Thin Places

Today, as I drink my tea in front of the Christmas tree, I take myself back to the day we adopted our eldest daughter, Jen Jin Ok.

She was 18-months-old on the day she climbed into the overstuffed leather chair in the judge’s chambers – with two black pigtails poking straight out, wearing a red knit dress and white ruffled tights.  Jen knew how to charm, crinkling her nose and smiling at the judge, and he was completely besotted. He played and laughed  with her  before getting down to the serious business of signing the adoption papers. I remember his words clearly:  “Adoption is for life“, he told us. “You can divorce each other, but you can never divorce this child – do you understand this?”

We did understand. Over the years, our family has been built from 2 children born in the heart and 1 born in the womb – to us, it makes no difference. We have always called Jen our “first-born: – and by the time she was placed in our arms, straight off a flight from Korea, in 1980, we were already in love with her.

It came out of the blue, this idea to adopt from Korea. I had miscarried a child at 4 months in 1989, but the doctor called it a “fluke”, and told us to try again in a few months. That was our plan, but God had a diffferent path for us. At the same time I was grieving the loss of our baby, a girl child was being born on the other side of the world who was destined to be our daughter.

Just hours after Jen was born, she was left on the steps of the local police station, close to one of the best orphanages in Korea. We don’t know why her birth-mother took this drastic step, but I don’t doubt that she was mourning the loss of her child even as I was mourning the death of mine. But she took steps to make sure the little girl would be safely cared for and within the hour, she was in the arms of the loving orphanage director, being fed.

Months later, I was sitting in a church service in a strange city, when a mother  passed in front of me, her arms wrapped around her bi-racial daughter. At that moment, the thought came to my mind – you’re going to adopt a little girl from Korea. There is a child waiting for you in Korea.

I recognized God’s voice in this and, with my heart pounding out of my chest.I leaned over and whispered in my husband’s ear -” I think God wants us to adopt a child from Korea.” Now, we had never discussed this, had never talked about Korea and had planned to try for another pregnancy soon – but Ken answered the way he has so often through the years: Well, if that’s what God wants, then He’ll open all the doors. Let’s just see what He does.

In the early 80’s,  international adoption was not as common as it is now; we  didn’t know anyone with adopted children and had no idea where to start, but we didn’t have to wait long before God showed us. A few days later, smiling at us from the front page of a section of the Sunday newspaper,  were three Korean children adopted by a woman who ran an adoption agency only 10 minutes from our home -  specializing in Korean adoptions. After Ken peeled me off the wall, we called and knocked on her door that very evening. We were greeted by several rambunctious, happy kids – one of them was rollerskating through the house and another was up to her ears in soap bubbles, washing the dishes. One look was all it took to lock us into the process. We gathered up the paperwork and started that night.

Living and working in the inner city at the time, we started the process in faith, with no money and no home of our own. (Kind of like now – 30 years later) And we watched as God miraculously provided everything that we needed every step of the way. A few months later we got the phone call that every adopting parent waits for on pins and needles: 

Congratulations! You’re the proud parents of an 11-month-old baby girl.

Korea handles their adoptions differently than China, preferring that the children are escorted into the USA by a volunteer. August 8th, 1980 found us at the airport, pacing frantically, a diaper bag slung over my should, a camera over Ken’s. I worried about whether or not she missed her plane. I worried about whether or not she would bond to me. I worried about whether or not I would know how to take care of her. I was, after all, a first time parent. Nothing had prepared me for this.

And nothing had prepared me for that first glance of my daughter’s beautiful face. But it was all I could see on August 8th when, dressed in a green and white cotton dress, with white legs and bare feet dangling, 16 month old Jen Jin Ok was carried off the plane and into our lives.

The first few days were difficult. An oozing rash that covered her stomach and legs caused frequent screaming fits. As a first time mother, I didn’t know when to stop feeding her and Jen didn’t know when to stop eating, so we had daily stomachaches and not a few tears  And I was alone – due to the fact that my husband’s boss insisted Ken leave town for 10 days, the day after Jen’s arrival. It broke Ken’s heart – but it was that or the threat of losing his job.We were so grateful for the few close friends who stuck by us during that time. Not everyone understood what we were doing or why.

Jen spent most of her early days staring off into the distance. She was too weak to walk, even to stand, and showed little interest in toys. Attached to noone, she would go to anyone but she loved to listen to my heart beat. So I would lay on the floor for hours at a stretch, holding Jen’s frail body, her ear to my chest. Little by little, day by day the fog began to lift,  strength came into her body and a mischievous little imp began to emerge. For instance, she like to hide her socks in my coffee when my back was turned. She went from walking to climbing almost immediately and liked to scale our floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. By the time she sat in the judge’s chambers on December 9th, Jen was the picture of health and full of joy.

The joy has never receded. People often ask her – are you always this bubbly? – and the answer is yes. Jen went through a difficult time in high school when she had to have two serious head surgeries to remove a potentially dangerous and large growth. To avoid disfigurement, the doctor implanted a plastic balloon in her head and filled it with saline weekly to stretch the scalp. When the balloon reached capacity, they operated, removing the growth and stretching her hair over the large incision. Then they implanted another balloon and started all over again.

Her brother called her balloon head, of course. When I asked her how she was doing,  she replied in typical Jen fashion – uncomplicated and to the point: if I was still in the orphanage, this surgery wouldn’t be available and  I would be maimed or dead. so I’ve just decided to be grateful. And she was.

I took her to Korea after graduation so she could meet the wonderful woman who took her in at birth and reconnect with her roots. The orphanage director said she had seen many of her children return and had never seen anyone so un-westernized as Jen. Declaring it amazing, she said Jen was thoroughly Korean in her mannerisms, her tastes, even her accent. This became clear in Korea where, except for the language, Jen fit in  – in every way.

The director took Jen aside one day, to ask her questions without me. She wanted to find out if Jen had any questions about her early history or her birth parents – not that she had any information. She didn’t. But she wanted Jen to feel free to talk. Thirty minutes later Jen exited the room with a huge smile, ready to eat again. The director told me later that Jen wouldn’t even have the conversation. She said simply – my mother is sitting outside this room, my father and brother are in Cleveland. I don’t know why my birth-mother left me, but I know she must have had good reason – and God has taken care of me. I’m happy.

And that is Jen in a nutshell. The glass is always 3/4 full.

I look at the woman she has grown to be – a chemist who loves music and chick flicks, her iPhone and eating good food. She enjoys her church family, her work and Sunday dinners at Grampa’s house. She laughs loud, long and often – so much more than  I ever have . And today I realize just how much I needed that frail little girl who became our firstborn – and how much I need the young woman and friend she has become.

Happy Adoption Day, Jen Jin Ok Wadenpfuhl.

You are a gift – and you are deeply loved.

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