Oh, how He loves me!

Part 12, continued from God in the Details.

Start with Part one A Sacred Journey.

I’ve previously introduced readers to Misha, our driver and tour guide while visiting the Republic of Georgia. Misha replaced our first tour guide we had lined up, just days before we left on our sacred pilgrimage to meet Roma’s family. (If you haven’t read the Misha stories, they are a must for understanding and seeing God more clearly. And pointing to God is THE purpose of my stories.)

We first noticed similarities between Roma and Misha’s driving. The excessive speed, the impulsive passing, both treating a Toyota van as a sports car. (I had a Toyota van in which Roma learned to drive with me and my white knuckles on the passenger side dash board and my foot pressed down hard on an invisible brake.) We observed a similar big heart. During our week together, we noticed that Misha seemed to know people wherever we traveled, a trait that mystified us about Roma. Both would be chatting with strangers, introducing themselves, making themselves known. And Misha, like Roma, was “spiritual.” He had dreams before real events happened, and Misha never failed to cross himself when entering a church, and kissing the images of Mary and Jesus. One day Misha excitedly bought a new icon of a Saint to add to his collection for his home wall reserved for icons of faith.

On the third day, I looked up from my vantage point in the back seat and suddenly I saw it. Everything became clear, and my mouth dropped open in shock. I almost laughed out loud from the sheer JOY of recognizing God at work. God surely has a sense of humor. I secretly snapped a few photos to document what I saw from my week-long position in the back seat, giddy about what I saw. But before I tell you, dear reader, what it was, you have to read a little further.

When we traveled to the holy ground of Kazbegi on day five to meet Liana, three hours from Tbilisi, Misha learned more of Roma’s story from our conversations translated by an English-speaking cousin. Misha was often moved to tears hearing Liana’s stories of her little brother being ripped from his family, a beloved little brother who she repeated was NOT an orphan, who, she insisted through tears, had a mother and a father.

Liana might not have recognized like Bruce and I did that Roma’s best advocate and fierce protector was this loving sister standing in our midst, who, in 2002, was a month away from being an adult when he vanished from her life. A month later she could have applied for and been granted custodial rights and financial help with her minor brother. Her reaction to the calculation of the enemy to hurry up the adoption and her pain and resentment were reasonable.

We shared all we knew with them while we had a capable translator. We answered all their questions. The new knowledge of the exorbitant costs of adoption ($22,000) seemed to have confirmed the corruption they had suspected. Liana poured herself out remembering her days before and after Roma disappeared. She had been told she could visit him to say goodbye, but when she arrived, he was gone. The adoption staff told her his new parents had come unexpectedly and insisted they take him then. This was not true. He had been delivered to our host family’s apartment days before we expected to see him. Lia put her hand to her throat in a slicing motion, as if showing her disdain for the Russian orphanage officials.

Misha’s red eyes met my own, and I whispered while wiping away fresh tears, “Tragic, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he wiped his own leaky eyes, reflecting, “yes, tragic.”

Liana shared that she could not think of her little brother as dead. She often thought of him as still living, enjoying life, over there. I told her that I didn’t think of Roma as dead (Oh how I still hate that word) but always thought of him on another adventure, the grandest one on his long list of big adventures. 

Then everyone scattered to tend to another meal, or take a breath from the outpouring of grief, Misha and I found ourselves alone, overlooking the vast, stunning panarama from the back yard of Liana’s pink cottage, talking about our pilgrimage, these family members who until five days ago, I did not know in person, the brokenness of the world, and the celebrity of Roma, the beloved boy behind our trip.

Sweet Misha looked at me again with tears brimming. “I never knew Roma, but I “lahve” (love) him.”

“Yes, you would have certainly loved Roma, Misha. Everyone did,” I answered, retrieving my phone from my pocket. I found the photo and eagerly showed it to Misha, knowing it was time.

Misha looked at the image on my phone, then quickly at me, his eyebrows knitted with obvious confusion.

“You’re like Roma!” I said excitedly as my voice cracked with a new round of emotions.

Animated Misha grabbed me suddenly and hugged me tight, as the tears of understanding ran down his cheeks.  And mine.

How good is God to change our driver so late, and replace him with someone so like Roma, to drive us all over our Sacred Pilgrimage in Roma’s ancestral home. I had gone to Georgia with high expectations, but God had accomplished so much more than I could have ever dreamed. Oh, how He loves me.

So, on this late afternoon of long shadows, in a place I could never have imagined I would be, with a story only God could write, in the yard of a family with whom I was surprisingly and everlastingly linked, I was overcome by pure joy. I have lived the most beautiful story, even with the devastating grief. I felt Roma’s warmth and smile and could sense God say, “It’s all okay. See how much I love you?”

Yes, gratefully, I’m starting to understand.

This photo is not Roma, but Misha, who from the front, has no resemblance at all to Roma. But from my seat for the week, was very much like Roma. What a comfort to feel God and Roma everywhere on this Sacred Pilgrimage. It was more than I expected! And I had unreasonably high expectations

Yes, I am so blessed. And grateful beyond words.

Continue with day six, More of Kazbegi

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.