Dave traveling to Congo has understandably been hard on Sylvie.

Several months ago, Dave went to Haiti with Help One Now to learn from and listen to the local leaders there. We struggled through that time apart, yet it was more of the typical managing-four-littles-alone-and-exhausted type of struggle.

This trip, however, has been entirely different. Behaviors have resurfaced that we haven’t seen in nearly a year. She has cried daily, and not the get-attention-semi-fake-cry, but a real, deep weeping cry. She has been having a really hard time sleeping (she is typically an AMAZING sleeper, praise God). She wakes up screaming, “daddy! daddy!” in the night. She is fearful and separation anxiety kicks in when I leave her side.

Kiddos with a history of trauma have a hard time dealing with change, especially changes to routine. The familiarity of routine and constant caregivers are comforting. Trusted caregivers leaving on an airplane? Anxiety inducing. Big time.

Sylvie asks no less than 500 times a day when daddy will be home. She asks if daddy is eating breakfast while she eats breakfast. She asks if daddy is eating lunch while she eats lunch… repeat, repeat, all. day. long. I have been practicing the art of patience with the even more than usual (and the usual is A LOT) onslaught of questions.

Jen Hatmaker’s recent post, Preparing Teachers for our Adopted Kiddos, was spot on:

“She asks so very many questions, mainly relating to time and calendaring and schedules. … Her life has been hard, and one of her issues is needing to constantly know what is going on and when and for how long. It is one area she can control, so her questions are endless.”

Sylvie is very close to her daddy so it is hard to be apart from him. Yet, his going to Congo is a whole thing in itself. It is confusing and scary. I have no idea what’s going on in her little mind. Does she think he is going there to bring home another child? Does she think he is going and not coming back? Is she simply grieving the trauma of leaving her birth country?  

Y’all, this adoptive parenting thing is not for the faint of heart.

Conversations with other adoptive mamas have sparked my desire to share what’s working for us while he is away. I most definitely do not have all of the answers here, yet, I thought I would list a few practical tips (oh my word, I need practical approaches that actually work) that have been helpful. Many of these were developed while brainstorming with Sylvie’s (amazing) play therapist. (I’ll share more on our experience with play therapy in another post… I’ve had several questions about this and I could go on and on.)

Here you go, a few practical ideas to soothe fear in your adoptive child during times of change:

1. Lotion, baby powder, shaving cream.  Stock up. When she is unable to calm down, I gently apply lotion on her hands and model deep breaths for her as I do. Then, I ask her to apply the lotion to my hands and we take deep breaths together. Baby powder is an instant calming agent for her, as well. She actually lights up when I bring the baby powder out. We sit outside on the steps and just go to town. She rubs it in her hands and then on her legs. Sometimes she applies to my hands and legs and arms and feet.. I let her lead. Same with the shaving cream. She can sit in the bathtub with a pile of shaving cream for a good chunk of time. It is soothing and calming for her and appeals to her sensory seeking needs.

2. Wear daddy’s shirts. When she is sad, I grab one his shirts and allow her to wear it. The fact that she can barely walk in it makes her laugh in and of itself. Because they’re so big on her, she doesn’t wear it to bed (but my boys do and love it), so we cover a pillow with the shirt and she keeps it with her through the night to wrap her arms around.

3. Use the word “safe” a LOT. You are safe. Daddy is safe. It’s mommy’s job to keep you safe. Safe. Safe. Safe. 

4. Children’s books with a message. A couple of our absolute favorites are “The Invisible String” (“reminds children that they are never truly alone”) and “It Will Be Okay” (“trusting God through fear and change”). 

5. Develop a new bedtime routine. Dave is very involved in Sylvie’s bedtime routine. So we had to create a special one for when daddy is away. Thankfully, my parents have been able to help with the other kiddos while Sylvie and I rock and sing songs and apply her lotion. When she first came home, we used a bottle at bedtime to encourage bonding. She hasn’t used one in many months. I decided to try one the other night and it instantly soothed her. There is something special that comes from allowing her to settle into the role of an infant, for just a little while, in order to release control and simply rest in her mama’s arms.

6. Take a break.  I met dear friends for a late dinner the other night after the kiddos were in bed. You guys. It was exactly what I needed. Laughter + good food + good wine = a happy mama. The end.

And, the biggest of all: PRAYER. I often forget to just stop and pray. That first night after Dave left, I texted a few prayer warrior friends after several hours of attempting to soothe my hysterical little girl. The peace that settled into her heart and mine was undeniable. She finally was able to rest. The power of prayer is REAL.

What about you? I’d love to hear what works for your family during times of change or stress.

One year ago today, I wrote my all-time favorite post: He is FAITHFUL. 

I was finally able to share our Sylvie-girl’s photo because she was on a plane coming home to our family{!!!}. I still get goosebumps when I read the words and think back on that day.

The miracles that unfolded to bring her home still cause me to stand in awe. Bear with me while I try to record the events that led to this amazing day {long post warning!}…

Because Sylvie already held an approved medical visa from USCIS, we had met with the ambassador at the US Embassy in Kinshasa multiple times to ask beg for his help in acquiring a medical exit permit for our girl. Our congressional office, senators, even other US ambassadors were advocating for our case. We had letters from specialists here in the US and in the DRC stating the need for Sylvie to be allowed to leave the country for medical reasons.

We had been turned away from the embassy each time we requested help. We were so very weary. Until, one of my dear friends {who lives about 20 minutes away} received the first medical exit permit since the beginning of the suspension in early June. Once again, we frantically started calling and emailing anyone and everyone who could possibly help. We were asking the ambassador to advocate for our girl. We received an email stating that he would help in mid-June and I thought my heart would burst. Hope was restored.

We rushed to get new medical check-ups and additional letters from specialists and have them all translated and submitted for immediate review by DGM. DGM agreed to review our case which was HUGE. We were guarding our hearts, preparing to be rejected by DGM. They reviewed the documents and asked for our dossier to be submitted immediately. Our agency liaison had all of our documents and refused to turn them in until we paid our final agency fee {which would have normally been paid when we traveled to bring her home}. The wiring process would stall us by several days. After much back and forth and many, many tears on my end, our agency agreed to release the documents once we provided proof of the transfer {we had to wire the money to the agency and then they would wire to DRC}. The documents were released to Sylvie’s foster mom and our dear friend, Dr. Laure. She submitted everything to DGM for us.

At this point, we were trying to decide if Dave should go to DRC. It seemed like he should be there to ensure everything went smoothly and documents were all where they should be. However, we clearly heard from God: wait. Honestly, that didn’t make a whole lot of sense but I was thankful he wasn’t leaving because we had a newborn {Charlotte was about 4 weeks old at the time} and I had no idea how long he would be gone.

We assumed Dave’s travel visa was still valid, as he had visited in February and had a 6 month visa. We felt confident that he could leave as soon as we heard word that it was time.

Weeks passed without word. I was walking in a fog. I hardly slept. I clung to my phone, praying that it would ring or an email update would come through. Instead I was met with silence. I wrote these words  just days before we finally heard news.:

“I suddenly realized I wasn’t staying sane. I wasn’t keeping it together… instead, what I was doing was letting go of hope. Over the past week or so, I’ve let go of believing that the latest news could actually mean our daughter will come home sometime soon. 

You see, about three weeks ago, we received some really good news and I was so hopeful, so sure, that this was finally it that I started planning logistics for her homecoming. And, then, nothing. No news. No updates. Just waiting… in silence.”

My heart was so very weary.

Meanwhile, in DRC, another adoptive momma was living with her daughter awaiting news of a medical exit, as well. We connected and prayed fervently for both of our girls. She kept me updated from Kinshasa and I let her know of any news from my end. She went to DGM daily, waiting on word.

We both heard news from our contacts that the director of DGM would be reviewing our files on Saturday, July 5th. To say that I was a nervous wreck is the understatement of the century.

Dave considered leaving right away. Yet, we learned that his visa was actually expired. He submitted a request for a new travel visa. I was devastated. I never believed DGM would issue an exit permit if the parents weren’t in country.

I was up all night waiting on word. I texted back and forth with the momma in country. She went to DGM’s office to wait. Laure went to wait on our behalf.

A text came through early that morning. It was my friend asking where Laure was. “She is there at the office!” I frantically answered. My friend couldn’t find her anywhere. She was texting me from the associate director’s office. He had told her that this was the last day they would issue any medical exits. The two files on his desk were hers and ours. He had asked if she knew a “Jennifer Marrs.” That’s when she texted me.

Come to find out, they needed Sylvie’s passport number. I emailed it to him and kept trying to contact Laure. Her phone didn’t have service in the office and she didn’t get any of my messages.

Finally, she went outside and saw all of my emails and voicemails. She went back in to find my friend and was led to meet with the director of DGM. He questioned her again about our case {as she is a physician and had been treating Sylvie for nearly two years}.

Meanwhile, back at home, our beloved dog had gone missing. A neighbor found him a few miles from our house – he had been hit by a car. We rushed to the emergency vet. I was an emotional basket case. Right as the vet came out to tell me of the internal bleeding, my phone rang with a Kinshasa phone number. My hands shook as I answered. Laure gave me the news, “She was approved. She is coming home!”

I was in disbelief. I looked at the vet waiting for my decision regarding Bailey. Tears streamed down my cheeks.

I asked Laure if she had the letter in hand and she said no. It would be ready to pick up on Monday. I felt ill. I knew that things could change in two days. This letter could go “missing” … there was no guarantee that she was really coming home at this point.

I hung up and walked inside to say goodbye to my faithful friend of twelve years. Nothing else mattered in that moment. I was heartbroken. I didn’t believe that Sylvie would really come home. It was a dark day.

During the talks with DGM, we requested that Laure be given permission to escort Sylvie home. Because we were still waiting on Dave’s visa, we weren’t able to travel right away. We knew the request was a long shot. We waited and prayed. We were emotionally exhausted.

Monday morning, I woke up the most incredible email I have ever received:

I ran to the kitchen where Dave was working on his computer {neither of us could sleep} to show him the email. I was sobbing, sobbing, on the floor. I just kept saying over and over: “it’s over! it’s over!” She was really coming home.

I called Laure and found out that she was back at the DGM office picking up Sylvie’s exit permit along with her own! She was given permission to escort Sylvie home. I was blown away. Completely in awe.

We quickly booked flights. They would leave the next day. This was the first plane ride for both Laure and Sylvie and they had only 24 hours to prepare. My heart was elated and hurting. I knew Sylvie would board that plane and leave behind everything and everyone she had ever known. Her world was going to forever change.

I was {and this is a theme…} a nervous wreck throughout their travels home. I tracked their planes on my phone and prayed fervently. I was shocked to receive a phone call during their layover in Brussels from another adoptive momma whom I had never met. She told me that she met Sylvie and Laure and would be traveling back with them. She took photos and sent them to me. She gave me the most beautiful update on Sylvie. I was once again in tears. God is so good. He took care of every detail, even to the point of keeping my nervous momma heart updated with photos. Amazing.

Laure and Sylvie were held in customs for several hours. They were stuck in a room with a customs officer. We didn’t know what was happening. They missed their connecting flight. Finally, the other adoptive momma traveling with them went in to the room and asked what was happening. She quickly realized that there was a misunderstanding. The officer didn’t see the vaccination waiver in Sylvie’s documents and was preventing her from entering the country because she did not have the proper vaccines. This other momma cleared everything up and got Laure and Sylvie to their gate {I had worked with the travel agent to rebook their flights}, and even bought Sylvie her very first American meal: McDonald’s. 🙂

And, then, just like that, they arrived. 602 days of waiting. Over. 

Our lives will never be the same. As hard as some days can be, we are blessed beyond measure. This girl has rocked our world in the best possible way. God has big plans for this brave, tender-hearted, lovable, sassy, hilarious, nurturing, beautiful little one. She is the daughter of my heart and I am honored to have been chosen to be her momma.