After praying for the Ethiopian child of God's choosing in God's timing for over two years, we finally met Birti -- officially, Birtukan Elizabeth Pearson -- at the Little Rock airport on Sunday afternoon, July 29, 2012, when she stepped off the plane with her new parents, Matt and Katie, and into the greetings and smiles of dozens of happy welcomers. She probably knew less than a dozen words of English on that day and had an understandably dazed look on her face as she met her brothers and grandparents for the very first time. Our meeting was brief. We knew she really had no idea who we were -- or would become to her. That didn't matter. She was safely with her new family, and the process of making her a Pearson -- in every sense of the word -- was underway.
I wish I could say that the transition was smooth and problem-free, but that would be a huge mistake. Birti's adjustment took (and continues to take) a ton of work, primarily on the part of our dear daughter-in-law Katie but, of course, for her Daddy and brothers as well. Katie was/is consistent, firm, loving, involved, disciplined, informed and very focused. When we went to El Dorado for a short visit about a month later, the work and progress were already evident and amazing. With the combination of a few Amharic words, a lot of hand motions and facial expressions, plus some English, Birti was understanding MOST of what was being said to her. We didn't try to force ourselves on her. We just made our presence known and tried to establish a connection.
We didn't see Birti or her family again until December 27, 2012 -- almost four months later. We had a lot of questions in our minds about how things would be with Birti -- in our home for the first time, around her cousins for the first time, calling us Grandmomma and Granddaddy for the first time, etc. And, in a wonderful twist of events, Matt and Katie wanted to go away for a couple of days to celebrate their anniversary, and asked if we'd keep the three children during that time. We were thrilled to have the bonding time . . . but a little apprehensive, too.
Another case where praying would have been sufficient and all the worrying was futile and unnecessary. Birti's first experience as a Pearson was at her Aunt Julie's house, complete with her Aunt Laura, 7 new cousins and 2 uncles.
No problems. She joined right in as if she were saying, "Don't you see the family resemblance?" The cousins loved her, and she loved them. Big sigh of relief and renewed anticipation for this year's Cousins Camp.
Then, it was time to finally go to Grandmomma and Granddaddy's house. You would have thought she'd been here dozens of times before. She walked in as if she owned the place and already knew where her room was. Of course, it helped that there were a few gifts under the tree with her name on them. :)
There were some sights I just had to chuckle about, such as seeing this little brown person sneaking into my pantry for a few clandestine Wheat Thins, opening the fridge to see what was available, trying out the piano, and generally just making herself right at home.
Before Matt and Katie left for their short trip, Katie gave me some very detailed and necessary instructions about the care of Birti's skin and hair. After all, Katie had spent five grueling months by now trying to learn how to help Birti overcome the effects of living in an orphanage -- a good one by many standards -- but still somewhat lacking in basic hygiene and sanitation, or individual attention. After a bath, for instance, Birti needed to be rubbed down with Vaseline to help with her skin's dryness. That wasn't too surprising or hard to do, but her hair was another matter entirely. Katie had been extremely diligent to turn a dry, tangled mass into something still massive but now soft, supple, brushable and combable (Is there such a word as comb-able? If so, how do you spell it?). In the morning and again at night, Birti's hair needed to be brushed with several oils and lotions applied, worked in, combed through, and then put up in a bun or ponytail. It was astounding just how much hair Birti had and how thick it was. Birti stood there like a trooper, unwincing and trusting. She even seemed to enjoy the process. She obviously liked how she smelled and looked after that kind of care and nurturing. I wasn't able to do anything fancy with her hair, but I could at least follow Katie's basic instructions. Maybe in time we'll experiment a little more.
I immediately began to remember the horrible hair experiences I had when we were living in Ecuador. Finally, during our 4th year there, I found a hairdresser who was from the U.S. and had married an Ecuadorian. She knew how to deal with my gringa (prissy Southern lady hair). Ecuadorian hair is generally coarse and straight. Mine is very thin with a little natural curl in it. After my first 5 or 6 haircuts in the country, Steve would just look at me and say, "Where's your hat?" I can't blame those cosmetologists. My hair was as foreign to them as Birti's was to me. I was motivated to learn. They probably weren't.
Other than the hair, Birti was remarkably easy. She knew exactly what she liked and didn't like to eat or drink and knew the words to communicate those likes and dislikes. Ketchup, anyone?
How about some Coke? Maybe some grilled chicken and fries?
She also talked a blue streak when she got the opportunity, using the words she knew and staying in control of the conversation. Was the sentence structure always perfect? Of course not. Is her vocabulary vast? Not yet, but it's growing by leaps and bounds. Is she curious? Is she soaking up her culture easily and happily? Absolutely. Birti is going to be fine. She has come to believe that she is loved here and that she can trust those who are caring for her. A gigantic step in the right direction.
How I wish I had been less resistant and more easily-adaptable when I was in the Ecuadorian culture. How I wish I could be more trusting and moldable in my relationship with God on a daily basis. My head knows that He only has my good in mind with His plans for me, but I have to constantly remind my heart of that when I'm tempted to question and second-guess His every move. God loves me. I can trust Him. When I'm tempted to strain and resist, I'm sure a certain little brown face will come to my mind. Thank you, Birti. I'm so glad you're in our family.
