Chapter 38

As we sat on a massive jet awaiting departure from Dulles International Airport on June 2, 2017, I couldn’t avoid thinking of a similar evening at this same location, fifteen years, one month, eleven days, and three hours earlier. So began 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. Roma was still a stranger to me. Back then, I struggled to trust God when He promised I could love His carefully chosen boy who waited at the other end of our journey as much as I loved my older bio children, and more than my own life. Roma made God visible to me. God slipped in, revealing to me His ways while growing my trust and love for Him more than all of the others in my story, including my own self-love. With infectious and delightful Roma, God slipped in and took His rightful place on the throne of my heart.

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 many years, some who never knew Roma, or me, confirm the strange effect God granted Roma on His people, for His glory. 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 my Roma Stories. Even many who never met him in life feel as if they know and love him. They were always rooting for Roma from 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 him in astonishing ways. They mourned for Roma with us, and shared our joy in the miracle of pink roses, and had hope, as Roma continued making God visible. As I look back and see Roma’s story as a whole, it is truly an remarkable story. 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 continuing process until Roma greets me with his big smile and open arms on the other side of the Veil. Even that dreadful suffering has brought growth to my soul. Roma has made Heaven a brighter, eager 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 rush hour traffic, some of the worst in all the nation, on a Friday evening. We left just 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 of more than fourteen hours to Doha, Qatar, on a Boeing 777. Our very expensive return flight, due to my careless booking, 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 9:30pm, and they began serving our dinner at 10:30. Qatar Airlines serves ample food. By 1a.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. I’m confident I could’ve 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 the reason for the visit, Roma. Those moments of loss overwhelmed me.

After a good night’s sleep and plenty to eat, I exited the plane rested and, remarkably, not even stiff from my sedentary hours, with only one trip down the congested aisle to the bathroom. The aisles were so narrow and often blocked, mostly from the attendants in their never-ending attempts to feed us. Bruce was rested too, as he doesn’t require as much sleep as I do.

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

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. 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 had to banish the what-ifs from my thoughts. 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. We completely skipped Saturday. 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 to the baggage claim, I could see Lia’s hands wildly waving beyond the barrier, and others with her, and hear them calling our names. What a warm welcoming committee. When we got our luggage, which was, of course, the last to appear, we joined them, tears streaming down our faces, as Lia, her husband, and their twenty-year-old daughter Elene hugged and kissed us like long lost family members. We chatted happily as Elene translated. They teach English now in Georgian schools. And Elene’s English was excellent. 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.

Continue with Chapter 39