By Beall Phillips

Things can move painfully slow, and then surprisingly fast when it comes to the plight of the Haitian orphan. With just hours’ notice, Doug sent me, my two eldest, and our good friend and camera man Christopher Gill to Miami on behalf of Rescue Haiti’s Children to welcome and document the arrival of 44 Haitian orphans. Doug and the boys had shared the momentous days following the earthquake with 11 of these precious ones while at Haiti Christian Rescue Mission—and he was determined that we be there for their first glimpse of life in the United States of America.

An unexpected bonus of this trip is that an important part of my life has come full circle for me. Having been adopted as a baby into a loving Christian family, I have now been witness, on a very intimate level, to the other side of adoption—a loving Christian family waiting, agonizing, and finally, welcoming into their aching arms the precious children by adoption that the Lord ordained for them before the dawn of time.

I can hardly describe how fulfilling this is for me, having been the recipient of this love 42 years ago.

THE CHILDREN ARRIVE IN MIAMI

We arrived in Miami Saturday afternoon. Our flight left San Antonio at 8 in the morning and should have arrived shortly after 1 pm, but mechanical difficulties on the second leg delayed us so that we didn’t land at Miami International until after 4 pm. The plane with the children was supposed to have left Port au Prince at 1:30 to land in Miami around 3 pm, but they were delayed too.

We scouted around to find the right place closest to the children, and were soon joined by about fifteen other sets of parents or parts of families, waiting for the same group of children.

The afternoon and evening alternated between delight and agony. The agony was the interminable waiting. Waiting with very few answers for all the questions the parents had about when they could have their children.

The delight was in the multitude of conversations with the families who were waiting for children. Some had started the adoption process only months before and were starry-eyed babies to the whole thing. Others had been waiting a year or two and found a bittersweet relief in the earthquake which broke down some obstacles, paving the way for their children to be released to them.

And then there were the few families whose story seemed almost incomprehensible. Waiting years and years and years, persevering against all odds and unbelievable circumstances, making it to this point, and then waiting another 8 hours, wondering if it would all really come about or if it would fall apart again.

NINE YEARS OF WAITING

One couple had started adopting their boy when he was three. They had a three year old biological boy and looked forward to these two boys growing up together. That was nine years ago. Nine years ago! Three times they filled out all the papers. Three times it all fell apart. They were told he had been kidnapped, lost, sold into slavery, you name it. They never gave up. For two years he was lost; no one knew what had happened to him. Then the earthquake hit. They never gave up. They overturned every piece of rubble, it seemed, determined that they would find him. They had not come this far to lose him. And they didn’t. Someone found him. Someone contacted them. Hope was renewed. The process began again. And here we were. They would not sit down. They could not sit down. They hovered as close as they could to the walkway that just might possibly at last bring their 12-year-old son to them.

I was composed all evening. Until their son walked out. Then we all wept.

Nine years. Nine years, and they now had him in their arms.