Spies are so compelling. Given the chance, I’d be a spy in a second. All that intrigue, danger and secrecy—so good.
Last week I was in Ukraine on a little spy mission of my own. A few weeks ago I shared the story of our failed adoption of a Ukrainian orphan girl. You can read the story here.
Basically, some friends and I have fallen in love with a group of orphans who we met in a camp in Ukraine—my wife and I attempted to adopt one of these kids. For whatever reason, she and the rest of the kids have been moved to a different camp in which we Americans are not allowed to visit. We repeatedly pleaded with the director of this camp to be able to visit but he would not consent. In fact, when we asked one final time he said he would never let us and then slammed the phone down on us.
The thing is: I love that girl and the other kids who are with her. So, we decided to throw down a spy mission. My good friend Oleg who happens to be the director of Radooga was kind enough to drive us to the camp. We contacted everyone we could and asked them to pray and then drove for 2 hours to her camp knowing full well that there was basically no chance of being let in. On the way, we called one of the kids in the camp and let him know we were coming. We were worried about the kids sneaking out and getting in trouble but we just had to try.
As it turns out, God opened the way for us because when we arrived the director of the camp was attending a camp-wide concert. While he watched the show a few of the kids slipped out to see us, including the girl I came to see—the girl who was so nearly my daughter.
As we drove up to the gate the kids were jumping down with excitement and mobbed us as we exited the van. It was a tremendous joy to see these kids that we love so much—especially the girl we almost adopted. She never let go of me the entire time we were there. We cried over the separation and laughed as we looked at pictures and took a few new ones. We talked about our memories together in camp and bragged about how our team was the best. And then, after what seemed like only a few minutes, it was time for the kids to go.
Before she walked back to her dorm, she pulled me and a translator away from the crowd and utterly broke down. Through her tears she apologized for declining our adoption. She said she decided to stay in Ukraine so that she could care for her alcoholic mother. But, only a month after she said no to us her mother hanged herself. It was horrible and now she is terribly alone, utterly abandoned and regrets everything.
I held her, wiped away her tears and told her how sorry I was. And then, her counselors called her away. I kissed her forehead, told her that I loved her and she was gone.
It’s been a week and I just can’t escape that encounter. I just keep replaying it in my mind. There is nothing we can do to adopt her. It is too late. She’s too old. But, she doesn’t understand and frankly neither do I. I usually appreciate laws that protect our country but in this case I hate them.
She has no one. Both of her parents are now dead. Her older brother is in prison for the next decade and the rest of her extended family has abandoned her. My heart aches because she was so close to becoming our daughter—so close to safety, love and security.
And then I decided, “Who cares? Who cares about laws, borders and language barriers?” She needs a father. For whatever reason God didn’t allow us to adopt her but I can be a father. I can support her, love her and empower her from a distance. And so, that’s what I’m going to do.
I’ll never understand why things have worked out the way they have. It will always break my heart and I’ll always worry about her but I will never give up and I’ll never stop trying to be a father to her. Why? Because that’s exactly how God treats me. How could I not attempt to do the same for her?
