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Waking up to the Call to Prayer at 4:30 in the morning was perfect. God had called me all along on this journey, and it seemed so fitting to be awakened on this most amazing day to prayers floating through the window. Watching the sun come up over the distant hills, and the city that I had only seen so far in the dark begin to take shape was fascinating. Looking out the window and realizing that my daughter was out there, in that city, waiting for me, and that my arms would not ache to hold her any longer, I felt such peace.

The ride to the care center was another feast for the senses. The streets teemed with people and goats and taxi's. What was blurred in the mist and weariness of the night before, now glared sharply in the bright light of day. The poverty was amazing. The poverty was devastating. The poverty was everywhere. And yet right along side it was life and hope. Smiling people, embracing each other. Men walking hand in hand...the bonds of great friendships so visible. Women dressed in beautiful bright scarves, with babies on their backs. It was these babies, peeking out behind scarves, rushing the van with hands outstretched, sharing a smile from across the road..these children, who touched the deepest part of my soul. I was adopting one child, taking one child from this amazing country and though I rejoiced in that, I prayed that these precious children who I saw at every turn, might thrive and flourish right where they were, and I mourned that my daughter would have no memory of her beautiful country.

All through the wait, I had tried to imagine the moment when I would finally hold my daughter in my arms and I couldn't. Even in the small hours of the morning, listening to the call to prayer drift across the city, I couldn't imagine how it was going to be to finally hold her. Would I cry, would she cry? Would it be everything I hoped for? Would she find comfort in us? Finally the moment had arrived. I was just so excited. So peaceful. So ready. She was standing in the window with the look I have come to know and love...the look that means pure joy. She was waving...I know she wasn't waving at us, but it felt like she knew...her life was about to start again. Walking into her room, my eyes were only on her and the moment that she melted into my arms, I knew that THIS child, the one I had prayed for, had asked God to hold and protect, whom I had carried so gently in my heart, that THIS child was perfect in every way. And I think she felt it too. We belonged together. Two lost souls, needing to find their missing piece, were now complete. Our connection was instant, which was amazing and had God written all over it. Sitting on the floor of the care center, falling in love with this amazing child, memorizing her features, taking off her shoes and socks to kiss her toes, finding that spot between her ear and her neck and kissing it until it glowed...these were the moments that I imagined in the dark places along the way...and they were so much better than I could have ever hoped.

Each time we left her and came back to her, I fell more and more in-love, and as we got more glimpses into her history and her time at the care center, I realized how long both of our journeys had been and it all made sense. Not sense in that she suffered huge losses and that her family had been through so much already, but sense in why the wait was so long, why the road seemed so steep. It was because this was the child that was meant to be in my arms.

Much more happened in Africa that I still am processing. It may take a life time of prayer, thought and reflection before I can fully integrate it. Leaving Africa felt much the same as leaving the boys had at the beginning of the trip. I was so ready to go home, and yet so sad to leave the country of my daughter's birth. We pledged to come back when she is old enough to get the most out of her visit, and I hope and pray that we will one day be able to fulfill that promise. Just as I cried tears of joy landing in Africa, I cried tears of sorrow to leave her. But there is no doubt that while I didn't have a very big impact on Africa, Africa changed my life.

As the ride East across the ocean had been serene and theraputic, the ride West was challenging and wonderful in it's own way. Each mile seemed to bond Meron to us and us to her a little more. We are seasoned parents, but picking up a little life, 1 year in, is a bit daunting. Anticipating her needs, reading her cues...all things we were on a crash course to discover. Little sleep was had by any of us, and it was a long a grueling ride, but I wouldn't trade those moments for anything.

Arriving at our home airport was the stuff of Hallmark movies. Exhausted, world weary travelers arrive with perfectly amazing daughter and all but collapse into the arms of waiting family and friends once home. That moment, coming down the escalator into baggage claim and seeing my babies still brings tears to my eyes. With Meron tightlly strapped to me in the Moby wrap, we crashed into the loving arms of her waiting brothers. There were cheers and tears, hugs and delight. We were complete. A family of six, surrounded by the love of friends and family. We were home, our journey complete...or our real journey just begun! (more again on life at home soon!)