Georgia Bound

From June 4, 2017

Part Two

Continued from Sacred Pilgrimage

As we sat on a jet awaiting departure from Dulles International Airport on June 2, 2017, I couldn’t avoid thinking of a similar evening, fifteen years, one month, eleven days, and three hours earlier. So began, a decade and a half earlier, my first book, But the Greatest of These is Love.

Thankfully, I am not that same terrified, self-absorbed mother who was bound for Russia that April evening in 2002 to bring home a seven-year-old boy God would not let me forget. Back then, I struggled to trust God when He promised I could love His Hand-Picked boy who waited at the other end of our journey as much as my older three bio children, and as much as my own life.

God slipped in, showing me His Ways while growing my love for HIM more than all of the others, including my own self-love. God slipped in with irresistible Roma, and took His rightful place on the throne of my heart.  

With over twenty four hours of total travel time, from our door to the door of our hotel in Tbilisi, I had a long time to think and journal about this much anticipated journey. I’ll be honest. I have been reluctant to begin this last part of my journey with Roma. It’s like “wrapping it up,” like bringing it to a final conclusion. And that is hard. What can I possibly write about after this last part, this trip, that will excite readers like the draw of a new Roma Story? Perhaps I continue to write about Roma in an attempt to keep that dear boy alive. How long can I attempt the impossible?

Roma always made God visible for me. I tell his stories hoping readers see God too. The comments and private messages from readers over the past several years, some who never knew Roma, or me, confirm the strange effect God granted Roma on His people. I’ve learned our individual testimonies are powerful because they reflect the power of God.

Roma had a gift of endearing himself to people, and God has given me the joy and challenge of telling the Roma Stories. Even many who never met him feel as if they know and love him. They were always rooting for Roma on the sidelines, eager to join their prayers with ours when Roma rebelled and went off the proverbial tracks, and praise God when God went after Roma in astonishing ways. They mourned for Roma with us during our raw grief, and shared our joy in the miracle of pink roses, my favorite, blooming that bleak December. As I look back and see Roma’s Story as a whole, it is truly a tapestry of remarkable beauty. I am humbled, and thankful, in spite of the profound grief, that God chose our family to be a part of His Story that starred Roma. 

God has been changing me. It is a daily process until Jesus greets me on the other side of the Veil. I suspect Roma will be close by to great his Mom with open arms and his big Roma smile. Even that dreadful suffering has brought growth to my soul. Roma has made Heaven a brighter destination.

And speaking of destinations, there is this story about the Republic of Georgia. The dreaded conclusion of Roma’s story, and yet, the place of healing and redemption I knew I would find. And I know I must tell . . .

The first leg of our journey was heading into Washington, D.C. rush hour traffic, some of the worst in all the nation, on a Friday evening. We left our home in suburban Maryland just before 5 p.m. to accommodate traffic, parking, security, and shuttling to get to Qatar Airways inside the enormous airport complex. The first flight was more than fourteen hours to Doha, Qatar, on a Boeing 777. (Our very expensive return flight, due to my careless booking, (see last post) was flight 707.) I settled in, feeling like Angels were escorting our plane. Seven is Roma’s signature number.  

I was thankful the screaming toddler was in the row in front of us, in the center isle away from my window seat,  instead of directly in front or beside us. We took off at 9:30 pm, and they began serving our dinner at 10:30. Qatar Airlines serves ample food. I wrote a little in my journal, and then watched one movie, and by 1 a.m. by my internal clock, I was sound asleep. 

When I awoke, many hours later, the toddler was still screaming. I had slept through our early morning snack, a large turkey and cheese sub wrapped in plastic was still on my tray, and they were now offering bags of chips before breakfast was served. Bruce was on his fourth movie. Poor Bruce doesn’t sleep on planes, and I probably could have slept wedged in the cramped luggage compartment.  

Perhaps sleep was an escape for me. There were moments when the magnitude of this journey smacked me full in the face and my tears flowed. We were actually going to see Roma’s family for the first time, for eight days. And without Roma. Those moments of loss were just too much.

So after a good night’s sleep and plenty to eat, I exited the plane rested and, remarkably, not even stiff from our sedentary hours, with only one trip down the aisle to the bathroom. The aisles were so narrow and often blocked, mostly from the attendants in their never-ending attempts to feed us.

Fourteen hours after they corralled us in to the giant crowded double-wide air bus, they herded us out. The plane windows had been closed soon after takeoff, at 9:30 p.m. on Friday, and again, upon landing, it was getting dark again. We had completely missed Saturday.

After a three hour layover in Qatar where we tried to walk a lot for exercise, we boarded a smaller plane for a three hour flight, to Tbilisi. 

I spent the three hour flight allowing myself to ponder the possibilities. What if we didn’t “hit it off.” What if the language barrier turned out to truly be too much. My friends from North Carolina say I sound like a Yankee, but my Maryland friends assure me this simply isn’t true. Any English my new family might speak is probably not Southernese. I would have to remember to talk. Slowly. And. Deliberately. And. An-nun-ci-ate. Each. Word. (Out of habit, I continued that practice for several days upon returning home.)

I decided I couldn’t worry about any of the what-ifs. God had led us to this journey. It would all be worth it. I knew I would have stories to tell.

At 12:20 a.m, on Sunday morning, our plane landed in Tbilisi, eight time zones from home. As I gathered my carry on, my heart doubled its pulse rate. I knew Lia, at least, would be waiting beyond the luggage claim for us.

When we went out, I could see her hands wildly waving beyond the barrier, and others with her, and hear them calling our names. When we got our luggage, which was, of course, the last to appear, we went out, tears streaming down our faces, as Lia, her twenty-year old daughter, Elene, and her husband, hugged and kissed us. We chatted happily as Elene translated. They delivered us to our Tbilisi hotel and left us around 1:45 a.m., with plans to pick us up at 10 in the morning.

I felt God smiling about His plans for the week. It was easy to imagine Roma was right there in the middle of everything, because God can allow us to experience that kind of JOY. We are blessed!

Continue with Part Three, A Word of Caution, half in jest

Don’t miss the exciting and heart breaking stories about finding this lovely family. Begin with Hope for Restoration. 

Many Roma and God Stories begin with The Hound of Heaven Winks. 

Readers can start at the beginning of our story by reading But the Greatest of These is Love.

Be blessed. Even in the pain, I feel like I have lived something Sacred.