(On Wednesday, Elise will have been home for two months. I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting. This is a brief synopsis of our journey.)
…
In March of 2007, Scott and I formally began our process to adopt from Vietnam. We had been in negotiations since September 2006, and now with God’s help we had finally arrived at the onset of our journey. From March to December 2007, we ran around getting home studies, passports, birth certificates, marriage licenses, fingerprints, I-600As, and I don’t know what else. At the start of 2008, we were in the final stages of preparing our foreign dossier to be sent to Vietnam, and during the first week of February we formally submitted our dossier.
Submitting our dossier also introduced us to the next most stressful six months of our lives. Within a week of submitting our dossier, we had to sign a “Risk Waiver” because the agreement between the US and Vietnam would expire on September 1, 2008. We had to sign that we were aware of the “risk” of having no child. We signed.
Then the referrals started to slow. Many of the children in the orphanages in Vietnam had pneumonia. I remember talking to our social worker and saying, “We need to pray for those children.” She said, “Yes, they need good energy.” What the heck is good energy?
As we moved into the summer, I made no plans to work extra jobs, as this would be my last free summer. It seemed that the adoption process in Vietnam came to an almost screeching halt June 2008. More than 30 families who submitted documents for preliminary visa approval for their children, received RFEs (Request for Further Evidence) from the US government. Many of the people involved in the adoption process were consumed with this issue. Rightfully so—these families needed to be united.
Still, I tried to relax and stay positive, but it was a pitiful try. I was easily discouraged and would say things like, “I don’t see what prayer could change.” Isn’t the point of prayer to change things? Obviously, I had no idea what I was talking about. I began to have a fatalistic attitude, which I’m sure was pleasant for all around me. Eventually all my cheeriness culminated on July 31, 2008 when we were told no.
On July 31, 2008, our adoption agency called with these words, “I’m so sorry, but we don’t think we can get you through. We know we are getting two referrals from Vietnam, and we think we will get one more. You are number four on the waiting list.” As I hung up the phone, I started to bawl uncontrollably. I called my husband, Scott, and he could barely understand me. I don’t even remember what I said to him; I just know we immediately felt the loss of a 16-month dream. Now what?
With only a month before Vietnam closed to international adoption, there was just no way we could get a referral in time. Even if we got matched, we would need three weeks to get the official referral, and our agency just didn’t see that happening. With this devastating news in hand, I did what any “good” Christian would do. I went on with my day. A friend was already on the way to come get me to go shopping, and I met her at the door crying and explained the situation. She offered to cancel her plans, but I said, “No” (attempting to cling to some sense of normalcy). Later that afternoon, we met up with another friend at a favorite Mexican restaurant for some margaritas. I don’t think I’ve ever met a margarita that didn’t make me feel better. After the restaurant, I was dropped off at home. Scott had come home early, but I don’t remember discussing the news. I think we were too shocked. We had always known this was a possibility, but we tried to stay positive and hope for the best.
Yet, here we were, right where we didn’t want to be. (At least, that’s what we thought.) That same afternoon, my sister-in-law called because she was in town, and I invited her over for dinner. I remember her asking if it was okay, if I thought Scott and I needed time alone. I remember saying, “No, it’s fine. Come over.” It was fine that she came over, but it was still an attempt on my part to deny what was happening.
Scott and I left for Las Vegas on Sunday, August 3, 2008. It was a gift to ourselves before we had a little one, only now there was no little one—at least not from Vietnam. I tried to enjoy myself as best as I could, but it was difficult. Soon after we arrived, I received an email from the family that was number three on the waiting list; they had gotten a referral. I wrote back something like, “Yeah, we knew there was a chance of three referrals. We’re not getting one. Congratulations.” I later regretted that email—it was so bitter, a low point for me.
When we got back from Las Vegas, I broke down in church. I remember a friend handing me a pack of tissues and saying, “It’s going to take time.” We were trying to let go of our dream of a Vietnamese boy. (I say boy because we had always been told there was a greater chance of having a boy than a girl. I bought boy clothes at the beginning of the summer.) So in the midst of letting go, one thing resonated with us. We were not done with this adoption thing. We believe God had called us to adoption, so we looked at other countries.
We were quickly drawn to Ethiopia; it was a program we had looked into at the start of our process. We contacted our agency to let them know that we wanted to switch, and we began the task of trying to transfer our funds to the Ethiopia program. The funds transfer was Scott’s responsibility; I was done talking with agencies. Transferring funds is not something that’s easily done, but we wanted to try.
Almost a month after the devastating news, we went back to our Waiting Families group on Saturday, August 23. Our Waiting Families group was sad but supportive. They were ready to encourage us and pray for us on this next leg of our adoption process.
On Monday, August 25, I started back to work as a preschool teacher. During the prior week of inservice, I had been telling everyone Vietnam was over, and finally on Monday, I had gotten word to everyone. I left work and went to the Rec Center near our house. I was on the elliptical machine listening to some Avril Lavigne, watching Carson Palmer’s bloody nose on ESPN, when my phone rang. I could tell by the number that it was my agency, and my first thought was, “Why are they calling me? Scott’s trying to get the money back.” And I answered, “Hello?”
”Hi, Annie. It’s Trudy. You’re never going to believe this but….”
That phone call changed our lives. On Monday, August 25, a two-month-old girl in Vietnam became available for adoption, and our agency wanted to know if we wanted her. Normally, once you are matched to a child, it takes three weeks to get an official referral, and we had less than week because Vietnam was closing the following Monday, September 1. So Scott and I said, “Yes!” When they asked if we wanted her picture, advising us it could be more difficult if we lost her, we said, “Yes!” I remember getting the picture over email, and thinking, “I guess that’s our baby?” Now, we had this little picture to pray for, hope for, and wait to see if she could be “officially” ours.
On Friday, August 29, Scott called to give me the news. The baby was ours. Elise would be our daughter! Miracle of miracles, our agency’s Vietnamese facilitator had done the impossible, and we were so amazed. In less than 30 days, we had run the whole gamut of emotions. I’m not too eager to repeat that rollercoaster, but, in the end, number four didn’t turn out to be so bad.
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We officially adopted Elise, on December 18, 2008 and brought her home December 25, 2008.

The outfit says it all.