Thank you...tusen takk...merci beaucoup...danke...grazie...

If anybody else knows "thank you" in any other language please feel free to enlighten me.:)

Tomorrow a whirlwind of activity begins! We fly to London (Heathrow), then Ottawa, then Winnipeg where my dad, sister, brother, and very soon to be new sister-in-law ,(who I haven't had the pleasure of meeting yet!), will be waiting to greet us with dozens of roses and a plush red carpet which they will roll out before us as we arrive. Celebrities that we are.

I'm not too sure if I'll be updating my blog or if I'll be commenting much on other blogs while I'm in Canada for the next 6 weeks so please don't be alarmed if I am absent for awhile. What I do want to say though is a very simple and heartfelt thank you to those of you who read my blog, those of you who comment, and of course, those of you who don't as well! There are so many times that I have been so touched by the knowledge that family, friends, and sometimes people I don't know, (which by the way is a very pleasant surprise usually), take the time to read what I write and leave caring words. I appreciate it.

I love writing, it's my creative outlet and also the best possible therapy I can imagine. I try to capture moments in words. It's a beautiful art. When I began this blog, it was because I was anxious about our upcoming interview with the social worker at the very beginning of our adoption process and since then I have continued it somewhat erratically. It isn't meant to be informative or a daily record of events. I just write what I feel like writing. But it's valuable to me. I will always be honest in what I share here.

I would write even if nobody else read it, but that doesn't mean that I don't appreciate those who do. So again, thank you very much. I hope the next six weeks contain so much happiness for you all. God bless. And please pray we have a safe journey home.

Much Love.
C.

P.S. I said I would always be honest so I guess that means that I have to amend what I said earlier about the dozens of roses and the red carpet. (I have delusions of grandeur...) But they will be there to greet us, so that was true at least. ;)

Talking To Strangers

Strangers seem to talk to me a lot. I don't know why but they always have and what they've said has ranged drastically from the kind and caring, to those who are seeking desperately to be understood, to the very sad, to the downright bizarre and unfathomable.

Sometimes they say things that make my heart smile and my hope in humankind is temporarily renewed. Other times they say things that are so rich and thought provoking that I ponder their words for days and then there are those other times that they say things that make me smile nervously, nod in a placating manner and edge slowly backward until I feel I can safely break into a full blown run to escape them.:)

I think when you're out with children, people tend to speak to you even more and I'm sure everyone who has ever been out with a child has heard from strangers how lovely their baby is. I hear it every time I'm out with William and while I can't take the credit for his beauty, it still fills my heart with pleasure that others also see what I know so well. Even if they say it about every child they encounter, it's still music to my ears!:)

I was browsing in a shop yesterday when a woman smiled at me and said "You have an exceptionally lovely baby." I smiled and thanked her and said (rather absurdly) "We adopted him from Sri Lanka" as though that explained everything. She smiled back at me and said "All children are beautiful aren't they? But there are always some that are exceptionally so." Since I can't come right out and answer "Well, he gets his beauty from me." as I could if William were my biological child, I said simply "We're very blessed." She nodded and said "I know. I've been there myself...my husband I tried in vitro fertilization 10 times and just as I was about to give up, I fell pregnant with my daughter. I am so lucky."

And as she said it, her eyes filled with tears and I felt so honored that for whatever reason, she shared that with me because even though she didn't know me or the reason we chose adoption, it was as though she truly did understand the waiting, the hopes and the shattered hopes, the uncertainty, and finally the beauty of the gift of a long awaited child and for that moment, understanding that surpassed whether we knew each other or not, passed between us. It's those moments where my heart responds on a deeper level to the soul of a stranger that I can't help but wonder if that is what humanity was meant to be like before we, for the most part, became to afraid to share with others.

She Rode There In A Tuk Tuk

We don't know the exact moment William entered this world. We don't know what sort of labor or birth his mother had. We don't know what she felt when she held him for the first time.

But 10 months ago today William, (then Darshana), graced this rather shoddy world of ours with his brand new, pure little presence! I wonder how it feels to hold something so fresh in your arms. It must feel like a miracle, like you have just been showered in sparkling grace...it must feel like awe and power and weakness all at once.

And 10 months later, here he is. Half way around the world with us, riding in cars with car seats rather than in wildly careening tuk tuks held in someones arms! Beautiful baby...he is growing quickly and already has a fabulous sense of humor and playfulness. He delights in silliness. His eyes are as huge and glossy as ever and he has more hair on his head that I thought possible at such a young age. People are still his favorite things. ;)

He has a lot in store this month...meeting all his Canadian family for the first time...next week!!!! Imagine that! Imagine how incredibly far reaching the absolute joy of our William is! It stretches from Sri Lanka to Norway to Canada!
It makes the world small. It makes the world beautiful for us.

10 months old today. I'm sure we're not the one ones who are thinking about you today, William. Somewhere in Sri Lanka, there's a woman who is remembering that it was 10 months ago today that she held you and kissed you for the first time.

Adoption can bring so many hearts together in hope.

Travels With My Brother (Sketches)

Beautiful Munich


Sketch One:

Munich is a beautiful, exhilarating city of lively beer gardens, ornate buildings and churches, and fascinating historical significance. It is a warm and friendly place and crowded with tourists and travelers, (yes there is a difference.:), especially in the heady summer months. I like to think that as we sat, drinking our coffee at an outdoor cafe late at night with a waiter hovering over us wringing in hands in what appeared to be anxious despair, that we were of the chosen few...that Kelly and I were travelers. We took a Third Reich walking tour and murmured appreciatively at all the truly fascinating bits of history that we had never heard before. Imagine what happened in this particular square, this uninspiring building here, that beer garden, these streets and homes and lives. Imagine the grief this beautiful city has seen.

On our own walks through the city we came upon a statue of a giant warthog. It was impressive and in fact, it had the dubious honor of being the only thing on our entire trip that Kelly actually asked me to get his photograph with. The stuff precious memories are made of I suppose...

There was one instance in Munich that I wish I would have witnessed but I chose just the crucial moment to go off in search of a restroom leaving Kelly waiting on one of the narrow, one way streets in the downtown area. What he saw was a unique example of the horrors of road rage. Two tourists were ambling down this narrow cobblestone street, guidebook and bottled water in hand and at the same time a car was trying to make its way down the street as well. The car horn honked loudly. The tourists perhaps absorbed in their book didn't notice. The car stopped and an angry man got out and stomped his way over to the unsuspecting couple, yelling and gesturing and as the piece de resistance, the ultimate lesson that they should never dare do this again, he thrust out his hand, grabbed the man's water bottle and heaved it mightily into the air and stalked off back to his car. As the water bottle fell, lets imagine in slow motion, back to the ground and broke, water droplets flying every where, this poor couple stood open-mouthed and staring in wide eyed surprise. I'm sure that day they learned a lesson that will never leave them. :)

Sketch Two:

A sunny afternoon in Mainz. Relaxing on a bench in the beautiful old city. It's lunchtime and many business men and women are sitting outside, talking quietly and enjoying their break from work. All of a sudden a group of giggling children appear from nowhere armed with spray bottles and begin to shriek with delight as they spray these business people who react with quiet embarrassment as having been the center of such unwanted attention, eyes downward, ignoring these small hooligans. That was perhaps the best reaction. Kelly and I watched and snickered because well it was funny. And then with exceptionally bad judgment, I called over to them as they made their way around the city square spraying everyone in sight and asked them what they were doing and what was in the bottle. They came over to our bench and sprayed us both mercilessly as we laughingly protested and got up, edging our way backward, down yet another cobblestone alley, hands out in front of us to ward these little demons off. They followed us and I have to admit that they actually chased us out of the the city square while we laughed helplessly. It felt a little bit medieval. Well, except the laughing part.

Sketch Three:

Things that happen on trains. Most trains in Germany are sleek, fast, and among the most modern in the world. But occasionally for the more local journeys between smaller villages and towns, the more charming, old fashioned trains pull into the stations. On one such train, between Bacharach and Koblenz, we sat in an almost empty compartment. There was only us, an elderly man, and a group of people across from us. The group of people across from us opened the window as it was a stifling day and the breeze blew in fresh and clean. The elderly man became alarmed, sat up straight in his seat and began patting his hair frantically and glowering. Finally after no one took whatever hint this was intended to be, he marched over to the rebel window openers and demanded they shut the window all the while brushing his hair down and exclaiming that he couldn't possibly keep it neat with a breeze like that blowing in. Everyone suffers from vanity occasionally I suppose. :)

Sketch Four:

Trier is the oldest city in Germany and boasts some really incredible Roman ruins. We arrived on a seriously sweltering August day and set out to find these ruins. Now I'd been in Trier before but my sense of direction is sketchy at the best of times and I don't generally use maps. So we wandered. For hours actually. I began with a positive spirit "Roman ruins, can you imagine? How wonderful! I can't wait to see them! think of all the history here!" and as the hours stretch on and we seemed to be no closer, my mood changed "Kelly...do even want to see the Roman ruins because I'm starting to think I don't...I mean, what's so special about them anyway?" (Kelly was very patient and didn't complain I might add.) We walked a bit more. "Ok, look let's just go to our hostel because I can tell you one thing and it's that I don't want to see those ruins. Stupid Romans. Think they're so great. Forget it, let's go back."
We went back, had a rest and then went out for a coffee late at night. On our way back, a mere five minutes away from our hostel, there rose before us, these brilliantly lit, massive ruins and well in all honesty, they were quite amazing after all. I guess that the Romans can think they're pretty great if they want...

We did have excellent luck though finding the Karl Marx Museum. Sadly neither of us bought a coffee cup or stone bust of the man though. :)

These are just a couple of sketches out of many from gallivanting in Germany with my brother. I hope you enjoyed them.

Bacharach, Germany


Kelly exploring the ruins of a castle on the Rhine


Me posing in the ruins of a German fortress (clearly not all ruins are "stupid", some are actually quite lovely and fascinating.;)

Editing Yourself

When we were in high-school, we believed we were pretty original thinkers...you know...poets, philosophers, and artists. (Alright, maybe not everyone's high-school years were spent like this but I was kind of an idealist, what can I say? I still am in some ways and that's probably why I get scammed so much when I travel but whatever. That one there? Easy target.:) I loved history, religion, art, drama, and literature and hated math and physical education. I used to skip my math classes and spend them lying sprawled in the sunshine instead. I liked it better and it felt like a better use of time to me.

Two of my three high-school years were spent at an Ursuline convent school in a tiny, tiny town in Saskatchewan approximately a ten hour drive from my hometown. It was an exciting, challenging experience. To be 14 and away from home.

After two years I returned to Manitoba and kept up with my friends far away with a lot of long, fat letters and bizarre packages in the mail. One of my more artistic friends sent me a clay ear in honor of Vincent Van Gogh and in this puzzling package was a bunch of words and sayings hastily cut out of magazines. I pulled each one out of the envelope and read them. One appealed to me then at 17 years old: "You can't edit yourself for fear of others reactions." It isn't very poetic. It isn't really that original. But at 29 years old, it still appeals to me.

It appeals to me because I have never been overly interested in catering to the masses. Although it is certainly much nicer to stand with the support of others encouraging and reinforcing your ideas and beliefs, there are times when you must have the strength to stand alone. It also appeals to me because I believe in honesty and being true to one's convictions. This can cost us though. Friends, family members, jobs and in the worst and most frightening circumstances, it can cost your life.

We all begin our lives with tiny sparks of truth in us that are just waiting for us to acknowledge them and delight in them and fan them into flames but these can be so easily quenched; every time that we edit ourselves for the sake of what others might say or think we are damaging something true within ourselves.

It is possible to be a quiet rebel. Leaders come in all personality types. Some are loud, charismatic, persuasive, and brilliant. Others are quiet and humble, leading in their example and steady belief in themselves and their convictions. A leader can be afraid to speak up sometimes, afraid to attract attention, shy, aggressive, peaceful, or bold. A leader is simply a person who doesn't follow.

We need to know what we believe and live our lives in such a way that those beliefs are apparent. We need to be honest people.

We never know who is watching and who might be following our example.

"Another Planet's Hell"

The news has been full of cases of sexual abuse within Roman Catholic church the past couple of weeks. People are justifiably outraged and distressed and much of their anger is directed toward the Catholic church itself. Sadly, most people's authority on the Roman Catholic faith appears to be Dan Brown and that really isn't terribly accurate.

I'm neither qualified nor educated enough to explain the ins and outs of my church well but my opinion is this: When an individual has committed a terrible act, that individual is to blame. They and they alone are responsible for their actions. People who place the blame on the Catholic church rather than on the men who actually hurt and abused these children, are lessening the guilt of the individual. When abuse occurs, the fault lies within the mind/brain/heart/soul (take your pick) of the person who commits such acts. The priests who abuse children do not speak for God and they do not speak for or represent the Catholic church.

The second issue I have is that the abuse is often blamed on the celibacy of Catholic priests. I feel it has little to do with this. A man whose mind is disturbed enough to abuse a child will do so whether he is supposed to live in a celibate state or not. A man who abuses a child is a pedophile not a man struggling with his celibate state. (If it were only his celibacy he was struggling with, a normal man would go out and find a consenting adult.) Unfortunately, there are married teachers and coaches who also sexually abuse children. There are so many children abused by family members within the "safety" of their own homes. I think to blame celibacy is to oversimplify greatly.

I hope anyone reading this understands where I'm coming from. Abuse should never happen. I wish with all my heart such a world existed. I wish people cherished and protected innocence with all the strength they possessed. I wish God was more present in the world today.

I find the abuse of children so horrific, so appalling that it fills my soul with shuddering fear and great, great sadness. There is nothing that can justify or excuse it. I believe that the destruction of a child's innocence causes God and His angels to weep. A Heaven, this world most certainly is not.

In fact, to quote Aldous Huxley, "I sometimes wonder if this Earth is another planet's Hell."

There's A Wild Thing Upstairs...

This wild thing seems an expert in wild ferocious sounding shrieks and roars; low, rumbling growling sounds that come from the bottom of his throat (I swear I didn't teach him these); and joyful gales of giggles that erupt from his bedroom and float down the stairs long after he's been put to bed and to be totally honest with you, the best word I can think of to describe his actual laughter is all out "guffaw".

There are two things that this wild thing finds unbearably awful. The first is having his face wiped, which he finds the very height of presumption on my part. The second is when I put a hat on his head. He doesn't cry or fuss when I do this. He scrunches up his eyes and glares at me, clenches his fists and shakes them in the air and roars with outrage at me. I think he thinks it's a fearful sight to behold. But you know what, he's smaller than I am and so I laugh, which obviously just rubs salt in the wound, and that hat goes on.

There is one thing the wild thing loves above all else. In Sri lanka we bought him blue dolphin chimes and he is entranced by them. When he wakes up, after giving an encouraging, cheerful little yell, (there are so many sorts you see), to let us know he's awake and we can come get him this very instant, he twists his head in the direction of the chimes. So we go over to them and give them a nudge and as they make their soft sound and the dolphins sway back and forth, a look of blissful awe comes over his face. Then a slow, slow smile. And then he starts hitting me in excitement and squealing in delight and frantically twisting his head between me and the chiming dolphins to make sure than I find this as wondrous as he does. How could I find it otherwise?

He kicks constantly in his crib with all his might and every time I enter his room after a nap, he is in some bizarre position. But even with one arm and one leg poking through the crib bars, he offers up a huge smile like this is the most normal way to sleep in the world.

He has a great sense of his own self worth and self importance. He simply is charming in his own opinion. Yogurt splattered all over his face? Oatmeal dribbling out of his mouth? Huge belches at the table? Appallingly stinky diaper? No, he feels none of these things detract from his innate charm. He beams at the camera just the way he is and is suitably outraged if anyone tries to make him more presentable. Why tamper with perfection after all? :)

So William, my sweet, silly little boo, with your huge brown eyes and beautiful smile: this is a tiny, woefully incomplete glimpse of how you were when you were in the ninth month of your life.

Who Will Pay For This Uprooting?

Night seems a good time for confessions.
I'm sure that more secrets have been whispered into the darkness than ever were into the light.

In darkness there are no distractions, we are just essentially ourselves. We are a quiet voice, a searching soul. We hesitantly whisper our feelings, recall things too deep for daylight. We can speak the gut wrenching truth. I wonder if this truth is there, at the core of our beings, always. What we wonder in the darkness, the things that pierce our hearts, the things that haven't healed or been resolved.

Who are we? What do our souls consist of?

Sometimes at night, there is something inside me that cries at the dishonesty and the shallowness of life. Why do we never speak to one another? Why do we never say what needs to be said? Why are we content with so very little from ourselves? Why do we not seek out things that nourish our souls? Why can't we see how fragile we are? How truly beautiful and worthy? Why do we ignore our souls?

Sometimes at night I think about the soft sound of bare feet walking on sun drenched sand. A baby's arms around its mother's neck. I think about the feeling of wondering if I was instrumental in pulling someone's world apart. In my heart I know what we did was the right thing to do, I really do know it...yet I am still sorry in ways I don't understand fully. Not sorry for the result which is pure and beautiful and most definitely right, but sorry for another person's pain. I'm sorry the world is such a mess.

Why are we content with so very little in our lives? What are we sacrificing in order to be so unimaginative, unquestioning, and placidly content? Why is examining our thoughts, minds, lives, actions, and souls not something we do often?

What does it mean to be uprooted? Who is responsible for such things and who will pay?

Sometimes at night I think these things. Then I go to sleep and in the morning they have gone. My thoughts, feelings, and questions...uprooted by the light of day and I am all smiles and joy because that is life's beauty and complexity as well.

When morning dances in dispelling the darkness of night, I gladly meet her there.

Our souls are infinite and vast, they allow for both night and day.