the weary muscles, the journey beginning to remind me that this is not my home. Hours off, food off, weather off. But awakened for an adventure coming today. For today we head to East Burundi to see the waterfalls. So, I pry my worn body out of bed and make my way towards the restroom to splash water on my face, trying to turn my body around, towards awareness, towards energy.

6:00am. Time to awaken the children, stirring out of bed towards the dining hall for a quick breakfast of bread and fruit, grabbing a few pieces of fruit also for the road, and to the van which awaits us out front.

6:45am. We are a few minutes late to get out front for what was supposed to be our 6:30am departure, but we make it into the van all the same, ready to merge into morning traffic of Bujumbura, cars driving as if there are no rules, yet come to find out there are honks of varying degrees, giving clarifying direction to the cars swerving all directions on the road, cars so close we don’t allow the children beside the window because an arm out the window, even a child’s arm will very likely result in collision with another vehicle, Moto, or bicyclist. The waves of colors continue as far as we can see, yet we slowly crawl along through the city, picking up our lawyer, guide and friend along the side of another congested street. Eventually we creep out of the city and onto roads less crowded with cars, yet flowing with constant stream of people lining the sides of roads, making their way towards villages for food for the evening meal, or to renew a phone card, or for children to hustle in to school, or for men to transport sugar cane, glass soda bottles, corn, long strips of wood, tree trunks, chickens, and much more, to their destinations.

8:45am. We are getting closer now. The winding roads along mountains, passing through gorgeous scenery of tea planted mountainsides, valleys of rice planted fields, smoke spewing off of fields as they burn down grasses to sell as fire starters. But further in to the mountains we travel, closer we come to the highly spoken of waterfalls. This entire journey, Theresia laughing and telling stories with her dear friend from the orphanage who is also coming to America with another family. The two very close in age and closely bonded you can tell. We laugh, their joy infecting the van and we smile as we continue to take in the marvel that is Burundi.

10:15am. We are pulling in now. Approaching through gates into what I can only describe as the scene of Jurassic Park. Lush tunnels of trees lining over head, monkeys in trees and the sound of rushing waterfalls close, near enough to hear the verberating roar above the roar of the older car engine that has carried us this far. Thankfully no dinosaurs though, just the beauty of it all. We pull in just in front of the waterfall. The water cascading down the side of the mountain, sound taking breath away. The long road traveled here now seems so worth it. Isn’t it this way so often? The journey, the road taken seems long, seems unending at times, yet once the destination arrives the worth of the journey is of far greater value; the endurance worth the reward. We all leap out of the van, hearts skipping in joy, childlike wonder rises up in us all, as the kids climb rocks, and we all soak in the glory before us.

10:30am. After a few minutes soaking in this first waterfall it is time to venture on, for there are several waterfalls in the area to see. Little did I know that the journey would be quite strenuous, involving steep decent and climbs along the mountainside, with uneven surfaces and the heat making none of it any less intense. But the journey onward continued and the views amazed us each and every time. Continuing on, we had to cross a long, very high cable bridge. If you know me well, you know that this was no easy crossing for me. The one who when I was younger, riding cable cars up mountainsides during vacations would be crumbled in the middle of the floor having an anxiety attack. Heights and I are not friends. I am not adventurous in this way. I love to hike and to climb, but please do not put me on the edge, and please do not allow me to see straight down. Theresia and Modeste (our lawyer and now dear friend) on the other hand thought this was absolutely hilarious. They discovered one of my deep fears and there was a joy that rose up in Theresia’s laugh. She found an area where mama was not strong, she watched as Josh lovingly teased me, knowing my boundary lines and she beamed in radiant joy of it all. For how could we fly around the world to come get her and yet struggle to walk across a measly bridge? Isn’t is strange the things that trip us up in this life? What some deem as courageous we have strength to carry, what others deem as fun, we simply crumble at the weight of it. So, how much more do we need each other, need the differences we carry, need the helping hands through our struggle, need the courageous hands of our embarking, need the compassionate understanding that to each we have our courage, and to each we have our struggle, and to each we are human, and to each we are loved.

12:15pm. After a couple of hours of a hike I was clearly not prepared for, we made our way back to the first waterfall, back to the van. I had not brought nearly enough water with me in my backpack, so we were all thankful to return to our supply of water and food. We took time to nourish our bodies there beside the van, everyone a bit exhausted, but grateful for it because of what we got to see. Then, back into the van we went. We had one more adventure coming before we were to head back to Bujumbura. Little did I know it was the biggest adventure we were to experience yet and it would require the most courage I had yet to give.

1:00pm. We drive almost an hour towards our next stop. I look back fairly early on and notice that in the back row, where all the children have gathered as children in curiosity do, Shiloh has fallen asleep. This is not surprising. She is always my one to fall asleep in the car, the repetition of the rubber to the road, the vibration of the vehicle carefully rocking her to sleep. Yet, you know when you just have this visceral, mama gut response? It is the only thing I can describe it as. Her face looked too red. Yes, we were all hot and sticky in the van, for we had hiked miles up and down the literal side of a mountain without enough water, yes we were all hot and tired. But something was different. Her face too splotchy, white areas that didn’t look right. Her sleep looked disturbed, not rested as usual. I chalked it up to my overactive brain, that nothing was genuinely wrong, she was just tired, her body a bit out of whack. We were entering our third week in Burundi and our bodies had conquered a tsunami of change in this time. She has always been our tough one, hardly crying when she faced those two surgeries as a baby, always ready to take on any challenge. Our little warrior. So I expected nothing more of this. I was tired and seeing more than was there. That was it.

1:15pm. We pull in on the side of another large hill. We have made it to one source of the Nile. They have built a small pyramid on the top of a large hill to document this special place. Yet, as we are walking over towards the next large hill we are to climb, I hear Shiloh “I don’t feel good. I think I am about to throw up…” And I know it’s coming. I know that my intuition in the car is correct. I can count the number of times Shiloh has thrown up in her life. Now poor thing allergies wreck her each spring, sneezing, itchy throat, watery eyes, all of it. But vomitting? Vommitting is not like her. She did go through a short period I will say where she got carsick a few times and vomit was the ending result. But outside of that, the only times she has vomited have meant severe infection….

1:20pm. This was one of those hard parenting moments. We had to make a quick decision, the party already beginning to hike up the mountain, not understanding the full gravity of how poorly she felt. We knew one of us must go, we had driven all this way and it would be rude to not continue on, yet we could not ask Shiloh to climb another large hill the way she was feeling. Josh told me he would stay. If he needed to carry her off somewhere, he was much better suited for the task. So, with heart breaking, splitting in half right there on the side of that mountain, I began to hike my way up with Theresia and Thomas at my side, leaving Josh and Shiloh behind. Modeste said it would not take long, we would not be gone long. I told myself everything would be ok, but once that dam of worry begins to crack open, it takes almost everything you have to keep it from rushing right through you. And I could feel the leak beginning to break through. I could feel the cracks in me as I took step after step up that mountain. I could feel my own stomach churning in nerves for my child, in a foreign country, sick.

1:30pm. We reached the top. It wasn’t a bad hike after all. Praise God. But I didn’t realize we were about to endure a history lesson. Any other time I would have been more than excited for this. I actually LOVE learning all the details behind just about everything. I feel as if everything in life is connected and there is such beauty found in that connection. But right now, right now, all I wanted was to appease our gracious hosts and to make our way back down that mountain to my girl. The man speaking, being translated into English, and all the while I was wishing they could translate my heart, see the way it was breaking with each passing moment away from my child who wasn’t feeling well. And then sweet Theresia, “Mama, toilet?” Oh no. We have one at the bottom feeling she may explode from the top and not another from the bottom. This was only getting worse. I tried to explain we had to be patient, asked her if she thought she could hold it just a few more minutes until we were able to climb back down? She said yes, and we both impatiently waited atop this glorious view. Honestly it was likely the most beautiful view we encountered the entire trip. The view showed boundary lines of Burundi to Tanzania. You could see for miles, mountains upon mountains, the light catching in glorious wonder. And all I could think, was “God if you are glorious enough to create this masterpiece before me, could you also create an escape for me to get back to my girl?”

2:00pm. Thankfully, we made it through, and the decent shortly thereafter began. I couldn’t walk fast enough. It didn’t matter we were all exhausted at this point, I was practically sprinting down this time. For when your heart longs to be reunited with a love, you will cross whatever you need to get to your return. Praise God, we get to Shiloh and Josh and she is smiling. “I feel much better now Mommy”. “Yeah, she had a nice vomit into the trench over there, and we had some interesting conversations with the Burundians while you were away” Josh explains. He smiles, we are all thankful for a moment of relief. Maybe it was just car sickness I think to myself, maybe it that’s it. I hope for the best. I mean we are all exhausted. It’s been a long day. We find the restrooms, find our way back into the van, back on the road for Bujumbura, back on the trek towards home. But the dam is still cracked, mother intuition fresh. Was this just body’s response to a long, hard day, or was this indeed something much, much more?

We’ll continue on the journey here next week as we approach our final days in Bujumbura.

I’ll see you soon then, as I stand with you in the middle of the breathtaking beauty, and heart wrenching pain of life, layered together, layer upon layer of life.

Rooting for you dear friend. Thank you for being here.

~Laura

Miss any of the previous Episodes of our time in Burundi? I am providing the links here for easy access for you!

Episode 1. Back to the Beginning: https://www.lauradugglebyphotography.com/blog/2022/2/26/back-to-the-beginning

Episode 2. Heartbeats from Heaven: https://www.lauradugglebyphotography.com/blog/2022/3/9/heartbeats-from-heaven

Episode 3. Harvest Days: https://www.lauradugglebyphotography.com/blog/2022/3/16/harvest-days

Episode 4. Moon Miracles: https://www.lauradugglebyphotography.com/blog/2022/3/29/first-signs-of-struggle

First Signs Of Struggle

Moon Miracles

Burundi Journey Episode. 4

Genesis 28:15 “I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

Each evening after we received word of our match of this litle girl in Burundi, the one whose name means, “The one who brings the harvest”, this harvest child, this person placed before us with need of care, with need of home, each evening I would look up to the moon and find my miracles. The moon became my hiding place, my gentleness in the chaos, my peace in the storm, my light in the darkness. Each evening as I looked to the moon, I would feel her presence, I would feel the presence of God and be reminded that the same God who exposed our eyes to this girl, the same God who is the very creator of the moon, the stars, the earth and the sun, the same God who knew her name before we did and was there as her heartbeat began, this God was with me, was with us, was watching over us, and would deliver us through the valley towards unification as He has promised our hearts in so doing.

The moon became the rich soil, the place for me to plant my dreams, desires and hope despite tornados of doubt, disappointments and heartaches happening in our midst. We endured heartache, failure and loss within our paperwork status over the course of the year we were in process post match. To say that adoption is for the faint of heart is to not see the full picture of all that it entails. To the outside world it costs money; to those walking close with us, they know it costs a piece of our very selves. To which we happily gave, but it is an interesting emotion; to stand on one side of the world and be told this child whom you hold a picture of shall be your child, shall dwell in your home, shall laugh with you and cry with you, and you have never heard the sound of her voice. To be told you are to become her guardian, the one to care for her, to nourish her, to listen to the cries of her heart and soul, and yet she has lived 6 years of her life without you. To feel as if you are walking into darkness, grasping hold of any tangible light you may find, while the waves of worry haunt your mind “Am I making the right decision? The best decision for this child? What will others think of our family? How will she be treated in America? Will she miss Burundi every waking day of her life? Will we ever truly discover the delights of her soul? Will we be able to bond as we have with our other children? Will we be strong enough to endure the storms?”

Winds howling in the insecurity of the mind, but this is what I would come back to time and time again in the storms of waiting, “I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you”. (Gen 28:15 as quoted above). This is not to say that Theresia’s suffering was an answer promised to us. But rather this adoption to which God called us to show up for, was going to be fulfilled. And we would await until God’s perfect timing allowed all the details to sort through and for our feet to land on Burundian soil, or fingers to meet, our palms to merge together into the beginning of a story we never saw coming, yet one God had been lighting the way to for years. Our moon miracle.

The Start of Suffering

Wednesday, Dec 1, 2021

The days continued much in a similar rhythm: breakfast, pool or play, lunch, activity, dinner and bed. Yet the tensions began stirring this second week in Burundi. The waters were being tested. All the classic traumas of adoption were already beginning to unfold. Could we be trusted? Would rejection occur? Did she fit in with our family? Suddenly, over the course of 4.5 years, but then just as suddenly as a child exits the womb into the harshness of existence of life outside the womb, a requirement of breath, and bodily functions of temperature regulation, a need of food, neaurological connections to keep brain in step with body, this entire process of keeping oneself in balance begins, the struggle becomes real and the tear evident. In fact, this is a sign of health as we exit the womb, proof that air and breath has entered our lungs correctly, and we cry out from the pain we so bear in this literal gift of existence. The literal cutting off from the umbilical cord, the very space of life giving nutrients from the first nine months of creation. And so too, there was no exemption through adoption.

This sudden birth from two to three children, a merging sharp and sweet. This severing of life from an orphanage, from the place that had become home, become heartbeat, become natural, become routine. Tears began to flow. Tears of grief, tears of loss, tears of frustration and deep sadness. For change is a scary thing. We desperately shall cling to the shadows all of our lives unless we are ushered into the light through encouragement, through an act of courage. The shadow spaces that have always surrounded us, those places we have always known, whether healthy or not are the hardest spaces to leave because they define us, they become the framework for how we view the world, they feel like home. Even fear itself can become the place we choose as our blanket. For if it is what we have always known then we find shelter and comfort in its presence, however sharp and painful it may be to bear. And yet growth asks us to step into the light, to have courage of sacrifice, to wrestle with the sin and selfishness of flesh to make room for another. For one whom we do not understand and for whom we have yet to know. And on a day to day practical level this was really hard, IS really hard. For our ways many days are set, our rhythm as a family is natural, it ebbs and flows through its normal struggles sure, but the knowledge of each other is known. The areas to which we are sensitive to, compassionate towards, tender around are known, the fractures have been evidently on display for years to come and there is an understanding in it all. Empathy for the pain and trauma because there is a mutual understanding. But now? But now our entire surroundings have shifted. That which we knew so well before has now unraveled into complete disarray. Nothing is the same, and yet at the same time, peace is still held, courage remains, hope remains. And the foundation remains the same. This foundation of a heartbeat seeking the One who knit us together, the One who is making way for light in the midst of incredible darkness. The One who holds space for the darkness, for darkness is not dark to the Creator of all things. And there is a tenderness, a humility, a deeper level of patience that arises out of the ashes of grief. For as one grieves we have an understanding that grief takes time, and so we shall allow it to be instead of rushing it away, for it must fully come, fully emerge to be able to heal. And this I am finding can be a journey of a lifetime.

And so, as the euphoria of wears off a bit and the reality sets in that the birth has arrived, the healing process begins. And healing is slow. And some things we do we find are helpful to mend and heal, and others we think we are healing, we come to find we are rubbing raw, irritating the burn. And so the “I’m sorry’s” and the tears and the “I wish this were easier” or “I wish I had more patience in this” moments begin. The moments we thought may wait weeks to come, they come knocking right away. And we are scared that we shall not be enough to do this right, and we know that there is no “right” way, there is only showing up each day and trying our best each day again and again. And we know that we shall never be the same again. But isn’t this birth? It marks us, literally scares our bodies, and yet the process in a way allows us to see so much more. We see courage like we never knew we had within us. We see what was once sadness as now a deep empathy. We see that the fruit of life is not in serving ourselves but within serving another. We see that the greatest gift is genuinely to give ourselves away. We see that love is more powerful than anything else on earth, that loving another will defeat any and every darkness. And yet why is the flesh so present and real each day? Why does my heart plead for grace, but my tongue spews from impatience? Why does my soul long for compassion, but my flesh closes doors of intimacy for barricades of complaint as a protection against vulnerability?

And yet, we know that the exposure of our vulnerability becomes our relatablity, our extendability, our humility.

And yet day in and day out, my selfish, arrogant, fearful pride rises again and again.

Why is it that the very things that ask us for the most courage, also ask us for the most humility?

And this is the road we have walked this second week in Burundi. One of many smiles and laughs and outright joy to be certain. But now, we also grapple with the struggle of a human heart, a selfish heart, a fearful heart of the reality of life as it is now. An understanding that we would never change an ounce of our journey, and yet a reminder that the call of obedience is not a call to a life without struggle. The reality is that pieces of this are really hard. That sometimes we feel very undeserving and underqualified despite all the books, classes and resources we walked through before this moment. Because isn’t it true that you can be as knowledge filled as possible, but when you walk the road of experience, the foundation of knowledge crumbles at the crack of deep suffering?

And so we declare this to be true, “I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have done what I have promised you.”

We know that each of us one day shall breathe our last. The days we have here shall come to a close, and through all the heartache and struggle we can be sure of this, at least we had the courage to try.

I remember the moment our plane first landed on US soil. Chicago O’Hare to be exact, and the pilot had a smooth, gliding landing for us. But, there was an emotional wave of completion that rushed over me. Similar to the moment of walking out of the hospital with Shiloh. There is full knowledge that the journey is just beginning, and yet, there is a deep exhale too, a moment of acknowledging the birthing road that has just been walked and lived through. And yet, as we landed I also felt an extreme sense of pressure. In Burundi, this process of adoption was honored, respected and valued. It felt as if we were entering into suffering together, hand in hand, leaning in, looking each other eye to eye, as if we were family and we would support each other. A mutual respect, love and care. We each had understanding of the pain that has occurred to be in the situation we are now, there was no denying it. But also this mutual desire and heart to invest in action, to look into the eyes of heartache and lean in close, close enough to see the pupils, to hear the heartbeat, to touch the skin of flesh of the pain and to not look away, to not become indifferent or think the country is better off trying to solve it on their own. In no way trying to be above Burundi or impart American ways into Burundian culture, no a far cry, in fact I believe America has much to learn from Burundi. A mutual agreement to love each other well, for us to bring Burundi to America in all its culture and beauty and to respect, learn and grow in loving each other mutually. But in America, this story of adoption seems to be either over glorified, or spewed with hate. Either we are seen as “saviors” or “white saviors”, both leaving a bitter flavor of disgust. Here we are vilified by the look of our family before our story is known. And yes, there is quite a piece of brokenness to this story to be sure, but, I felt the pressure of all that adoption is seen as in America. It is a heavy load to carry, a struggle we shall gladly bear, but we were not entering the US blind to the stereotypes and struggle we were bringing upon our family. And yet, I couldn’t help thinking still, in this first moment upon US soil, solidifying Theresia’s US Citizenship, at least we had the courage to try. At least we didn’t let indifference steal our hearts. And as much as we get this wrong, I pray good shall come, for the cost has not been cheap, this merge is hard, yet I pray that one day we are able to see the holiness of God in it all. And within that holiness is equal space to hold the injustice, hardship, humanity and hope of it all.

Dearest Theresia,

I know our struggles our just beginning because, well struggle is a part of life. But I also believe that it is worth every moment. And so we acknowledge the hardship this transition may be for you Theresia. How do we even begin to do justice for all you deserve? For how do we give space for you to be uniquely and wildly you while also protecting you from the harshness of humanity? How do we find a balance of honoring and blessing this culture of your past, while also teaching you ways to thrive here?

But in it all I hope you know we are grieving with you, that we are forever WITH you. For whatever struggle comes, may it be true that we stay, the withness WITH you. Whatever comes we stand in devotion to never leave the struggle, never leave the chance to wake up each day to you, to try again and again, to each day discover more of you, to each day learn what lights you up inside, just as the delight of the moon, to learn your dreams and loves oh beloved one. For though our worlds have begun as separate, I believe that this collision of story has power to change the world. For you dear one are the courageous one. Each day waking up to say, at least you have the courage to try. We see you in the struggle, we see you in the pain of this all, we see you and we love you dearly, we are transformed by you, and each day we know you are kept by Almighty God as He is keeping us the same. Together, cultures merge, languages shift, humility stretched, pride crushed, surrender extended, vulnerability exposed, relatability risen, cruciform lengthened, humility harbored deep within. This journey with you an adventure of a lifetime, a cradled gift, a wildly beautiful story, and its only just begun. Oh the miracles shining forth from the light of moon, from the story of you.

I’ll see you soon then, on this journey across the mountains of Burundi, one of my favorite places I have ever been. For when you find the roots of your child, you find the roots of treasure.

~Laura

Miss any of the previous Episodes of our time in Burundi? Here is some easy access for you!

Episode 1. Back to the Beginning: https://www.lauradugglebyphotography.com/blog/2022/2/26/back-to-the-beginning

Episode 2. Heartbeats from Heaven: https://www.lauradugglebyphotography.com/blog/2022/3/9/heartbeats-from-heaven

Episode 3. Harvest Days: https://www.lauradugglebyphotography.com/blog/2022/3/16/harvest-days

Harvest Days

Harvest Days

Burundi Journey Episode 3.

October 7, 2020. It was a beautiful day outside and I decided to take the kids to explore property, looking for the places with the best light for upcoming photography sessions that weekend. The light was a soft golden hew that evening. One that I dream about for photography sessions. Well that and fog. Combine the two and you have my ultimate dream photography setting. After capturing some magic by the pond, Shiloh, my curious one by nature always rounded the corner to follow sounds of the combine. For it was harvest day. Combines hard at work harvesting wheat, corn and soybeans from the year. Dust being stirred up like fog, like wonder, like dew rising from the soil. Shiloh spinning and dancing, making magic in her own world. Harvest. The word set on me like fresh wind, like fire, like the scent just before a rainstorm. Anticipation for something marvelous, revealing, renewing on its way. Harvest.

The word continued to sit on me for 3 days. Stirring in my mind, resting upon my stomach, dwelling deep in heart. Harvest.

October 10, 2020. 6:00am. Words finally seeped to the surface:

HARVEST DAYS. 

Harvest days. 

Dust heavy, 

Beans swiftly collected by the thousands. 

Intense fog, 

Granules swirling, 

Suffocating the air. 

So we hold our breath and we watch the scene, eyes squinted, 

Sun setting just so to create a harvest glow. 

And as we watch we feel so deeply connected to the process. 

The reality that the farmer holds control of the dust, not us. 

Yet, within this space, 

Succumbed to the unknown with visibility limited, 

Breathing stalled and sounds drowned out by that of the tractor, 

There too is a piece of magic in being submerged within granules of hope. 

Submerged into the refining process. 

For the now is so very loud, clarity lacking, details swirling and visibility thin, 

But magic remains in the glow reflecting off the dust. 

Hope remains in trusting the farmer to collect the harvest. 

And soon, yes soon for harvest is here, 

Abundance shall be near. 

An abundance of beans, 

An abundance of clarity. 

For once the dust settles and the grains are dispersed the field returns to that before the harvest.

Before the planting. 

Before the reliance on weather, on rain. 

Before the resistance to animals and vehicles that threaten to destroy and take. 

Before the fertilization and steadfast waiting. 

The field returns to a barren state. 

But it never is quite the same. 

For each time we gain deeper wisdom. 

And with fields cut low, only sheaves remaining scattered along the dust, 

Visibility is quite clear now, yes. 

We can now see for miles, outstretched and beyond. 

We can look back and see all the growth and rest in the abundant spaces of harvest days, with full tables and rest filled souls. 

We can know the days of unknown, placed within the fog of harvest has changed us. 

We can know the work of planting and keeping has strengthened us. 

We see with new eyes. 

For the reflection of light through granules brought wisdom and compassion that shall not be shaken. 

The fertilization and covering has reminded us that we can endure much father than we ever thought possible. 

Our reliance on the weather, the rain, the humbling truth that we are far less in control than we think we are and that is ok. 

For these are the harvest days. 

October 10, 2020. 3:00pm. My phone rings. It is our adoption agency on the other line. Hands shaking I answer, hardly able to speak. “Well, are you ready for some good news” I hear Diedra, our case worker, say on the other end of the line. “Yes” I whisper, hardly able to make sound come out of my voice. She says “You have been matched with a little girl, and her name is Theresia. She has the brightest smile. You should be receiving an email now with her photo and all the information we have for right now”. Everything else was a bit fuzzy after that. Sobs broke out of me, the ones I had been holding, bottled up for 3 long years without realizing it. For 3 years we had awaited this very moment in, the first moment we would lay eyes upon our child. And here it was. My hands couldn't move fast enough. Mistyping letters and shaking hands, snot and tears mixing together running down my cheeks, my chin. But having it all together kind of just runs out the window in moments like these. It no longer matters if your behavior is “socially acceptable” because the heart is focused somewhere else, somewhere more important. I remember hearing on the other end of the line “Is everything okay?”. I had completely forgotten to respond, to answer in verbal form. “Yes, yes. These are happy tears, happy.” Its all I could get out of me. Diedra politely ended the call giving me space to soak it all in, telling me we would soon be in constant communication with all the things to come. I hung up, and fingers focused on one place now instead of two I finally pulled up the email. There she was. “Radiant Joy”. It was the first thought that popped into my head. “She is truly radiant Joy”.

Little did I know how much I would need that. That moment there of pure bliss. Of pure relief. Of pure love traveling time and space and dimensions. For you see, I always had this twinge of fear if I am being completely honest, “Will I love our child at first sight? Will it come as naturally as the others?” This moment calmed every fear. I knew we were connected upon instant sight. Now, moments and days to come in future, in the actual merging of stories would remind me that adoption is different. That there is a period of bonding that is happening for us at 7 instead of 0 and that indeed that is very different. But this, this moment of knowing that I would fight for this child with all that is in me the way I would for my others. There was no doubt in my mind after this moment in time. And I knew our radiant Joy would be coming.

Also, I looked up the name Theresia. What did it mean? First off, my stepmothers name is Theresa so I knew she would be overjoyed by another in the family, but I had not looked up the meaning before now. But meanings of names are powerful to me. So I had to look, and there it was : “The meaning of Theresia is ‘harvester’ and the name is of Greek origin. The name also means ‘reap’”. There it was. The reason the harvest was set upon my soul that beautiful day out exploring the fields. For the same day that Harvest Days came forth by pen and paper watching the sun rise in my room, was the same day we first discovered our daughter’s name: Theresia, the one who brings the harvest.

The Final Days of November

Friday Nov. 26 - 30, 2021.

These days we began to find a rhythm as we merged into life together. Each morning was met with getting dressed, brushing teeth and heading to the hotel breakfast with fresh tropical fruits, the best croissants I have ever had in my life, hard boiled eggs, or omelette, hot tea, or fresh juice. Learning the rhythm of praying as a family around meals, together now thanking God for Theresia here before us instead of praying for her safety, health and heart from afar.

After breakfast we would venture back to our room for a quick load of laundry in our sink to be able to hang dry before the rains of the afternoon. It was also our chance to change clothes. Change clothes for the pool.

Late mornings were almost always spent at the pool. We quickly discovered the pool was Theresia’s favorite place to be. The consistent “Kwoga?” each morning at breakfast: “to swim?”. Theresia adored the water, playing and swimming for hours until we would make her get out to eat a bite of lunch poolside, (sambosas and white rice with water or sprite) only for her to jump back in. When picking her up from the orphanage we asked one of the caretakers her favorite animal, to which they replied, “fish”. Yes it makes sense. She wants to be just like a fish in water, always in water.

Afternoons varied. Some kept us in our room with harsh rains pouring down, leaving the kids to coloring or play with the few toys we had brought along: horses, barbies, play dough and a couple of days magna tiles graciously lent us by another family staying with us at the same hotel. Other days we had been able to go on a hippo tour, experiencing hippos in the wild for the first time, out in a small wooden covered boat, slowly motoring through hippo and crocodile waters (not my favorite thing, but maybe Josh’s favorite!). Another day we ventured out to town for market. These things always have a way of becoming an adventure, a story for our family, and Burundi did not disappoint. Through miscommunication, we ended up hopping on the wrong bus at our hotel. We were on the employee bus, making stops to drop and pick up hotel employees. In time it was obvious we had gotten on the wrong bus, but in true Burundi fashion, they figured out where we were trying to go, and got us there. The only down side? We now had no ride back. But all was well and we ended up taking a Burundian taxi home. I loved being able to have the kids experience more customary Burundian transport anyways! :)

The first Sunday in Burundi allowed us to visit our lawyers church in town. With songs in French, and the sermon spoken in French and translated into Kirundi, with translators sitting just beside us then translating into English. It was a powerful experience: witnessing the same God worshipped in Burundi as in Indiana. The same God through different language. There is something so powerful, so holy about such an experience. Everything about it, the flow, the time frame, the manor of worship different, yet hearts bent and surrendered the same. Holy Spirit alive and well across every tribe, language and nation. The same Hallelujah shouted from the chairs in Gary, Indiana to the chairs in Bujumbura, Burundi. Oh how remarkable to think of the nations crying out with shouts of joy, the same worthy God! Hallelujah we praise! And what an honor to have Theresia experience this with us. To experience worship with us in her homeland, in her language. A moment where we were the “outsiders” and she is home. A moment where she understands language and tongue and we are at the mercy of the kindness of another. These experiences, these moments in Burundi were so important for us. As a family, together surrendering our pride for listening ears, observant eyes, humble hearts, gracious hands, willing feet. Such grace for God to humble us in the valley before raising us upon the mountaintops. These moments I shall never forget.

Oh and as we pulled away from church that Sunday, our eyes were met with kind waves from a woman in a car up and to the right of us in the parking lot, smiles large and full of compassion. “This woman”, Modeste our lawyer says through the window, “This woman is the one who wrote your official decrees for your adoptions. She is the one. She is so happy to see you here and to see these children with their parents.” Talk about a moment. Our decree is our most important legal document. It is the document that finalizes the adoption process. September 30, 2020, stamped, signed and sealed. The day Theresia legally became our daughter. Written by a woman who attends the church of our lawyer, written by humble hands of a woman who worships the same God. What a generous gift to witness her kind waves and generous smile. What a generous gift!

I’ll see you soon then, to share more of our time and heart in Burundi. Sending all my love from the current mess of our schoolroom to meet you wherever you are, whether it be in a space of full beauty and rest, or right in the middle of the messy, chaotic middle. Leaning in with you within this journey of life.

~Laura

Miss any of the previous Episodes of our time in Burundi? Here is some easy access for you!

Episode 1. Back to the Beginning: https://www.lauradugglebyphotography.com/blog/2022/2/26/back-to-the-beginning

Episode 2. Heartbeats from Heaven: https://www.lauradugglebyphotography.com/blog/2022/3/9/heartbeats-from-heaven