?On the bathroom floor of a hotel room in Guangzhou, China, I begged God to take care of
my daughter Yang Yu. Like I had lifted my sons out of a swimming pool when they were
toddlers, I felt like I was trying to lift Yang Yu up out of the deep waters of her myriad health
problems. “If you’ll but hear me, God,” I prayed.
I believe it is in moments like this, where the rubber meets the road, and my knees hit the
floor, and I come to terms with who I am and who I am not, and to Whom I call out in need. Near
Guangzhou we had visited a goose farm, and while the cacaphony was deafening, on the walkway
inside, surrounded by the geese housed in bamboo cages, there was a strange peace amidst the
din. Prayer helps me find that place of quiet amidst the noise.
Yang Yu has overcome many health battles since our trip to China in 2002 to adopt her, and she is strong, mighty; formidable and four
and a half. She is stunningly beautiful and I say this as a proud mother, and as someone who had
nothing to do with her beauty. Our refrigerator is covered with her artwork, our floor with her princess paraphernalia. I have learned lessons in accepting ambiguity, even in the life of
one I so adore. We have no medical history for our daughter, so each new thing we’ve
encountered makes up her medical history on the spot. We do not know her ancestry, or where
she might have gotten her strong will and courage. We do know who she is now. As I pick her up
from pre-school, as soon as she glimpses our car, and me waving at her, she jumps up and down
with excitement. I am there for her. I am there to pick her up and take her home. And that is a
prayer answered for both of us.
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