Sunday, July 11
As I lie on my bed in absolute darkness I realize the rain has finally begun. I hear its gentle patter outside the window of my room at the Danish Evangelical Mission guest house in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia.
Every few minutes I see a flash of light behind the simple white curtains and hear the ensuing rumble of thunder. Even that has a gentle quality to it—not like the violent clashing of the monsoon storms in Arizona.
It is the middle of the night—just after 2am—in Addis. I spend a moment going through the mental exercise of calculating the time back home and then give up. There were will be no catching up on time zones during this short week I have in Ethiopia. And though I desperately need sleep, it will not come. My mind is too full, working hard to absorb, process, enjoy and understand the events of the last two days.
On Saturday, I witnessed a miracle. There is simply no other way to describe it.
Brian and Keri deGuzman held hands as they walked down the narrow, dark hallway of a carefully kept foster home in Addis Ababa and peeked through the doorway of a small bedroom. Respectfully, and as they were instructed, they removed their shoes before stepping into the room where several babies lay quietly on satiny blue sheets in two yellow wooden cribs partitioned to accommodate three children each.
Keri recognized their two children immediately. “There he is!” she said in hushed, high-pitched squeal of delight. “And that’s Tesfanesh. She’s eating—what a surprise!”
As their round-cheeked daughter finished a bottle in the lap of her Ethiopian caregiver, Keri and Brian approached their son, Mintesinot Solomon, with smiles, soft tones and small, slow movements. The last thing they wanted to do was startle him.
The baby’s small fist gripped his mother’s finger as he was lifted into his father’s arms for the first time. Brian couldn’t remove his gaze from the child’s round, blue-black eyes.
“He’s so cute!” Keri exclaimed. She glanced over at Tesfanesh. “And I can’t wait to meet you, but I don’t want to take that bottle out of your mouth because I know you’ll cry.”
Keri clicked her tongue to get her son’s attention, smiling and cooing, “That’s your da-da—ababa.” And then, “Oh, I’m so in love with you!”
As Tesfanesh finished her bottle she was lifted into Keri’s arms. Finally, after 14 months of wondering and waiting, of paperwork and prayer, Brian and Keri had crossed the threshold. Never again would their lives be the same. Their family—which includes two young children waiting for them with grandparents in Washington, D.C.—was complete.
The moment—though simple and unceremonial—was electric, emotional, reverent. Those of us who were watching couldn’t move.
Mintesinot broke the spell with a bit of baby reality from a full tummy.
“You just christened your dad,” Keri said. “It’s official.” We all laughed.
The rain is coming harder as I realize I can no longer fight the sleep. One of the babies is crying in the room across the hall. I know that Brian and Keri also are awake. Joyfully awake.
