What is truth?

John 18:38 As time pa.s.sed and I met other adoptive mothers, I became aware of "things" that worried me. The adoption agency was thousands of miles away and seemed dependent on me for all of their information, almost as if their contact with Anne was non-existent. Anne was several hundred miles south and very difficult to get hold of except through email. Email at the hotel was down as much as it was up. I was left to ponder too many things.

Sometimes ignorance is bliss. While Joy and I were enjoying our time together, there were obstacles that I eventually became aware of that were disconcerting. Looming like a huge thundercloud were continuing questions about Anne. I didn't know if I could trust her. She told me the Vietnamese government was expediting Joy's adoption. Normally taking two months, she said they promised to do it in three weeks, but they still couldn't do the ceremony until the end of December, which wasn't soon enough for me.

And what about the U.S. side of things? Once the Giving and Receiving Ceremony was held, the U.S. officials would need to approve and sign off on the paperwork. I was told by Anne they wouldn't approve the Vietnamese adoption until the end of January. Why would the Emba.s.sy be so slow? In fact, I had been told by other adoptive mothers that their adoptions were being expedited because of Y2K. The Emba.s.sy wanted adoptive families to return home before the end of the year in case there were worldwide computer failures. They didn't want families to be stuck in Vietnam. Why was I being treated differently?

I couldn't imagine missing Christmas with Manisha. I didn't have the money to leave Vietnam and come home for one day and then return. In addition, if I left Vietnam before the Giving and Receiving Ceremony, Joy would go into foster care in the orphanage. I knew that would devastate her.

Without the finalized Vietnamese adoption papers, I couldn't give Anne Power of Attorney. I realized reluctantly I had to stay until the Giving and Receiving Ceremony, which I still hoped could be done before Christmas. Then maybe the U.S. Emba.s.sy could expedite Joy's adoption like they were expediting everyone else's. I desperately wanted to be with both my children on December 25th. As I spent hours praying for one more miracle, I received a phone call from a man I later came to know as Mr. Nathan King at the U.S. Emba.s.sy.

"Ms. Roberts," he said, "you need to come to the Emba.s.sy to discuss something very important."

"What is it?" I asked. He refused to tell me over the phone.

"Please come alone and don't tell anyone you are coming."

That was easier said than done. When I asked the hotel clerk how to get to the U.S. Emba.s.sy, she must have told Anne's representative that I was going to meet with someone. Either that or someone working for her overheard the phone conversation. Shortly afterwards I received a call from Anne in which she wanted to know who had called me from the American Emba.s.sy.

"I can't remember his name," I told her. It was the truth. "But he told me to come by myself."

"I will need to send someone with you," she insisted. I wasn't in a position to protest and it made no difference to me one way or the other. I could tell in the tone of Anne's voice, however, that she wasn't happy about this new development. Was I being paranoid, I asked myself, or was there something going on that was cause for concern?

I asked Jenni if she could baby sit Joy for me so I could go and meet with Mr. King. I wanted to leave the hotel as quickly as possible and I made an appointment and took a taxi later that afternoon. Anne had a young woman who spoke very little English to accompany me. Upon my arrival at the Emba.s.sy, I introduced myself to the receptionist. She quickly picked up the phone and buzzed someone that I was waiting.

A large, handsome, middle-aged Vietnamese man stepped out of an adjoining office. He introduced himself as the Mr. King who I had spoken to on the phone. After shaking my hand and exchanging the usual pleasantries, he glanced over at the young woman who had accompanied me and the two spoke in Vietnamese. I didn't know what he said to her, but she nodded in agreement. I was motioned by Mr. King to accompany him into his office. My traveling companion remained reluctantly seated as I followed closely behind him and shut the door.

Feeling nervous and intimidated about being there, I sat down in front of his desk with a queasy feeling in my stomach.

"How has your stay in Vietnam been?" Mr. King asked me.

"It's been okay." I looked around his office which was immaculately clean and well organized.

"Where are you staying?"

"The Lillie Hotel." I was surprised he spoke such fluent English. I later learned that he had been adopted by an American family as a child and returned to Vietnam to work for the U.S. Emba.s.sy in charge of adoptions for the entire country.

He smiled and commented, "That's where a lot of families stay." We chitchatted for a couple of minutes as I told him about what had happened upon my arrival. I got the feeling as he quietly listened he already knew more than he wanted to let on. It would have been nice if he could have validated Anne's story to me about the kidnapping, but instead, the conversation took on an even more sober tone.

Leaning over his desk and looking directly into my eyes, he stated, "You must keep this confidential, but I need to inform you that Anne is under investigation by the U.S. government. I can't tell you the details, but we have grave concerns about whether your Vietnamese adoption is legal and if we can approve it under U.S. international adoption laws. We have a higher standard than Vietnam."

I sat frozen in my chair speechless.

Mr. King continued, "We would highly recommend you not leave until the approval process has been completed. If there is corruption, the U.S. Emba.s.sy will not issue Joy a Visa."

He held up several case files involving adoptions where the U.S. Government refused to issue Visas. Adopted children were left behind, stranded in Vietnam, while their parents spent thousands of dollars in legal fees. Without an American Visa, a child can't enter the United States.

"Are any of them hers?" I asked.

He refused to tell me.

"We are not processing any of her adoptions now. They won't be done until after the investigation has been completed."

I thought about all the other adoptive families I had met who arrived after me and yet were being approved ahead of me. Jenni had been right about Anne all along. It was unlikely the adoption agency even knew about the investigation. My adoption was the last one they were doing with her, and once I returned home, their business relationship would end.

Earlier I asked Anne about why it was taking so long.

"They won't be able to finish your paperwork till the end of January," was all she would say.

"What is holding up my case? Other adoptive families who arrived after me are being processed by the U.S. Emba.s.sy almost immediately," I tried to tell her.

"That's not possible," she said.

I could take Joy home before the end of the year if they would do my paperwork like everybody else, I lamented. Anne continued to be evasive, but she did offer to escort Joy home for no charge along with some other children.

Suppose I couldn't adopt Joy after all, I thought to myself, as I sensed a veil of evilness in all of it. Satan, the father of lies, had done everything he could do to stop me from adopting in Vietnam. G.o.d, the Author and Father of Truth, would have to swallow evil up in victory. I had to believe. As the man said to Jesus in Mark 9:24 concerning his son, "I do believe; help me overcome my unbelief!"

Many times I had almost given up. Would I be afraid to love Joy, fearful that things might fall through? I thought of Romans 8:15. G.o.d, my heavenly Father, had traveled this road with me before. Was there too much of my fearful self wrapped up in this and not enough of Him?

Mr. King warned, "Stay in Vietnam until we complete our investigation, and be careful in your dealing with Anne."

Uncertainty consumed me. Mr. King gave me his name and phone number and told me to call him if I had any questions. As I walked out of the office, I looked away from the woman who had accompanied me. I didn't know what to say to her.

Jenni had offered to change her plane ticket and stay with me until I left, but I knew Sylvia and Curtis would want her to come home for Christmas. I also knew if she left she could take pictures back of Joy. Even though I missed Manisha immensely, I felt like this Christmas Joy needed me more than she did. I had to trust G.o.d because I had no control over the U.S. Emba.s.sy. As I had done with Manisha's adoption, I had to render under Caesar the things that were Caesar's and render unto G.o.d the things that were G.o.d's.

My flight was booked to leave Hanoi on December 30. I would arrive home just before 2000 when Y2K would hit and all my doc.u.ments would expire. Joy's adoption had taken to the very last possible day of the millennium. If one other thing had happened to cause a delay, I wouldn't have been able to adopt her. If Manisha had not had a miraculous healing, I wouldn't have been able to come to Vietnam at all. If the U.S. Emba.s.sy found something wrong with Joy's adoption or with something Anne had done, she would never be able to leave Vietnam.

I continued to wonder about the little girl that sat in the orphanage whose paperwork was never completed. What about the little girl I came to Vietnam to adopt? Years later, I would realize the truth, not just as head knowledge, but in my heart, that "... in all things G.o.d works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose" (Romans 8:28).

I had to put my trust in G.o.d, despite the evil which prowled around like a hungry lion. As I pondered these things in my heart, I was determined not to give in to worry. Certainly that came easier to me than prayer on the heels of Mr. King's admonition, but I would pray to keep away the demons that threatened to take away my dreams. I had to cling to the hope that in spite of everything, Joy was the daughter G.o.d meant me to have.

Her name seemed so fitting at Christmas. Galatians 6:7 says, "Do not be deceived: G.o.d cannot be mocked." Was it not part of G.o.d's plan for me to be in Hanoi at Christmas and adopt a little girl named Joy?

I was determined to remain positive and thought about having a late Christmas with Manisha when I returned home. Christmas doesn't have to be on December 25. On December 19, I sent this email to Manisha.

Dear Manisha, I love you and miss you, too. I wish I could be home for Christmas. I could have, but it would have been so hard to come back and expensive, and we might not have gotten Joy. I prayed and I knew G.o.d would take care of you, along with Uncle Curtis and Auntie Sylvia. Pray for G.o.d to bring Jenni and me home safe. Lots of hugs and kisses, Mom.

Chapter Twenty-Eight.

Glory to G.o.d in the highest, and on earth peace to men...

Luke 2:14 By the time December 21 rolled around, I think Jenni had her fill of "tasting the culture." She had crashed in a xichlo, visited the school where her 12-year-old little translator attended, spent some time with Australian backpackers, and ate exotic fish cooked in honey at a hole in a wall.

When she left, most of the other adoptive families were also gone. The hotel was largely empty and quiet. It was too expensive to call home often, so I sent emails every day to all my prayer warriors. The highlight each day was my email from Sylvia about all the holiday activities-baking Christmas cookies, shopping at the mall, cutting down a Christmas tree, wrapping presents, and watching several movies at the theater. I knew they couldn't take my place but Manisha would have a wonderful Christmas.

Tired of being a tourist, time goes by slowly when you can't do what you want. The shops were closed for the holidays and few restaurants were open. For the first time in years I was bored; the boredom was far worse than being too busy.

G.o.d had His way in using what I considered a waste of time to bring redemption. Staying the extra nine days in Vietnam gave the two of us as mother and daughter hours together without the distractions of daily living in a hectic world back home. We spent hours each day playing with blocks and at night I would read to Joy from some books I had brought. I lavished her with lots of hugs and kisses, and as she thrived on the attention, her insecure, little personality began to peek out. She was now smiling and for the first time in her short life had all of her needs met. Even the little sores on her arms that she had picked at in the beginning were going away and three new teeth were visible.

The Giving and Receiving Ceremony was scheduled for December 24th, Christmas Eve, but was delayed to December 27th-three more days of waiting. It eliminated any chance for all of us to be together on Christmas. I was left with counting down each day knowing I was one step closer to coming home. In quiet moments I reflected on the Bing Crosby song, I'll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.

I asked several people if they knew of a Christmas Eve service we could attend, but because Vietnam is communist and Christians are persecuted, n.o.body was very forthcoming. One person told me about a sanctioned church service, but that it probably wouldn't be what I wanted. Anything seemed better than nothing, and without giving it much thought, I made plans to go.

It was Christmas Eve, December 24, and we dressed up for the occasion antic.i.p.ating something memorable. I called a taxi and gave the name of the location to the driver. He dropped us off at a church that appeared to be at least several hundred years old.

We walked in and the sanctuary was packed with a large crowd seated in pews. A man in a robe at the front was conducting the service in another language besides Vietnamese; maybe it was Latin. His voice reverberated and echoed off the ancient walls of the building and the chanting put me ill at ease. I was disappointed for having gone to the trouble of coming and had no desire to stay. We left after several minutes and returned to the hotel.

As we entered the hotel lobby, I was greeted by the young woman who was working the night shift. Despite not being home with her family, she was cheery and festive.

"Here is a present for you," she said to me with a big smile. She pointed to it on the counter. "You are back so soon?"

"Yes, it wasn't what I thought it would be, but what is this?" I picked up the present and eyed it with a sense of wonder. I couldn't believe someone had thought of me for Christmas. It made being away from home almost bearable. The present was beautifully wrapped in green Christmas paper.

"It's Christmas, isn't it? She answered, "Your custom?"

"Yes. Can I open it now?" I asked.

"Yes, please do."

I unwrapped the small gift and hidden inside were two handmade white doilies, one for a cup and the other for a plate, lined in green st.i.tching along the outside edges.

"Thank you; they are beautiful."

"You are welcome," she beamed back. It was a special moment in what otherwise had seemed like a gloomy day.

"Merry Christmas," I said. "I am sorry you have to work." I knew she had two kids at home, but I wasn't sure if they celebrated Christmas.

"It's okay," she said.

We said good night, and Joy and I headed back up to our room. I thought we would spend a quiet evening watching CNN and MTV, but as always, at least for me, there is the rest of the story. After feeling sorry for myself and moping around for an hour, I called the Murphys. It was late enough I hoped I wouldn't wake them up, but I couldn't wait any longer.

"Merry Christmas!" I shouted excitedly into the phone. A lot of love can be shared in a short amount of time. Manisha was happy to talk to me and told me about all the things Santa had brought her.

"When are you coming home? I miss you," she said.

"I miss you, too, Honey. I will be home soon."

I thought in my heart, though, not soon enough. Tears welled up in my eyes as I regretted that I couldn't be with both my daughters for Christmas. Jenni had shared the pictures of Joy with Manisha and I hoped she could focus on meeting her new baby sister. It was a short conversation, but I felt better having heard her sweet voice across the ocean, reminding me that although we weren't together in person, she was with me in spirit.

As I watched television feeling homesick, I heard noises outside, louder than the usual honking of horns and vehicular traffic. I picked up Joy and we walked back downstairs to the lobby. I felt excitement in the air with faint Christmas music barely audible above the sporadic street noise.

"What's going on?" I asked the young lady who had given me the gift earlier.

"It's the Christmas celebration," she said.

What celebration? I thought to myself. Vietnam is a communist country and they don't celebrate Christmas, or so I thought.

I quickly ran back up to our room, grabbed our coats and stroller, and carried Joy down the steps into the cool night air. I could see crowds up ahead on Hue Street walking toward Hoan Kiem Lake. We joined the crowd, and as we approached, Hanoi's version of Christmas spread out before us. The lake was decorated with Christmas lights, and a large Christmas tree adorned with presents took center stage. A cardboard Santa Claus was displayed near the tree. A little baby swing decorated in a colorful leis was set up to take pictures.

Crowds gathered in the streets wearing red Santa stocking caps and carrying balloons. I couldn't decide if the "party" resembled a parade or people gathering for a concert. A festive, family atmosphere filled the air, and the lake was packed with Vietnamese families.

I was excited to have something to do. Uplifting, holiday music wafted from the loud speakers over the noisy crowd. I wanted to know where the music was coming from. It had a sweet-sounding familiarity, like a piece of chocolate to a hungry soul. I wanted to grab it and not let go.

In such an anti-Christian country, I never thought I would hear Christmas music broadcast in downtown Hanoi. Many of our Christmas songs have a message of "tidings of great joy," with Jesus as a baby in the manger. Even though the celebration was steeped in commercialism, the familiar words from Christmas carols filled the air, giving me hope that all was well with my soul. I pushed Joy in her stroller to the nearby church a few hundred feet from where the music came.

My soul was enraptured with joy, a balm for my homesick heart. I longed to be with friends and family. Here I could sing in harmony, filled with the Christmas spirit, enveloped in oneness with those around me who were here for a different experience, but so far from home, I welcomed Christmas in another culture.

For a brief moment, I understood Ephesians 4:5. There is unity in the world, "one body, one hope, one baptism, one G.o.d and father of all." I felt a connection to the Vietnamese people. For some, this might be the only testimony to the risen Savior they would ever witness, but as Isaiah 55:11 says, "My word...will not return to me empty."

As the crowds swelled, Joy's stroller became a nuisance as several men tripped over it in the sea of people. I also felt someone's hand sliding down the back of my pant pocket. I knew we needed to go, but G.o.d had given me a taste of Christmas in Hanoi that I would always treasure. We returned to the Lake and I took Joy over to the Christmas tree and swing. She was intrigued with the bobbing balloons tied to the Santa and stared wide eyed at the Christmas lights strung around. I handed the camera to someone to take our picture. Standing in front of a cardboard Santa Claus, the bittersweet moment was captured, now kept in the sc.r.a.pbook that I had won years earlier, a memoir to the past I didn't want to forget.

Chapter Twenty-Nine.

Choose Life, then, that you and your descendants may live Deuteronomy 30:19 On December 26, the day after Christmas, Joy and I walked out of the Lillie Hotel to rays of sunshine glistening off the street pavement. I had finally become accustomed to checking at least four times before crossing the street since the heavy traffic would not yield to pedestrians. Frequently Joy's stroller would get stuck going up and down the uneven curb or land in a deep gutter. After Jenni's collision in a xichlo, my favorite Star Trek line was resurrected from childhood. We were going "where no man (or woman) had gone before" every time we crossed a road in downtown Hanoi.

The heavy cloud of disappointment that had settled over me because I couldn't take Joy home for Christmas had now lifted since the holidays were behind us. I looked ahead with hope and expectation to the Giving and Receiving Ceremony two days away. It was easier to enjoy sightseeing now that the adoption day was near and my time to return home would soon follow.

We had become mother and daughter during our two weeks together. The days lazily spent at the park and shopping had provided hours of nurturing and bonding with Joy and an opportunity for me to experience the blessedness of motherhood once again. Almond eyes, straight black hair, and a pug nose didn't represent just any little Vietnamese girl I saw on the street-they were Joy's, my daughter from Vietnam.

During our daily outings as we strolled along the streets, my conscience had been seared by the many war memorials that were part of the landscape of Hanoi, a tribute to the distant past. On the streets were reminders "to never forget." The well-preserved relics were like anachronistic objects woefully out of place and time in a world that had moved on. Forgiveness and healing had replaced the pain, but lest we forget our past and those who died, everywhere were remembrances.

We visited the Hoa Lo Prison, meaning "coal oven," and also known as the Hanoi Hilton. From 1964 to 1973, the Hoa Lo Prison housed American prisoners of war, among the more famous, John McCain. Pictures and writings only told part of the story. I could only imagine the atrocities and torture that were committed.

We didn't stay long as the pictures and solemnity reminded me of Yad Vashem in Jerusalem, a memorial to the six million Jews who were brutally murdered in the Holocaust. It filled me with too much sadness that I didn't want to dwell on, but I silently thanked the American soldiers who gave their lives. Coming to the Hoa Lo Prison was my way of bearing witness to the unsung heroes who sacrificed so much. We also toured the Bao Tang Quan Doi or Army Museum. It was largely empty except for a few tourists like me snapping pictures of the war memorials, including tanks and missiles.

It was hard to believe so much time had pa.s.sed since the Vietnam War. I was in the fourth grade when the brother of a cla.s.smate had returned to the United States after serving. We sat in the school auditorium and listened as he talked about what he experienced fighting our enemy, the North Vietnamese. Little did I know that one of my daughters would someday come from this far-away place. That day in a lunchroom auditorium with a couple of hundred other kids, I learned about war.

Joy's birthmother wasn't born until long after the fighting, and I wondered how much the North Vietnamese children knew about that part of their country's past. What propaganda were they told by the communist government? One thing I did know, each day the school kids, speaking fluid English, would besiege us to sell whatever they had, whether it was postcards, maps, books, or something I didn't want.

If not today, someday, because of the Western influence and English language brought over by American soldiers, the school children would have the freedom to discover the truth for themselves. Perhaps in that way, we did win the war and our young men didn't die in vain.

Before we left Hanoi, I wanted to take Joy to see the puppet show, known locally as the Mua Roi Nuoc. After a few weeks with me, Joy wasn't as scared of people in her new environment and she was over the "hump" of visual stimulation evoking fear. I had heard good reviews from other adoptive families and Vietnamese locals who had seen the show.

It was different from other puppet plays I had seen or had put on in my church when I ran a puppet ministry. The puppet show reflected Vietnamese culture and history, and I was impressed with the visual creativity and esthetics. Though it was all in Vietnamese and I didn't understand the story line, the puppets were enchanting as they swayed to Vietnamese music played on traditional instruments. Joy watched attentively and seemed to enjoy the little marionettes as they danced rhythmically on the water stage.