Love Is Not Easily Given

3 years ago today we were nervously awaiting the arrival of our 4th child. This time, however, we weren't waiting in a sterile hospital delivery room, we were waiting in an old conference room at a hotel in China.

3 years ago today a little girl walked into our lives. I'll never forget the first time I saw her in her mismatched outfit of pink shoes, a red and black plaid dress and a cute red bow in her hair. She was the cutest girl I had ever seen. I’ll never forget how I felt in that moment: I was smitten to the depths of my soul.

She, however, was not. She was sad. She was confused. She was scared. She was unsure. She was experiencing loss…yet again. Adoption is scary- and not just for parents who open up their hearts and their families to adopt a child- it is scary for the child.

Adoption only happens because of loss. Every orphan’s story is different, but each one has experienced loss. Elli lost her family when she was 3 ½ months old. We don’t know why or how she lost them, but Elli suffered great loss as a little baby. She lost her family. Try to imagine the depths of that loss.

3 years ago today she experienced loss yet again. After she lost her family at 3.5 months old she was placed in the care of workers at her orphanage. Although Elli doesn’t talk a lot about her time at the orphanage, all indications point to the fact that she was well cared for. For this we are so thankful. But those loving workers became her new family for the next 3 years of her life.

Then we walked into her life. From our perspective Elli was gaining a family she never had. But to Elli, she was losing her second family. She grieved that loss. Deeply. Her grief took many forms: sadness, many tears, restless nights, feelings of insecurity, rebellion, anger, and fear. It’s hard for me to understand that kind of loss and it has been difficult for us to help her deal with that grief, especially in the early days as she kept us (me, especially) at arm’s length.

3 years ago today I entered God’s classroom and learned some incredible (and sometimes painful) lessons. I’ve learned true love is hard work. It is dying to self every dayfor the good of someone else. True love never gives up.  "Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails" (1 Cor. 13:7-8).

I’ve learned your past is not a prison. Learn from it, but don’t live in it. I’ve made mistakes as an adoptive father, but as my friend Mike Hipson once told me, “I’ve given up hope on a better past.”  By God’s grace I must learn and move forward.

I’ve also learned that loss is not easily overcome. It takes time, patience, trust, understanding, space to grieve and love.

And the most important lesson I’ve learned: There is no greater gift than being loved. When I first met Elli, I loved her deeply. But she didn’t love me. She couldn’t. Love is not easily given. You don’t just give your heart to anyone and before you do, you have to know that person loves you and will not mistreat you or hurt you.

We’ve come a long way in 3 years. Her pink shoes and red and black plaid dress have been replaced with princess slippers and dresses. She is still learning to trust. She has learned we are here to stay and she has given me the greatest gift I could have ever been given: to be loved. She loves me. I love her.

By God’s grace, my sweet Elli will never have to experience the loss of family again. She has found her “forever family” and until I draw my last breath she will be my girl.

Happy Gotcha Day, sweet Elli! We love you.

My Parents Loved Someone Else More Than Me

On Valentine’s Day in 2005 I gave my wife this book as a gift:

It's a children's book. I know: it's super romantic, right? But as weird as it may seem, this book was a rare stroke of romantic genius. The title of the book was "Guess How Much I Love You" and tells the story of a mother's deep love for her child. We were expecting our first child at any moment and I had a lot of questions: “How would my life be changing? What would it be like to care for a baby? How do you change a diaper? Will I be a good dad? How would this affect my relationship with my wife?”

I wrestled with that last question the most: How would this baby affect my relationship with my wife? As I prayed through and contemplated the answer to that question I realized something had been shaping my life for decades without me even realizing it. It was just a part of me.

Having a child changes everything. All of a sudden you are faced with the overwhelming reality that a tiny human being is completely dependent upon you for everything. Children are consuming: sleepless nights, cleaning up throw up more times than you ever thought you would, changing diapers, calming fears, cleaning scrapes, hugging away hurts, assuring them they are loved and treasured, baseball practice, basketball practice, school activities, family vacations, trying to survive a trip to the grocery store with a 2 year old, washing dishes. 

Raising children can be a challenge. There is financial, emotional, physical, mental, spiritual and societal pressure. It’s constant. I should know: I have four of them, and so did my parents.

My parents got married on August 24, 1968. They were so young. Dad was 18 and mom was 17. They started a family right away as my oldest brother, Rodney, was born in January 1970. My dad served in Vietnam during those early years of marriage, so my mom was basically a “single mom” during that time. Upon his return from Vietnam, their family continued to grow. Sam was born in 1973, I was born in 1976 and Kasey was born in 1979.

Life for my parents was never easy. Mom and dad were tireless workers. Dad often worked multiple jobs to provide for our family. He was a fireman, owned a roofing company and a bit later in life he became a pastor. Mom was a stay-at-home mom and worked herself to the bone every day. Because of this, we were a single income family.

We were not rich by any stretch of the imagination. I remember my 5^thgrade year at Bethune Elementary I got 2 new pair of jeans for school. I alternated those jeans every other day. We didn’t get allowances, we didn’t have the nicest cars, and I didn’t always get the newest cleats or baseball bat for every baseball season. We took our lunches to school almost every day and a trip to McDonald’s was a real treat. Other kids usually had more lunch money for the snack bar than we did. Other kids had nicer clothes and better cars. I must admit, as a young, immature kid, I was a little bothered by this. Other kids in high school were getting new cars for their 16^thbirthday, but I got an ’88 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. 

Now, as an adult and a father of 4, it doesn’t bother me at all. I know what it takes to provide for a family. It’s not easy. It’s hard work. It's stressful. You make sacrifices your kids will NEVER know about just to bring some joy and happiness to their lives. I have grown to deeply appreciate all my parents did for us growing up.

I wondered about a lot of things as a kid: “Why can’t I just get a new bat? Why can’t I get a Coca-Cola shirt (they were a big deal back then)? Why are we sneaking hot dogs into the Astrodome? Why can’t we just buy one there? Why can’t I get the newest pair of Jordan’s?”

I may have wondered about a lot of things, but I NEVER wondered whether my parents loved me. I didn’t fully appreciate it at the time, but I do now. There is a safety and security that comes from being loved and valued that money can never buy. When I wasn’t a part of the “in crowd” at school, went 0 for 4 at the baseball game, missed the game winning shot in the basketball game, failed a test or made a big mistake, I knew two people in my life loved me unconditionally. You can’t put a price tag on that kind of love. 

We were never rich, but we were wealthy beyond measure. I am a wealthy man to have been raised by Dwain and Jeanette Pollard. I am blessed beyond measure. I had parents who never gave up on me, who love me and who believed in me when others, including myself, gave up.

In 2005, as a soon-to-be-dad, I began to really realize how much their love had been shaping my life every single day. But it wasn’t just their love for me that shaped me, it was also their love for one another.

It was that Valentine’s Day in 2005 that I realized this truth about my parents: my parents did not love me more than they loved each other. I want to write that again because it is so profound: My parents did not love me more than they loved each other.I have doubted a lot of things in my life but not ONE TIME growing up did I doubt whether my parents loved each other. Even when they fought, they loved each other. When things got tough, they loved each other. For richer, for poorer, they loved each other. In sickness, and in health, they loved each other. For better, or for worse, they loved each other. Above all others, and forsaking all others, they loved each other. Because of this, today they celebrate 50 years of marriage.

So why did I buy that children's book for my wife as a Valentine's Day gift? I knew my wife was going to be an awesome mom. I am truly blessed to have married a woman who loves our children the same way my mom loved me. On the inside cover of the book I wrote this note to Leslie:

For those who can't read my terrible handwriting, the note reads, “Every time you read this to Luke…remember how much I love you.” This is the truth that I uncovered in 2005: If I love my wife well, I’ll love my kids well.

I learned this from the best mom and dad a son could ever pray for.

Thank you, mom and dad, for loving me as you have, but thank you for loving each other more. Happy 50^thAnniversary. You are a true inspiration to me and I pray my wife will one day will celebrate our 50^thwith the same joy and happiness you have today.

I love you both. 

Daddy, Why Was I In China?

Saturday was just a normal night in the Pollard house. Baths were done, teeth were brushed and everyone was settling down for bed. Leslie and I rotate bedtime with the "littles" each night- one night I lay down with Adam and Leslie takes Elli. The next night, we switch.

And believe me: Elli knows the rotation. If Leslie and I are in a "parent fog" and can't remember whose turn it is, I'll ask Elli, "Is it daddy's turn tonight?" She'll look at me with this grin and say, "Ka-night [Tonight], Daddy's turn!"

Saturday night was Daddy's turn so I climbed the stairs and laid down on her pink sheets, propped my head up on her pillow and prepared to read some books, say our prayers and enjoy any number of things that might follow on any given night: snuggles, giggles and laughing at Elli as she hides under the covers and playfully yells "No!" at Luke as he sneaks into her room trying to steal a kiss.

We've got a good routine going and Sunday night was routine. We read a book called A Mother for Choco which tells the story of a small bird named Choco who can't find his mother and goes on a quest to find her. It's a story we've read dozens of time before.

I'm not sure if it's the book that prompted what happened next, but after we read the book, she wrapped herself up in her favorite pink blanket and snuggled up to my shoulder. We laid there for a couple of minutes. I thought she was drifting off to sleep. Then she asked me a question that took my breath away: "Daddy, why was I in China?"

I was speechless and caught completely off-guard: not only because my 5 year old daughter was asking such a profound question, but I also knew I didn't know how to answer it. It's a question I've asked hundreds of times over the past two years.

Why? Why did Elli's parents give her up for adoption? Why didn't they decide to keep her? Why don't we have any information on her birth parents to help us fill in the gaps? Why did Elli have to wait 4 years before she was adopted into our family?

Why?

That 3-letter interrogative has haunted me at times. As I laid in Elli's bed trying to gather my thoughts I wrestled once again with that question. However, this time it wasn't just my own internal struggle. I wasn't alone. My beautiful 5 year old girl was struggling to answer the question. "Why, Daddy?"

I prayed and asked God for wisdom to speak love, truth and healing to my daughter's heart. I felt the weight of the moment and the answer as I looked into her beautiful eyes and said, "Baby, you were in China because that's where you were born. And that's where you were when mommy and daddy came to get you. Now we are all a family."

She contemplated my answer for a few seconds and said, "Luke's a good one" (I don't know what that means for the rest of us). She paused for a moment and said, "I love you, Dad," snuggled up close and went to sleep. I don't know if my answer was a good one, but for that night, my answer sufficed.

But her question got me thinking. In fact, for the past couple of days her question has been relentlessly stirring in my heart. Why? The truth is: I don't know why. Elli may live her entire life without an adequate answer. It is likely she will have more questions as she gets older- "Why did my parents have to give me up for adoption? Why couldn't they keep me?" These are not questions I can answer.

God has reminded me once again it's not my job to know the answers to all the "whys" in my daughter's life, so for the past couple of days I've been praying, "God, she's going to grow up with a lot of 'whys.' I ask you to help me as she navigates the answers and I ask you to help me not be one of her bad "whys." As Elli grows up and wrestles with the many questions that will come to her heart, I hope she will never look at me and say, "Why him? Of all the dads I could have had, why him?"

Instead, I want her to grow up and say, "Although I may not know the answer to all the 'whys' of my life, I am thankful he's my dad." I want to be a good answer to her "why?"

I have to learn to live with the tension of not knowing the answer to all of the "whys" of my daughter's life. Today I leave the "whys" in the hands of God and ask Him to give me the love, grace, strength and wisdom to be a good answer to her Why?

When Love Takes You In

I'm going to have to fight back the tears as I write this one. This one could take a while.

Today is "Gotcha Day." No, it's not some weird September celebration of April Fools Day or a day to pull a practical joke. On this day, just two years ago, I was pacing back and forth in a small hotel room in China. I was awaiting the arrival of my little girl. It was the kind of joyful anticipation every dad feels when standing in the hospital room awaiting the arrival of a child.

A wave of questions flooded my mind: "What will she look like? What kind of personality will she have? Is she going to be daddy's or mommy's girl?"

Before those questions were answered the questions deepened: "What if she doesn't like me? Am I really ready for this? What if this is harder than we anticipated? Am I making a mistake? Can I love her enough? Will she ever be able to love me as a dad? What if this doesn't work out? What if I'm not enough for her?"

And before those questions could be answered, she arrived. I saw a little girl across the courtyard. She was wearing a pink jacket, a red dress with cherries on it and pink and white shoes. She was the most beautiful baby girl I had ever seen.

Until I draw my last breath, I will never forget how she looked that day and I'll never forget how much I loved her. Never.

That's "Gotcha Day."

A few days ago I posted two pictures of Elli taken almost two years apart. The difference in the two pictures is remarkable.

A dear friend of our family commented on the pics, "When love takes you in...everything changes." It's true. In every way.

Everything has changed since Gotcha Day.

Elli is a completely different kid. She is stunning. I know I'm biased, but she is (and I'll fight anyone who would dare say otherwise). She has grown so much. She smiles more. She laughs more. She's more secure. She trusts more. She is loved more.

Every night at bedtime I ask her the same series of questions:
Me: Are you daddy's girl?
Elli: Yes.
Me: Are you mommy's girl?
Elli: Yes.
Me: Are you Luke's girl?
Elli: Yes.
Me: Are you Noah's girl?
Elli: Yes.
Me: Are you Adam's girl?
Elli (some days): No.
Elli (on other days when they haven't been fighting): Yes.

Hey, let's be honest: love is hard.

But love took her in and everything changed.

It's not just Elli who was taken in by love. I was taken in as well. Today I am a different man, husband and father than I was on Gotcha Day two years ago. I have learned so much about myself these past two years. Adoption has painfully revealed some of my deepest insecurities. I've learned that I can be a very selfish person. I've learned that I can be too hard on my kids.

But I have also learned so much about love. Love is hard work. Love is dying to self for the welfare of others. Love keeps on giving when there's nothing left to give. Love is unconditional. Love means putting someone else first knowing you may not get something in return. Love is a choice. Love is Jesus on the cross. There he gave his life for the good of others.

On Gotcha Day it wasn't just Elli that was taken in by love. Love took me in as well.

That's right. Adoption has changed me...for the better.

All of those questions I had on Gotcha Day 2 years ago? They've all been answered:

• What will she look like? Stunning. Like her mommy.
• What kind of personality will she have? I would describe her as a funny, crazy, sassy, caring Princess Power Ranger.
• Is she going to be daddy's or mommy's girl? Don't tell mommy, but I won.
• What if she doesn't like me? She does. 
• Am I really ready for this? I wasn't.
• What if this is harder than we anticipated? It is.
• Am I making a mistake? No way.
• Can I love her enough? Absolutely.
• Will she ever be able to love me as a dad? No doubt about it.
• What if this doesn't work out? It has. It will. 
• What if I'm not enough for her? I'm not. I'm not enough for Elli, but Jesus is. He is more than enough. My job as her father is to point her to him. 

Today is Gotcha Day- a day when we celebrate Elli becoming a part of our family. But it's more than that. It's a day we celebrate love taking us all in.

We love you, Elliana Joy Jing Pollard. We didn't just take you in: you took us in. Love took us in...and everything changed.

Elli- Did You Lose Your Mommy?

It's hard for kids to understand an adult world. They don't understand why they can't have every piece of candy they ask for in the store, why you can't go swimming while it's storming outside or why you have to go to work and can't play all day every day.

Adoption is an adult world concept that is difficult for kids to understand. Just ask my youngest son, Adam. On May 12, 2011, Leslie gave birth to our third son, Adam. For 4 years, 4 months and 3 days he was the baby of the family. His title was unchallenged. He was the undisputed baby of the Pollard house...then "she" came into our lives.

As much as everyone else loved Elli, Adam had some difficulty. She was now the baby and that hurt a little. While we were in China things were "okay," but once we got home Adam began to understand this was a permanent situation. He had to learn to share his toys. He had to learn there was someone younger in the family whose needs were pressing all of the time. He had to understand he wasn't the baby anymore..and he didn't like it.

A couple of days after returning from China Adam said to Leslie, "Mommy, we need to take Elli home to her mommy." Wow. How do you explain this to a four year old? So Leslie told Adam, "Buddy, Elli lost her mommy. So your mommy is her mommy now." Adam thought about it for a minute and said, "Yeah, but we still need to take her home to her mommy." Leslie explained that our home was now Elli's home and that Adam's mommy was Elli's mommy, too.

Fast forward to a couple of weeks ago. I was driving the kids to the movies to give mommy a little break and I overheard this conversation in the backseat:

Adam: "Elli, did you lose your mommy?"

Elli: "Yeah." (then a sad look came over her face)

Adam: (in a comforting voice) "It's okay, Elli. Mommy went to China to get you and now she's happy. Mommy is your mommy."

A big smile came across Elli's face and she threw her hands into the air and screamed, "Yay!"

I fought back the tears as my heart melted. Before Elli entered our lives, Leslie and I prayed with the kids every night that God would bring the right child to us. We asked God to help us all love Elli. Although he didn't get it at first and struggled with the idea, Adam finally understood "my mommy is Elli's mommy"...and he was okay with it. In fact, he was happy about it. So was Elli.

Every parent who has ever lost a child in a store knows the fear that can grip your heart as you search frantically for your child. I've lost one of my kids in a store before. Until you find him, it's a hopeless feeling.

However, I have also been a lost child. I vividly remember a trip to Sears when I was a kid. My brother and I were playing Hide-and-Seek in all of the clothing racks. I found a good spot and stayed there for some time. After I realized my brother was taking longer-than-usual to find me I came out of the hiding spot to find him. However, he was not there...nor was my mom. Fear gripped me. Panic set in. "Where are they? Did they leave me? Are they coming back to get me?"

I was probably only missing for about 1 minute but it felt like one lifetime. Then I remember hearing my mom's voice, "Robby?! Robby?!" Although I could sense fear and anxiety in her cries, it felt so amazing to hear her voice and to know my mom was looking for me. I followed the sound of her voice and started calling to her, "Mom! Mom!" We finally found each other and she hugged me. I could sense the joy she felt in finding me. I could also sense the relief. But her joy paled in comparison to the joy I felt for being found.

Elli lost her mommy for almost 4 years of her life. I don't know how long that felt to her. My heart hurts to think about it, really. During the nearly two years it took for us to go through the adoption process we hit numerous hurdles with agencies, governments, and finances. It was physically, emotionally and spiritually draining.

But a mommy who is looking for her daughter cannot be stopped. Leslie stood strong when we hit dead ends, persevered through adversity, filled out more paperwork than you can imagine and traveled halfway around the world to find her little girl.

So yes, Elli lost her mommy, but her mommy has found her. And Elli has found her mommy. Really, they found each other.

Elliana Joy Jing Pollard. Elliana means "God has answered." God has answered our prayers and brought us joy.

Piece by Piece

I love music. It's a sad time at the Pollard house. Leslie and I are "closet" American Idol fans. Now it's out. There, I feel better. If you are not aware, this is American Idol's final season so with each episode Idol is bringing back past winners for one final performance on the show. Some of them have been good: others have been ho-hum.

However, a couple of weeks ago one performance completely left me feeling like I had been punched in the gut and left a seasoned veteran performer like Keith Urban in tears. Kelly Clarkson, the first American Idol, performed a heart-wrenching song called Piece By Piece. If you'd like to watch the performance, here is a link (but I recommend you get tissues ready beforehand). I don't usually get emotional during American Idol, but there was something different about this song. It is a song of redemption, but every story of redemption begins with pain.

The song tells the story of a mother whose dad walked out on her when she was 6 years old. Here's the first line: "And all I remember is your back walking toward the airport leaving us all in your past." Let that image sink in for a moment: a little girl watching as her dad walks out of her life forever. I've tried to put myself in that little girl's shoes so many times but I just can't. I wish I could...because my daughter has a pair of those shoes.

I love bedtime with the kids. Bedtime always includes reading books, saying prayers, laughing, passing gas- you know- normal kid stuff. But with all of my kids I like to watch them fall asleep. Each kid likes us to do different things to them to help them fall asleep: Luke likes us to lay down in his bed, Noah likes mommy to scratch his back and Adam likes me to put my arm over his chest.

Elli likes me to rub her back with a blanket. She hands me a particular corner of her blanket and says, "Daddy, like this," showing me how to hold the corner of the blanket. Then she rolls over on her stomach and pulls up her shirt so the blanket can touch her skin. For 10 minutes I lay there and rub her back with the corner of her blanket. As my arm begins to cramp I watch her eyes as she drifts off into sleep.

As she does I often wonder about what image (if any) she has of her biological father. She was so young at the time he abandoned her, so I don't know what she remembers. But I wonder how she would sing that line of the song, "And all I remember was your back..." I wish I could stand in her shoes.

But the song is a song of redemption. Another man came into her life that I hope will describe what I have become for my beautiful girl:
But piece by piece, he collected me up
Off the ground where you abandoned things.
And piece by piece he filled the holes
That you burned in me at six years old and you know
He never walks away
He never asks for money
He takes care of me 'cause he loves me
Piece by piece, he restored my faith
That a man can be kind and a father should be great.

I know there are holes burned in Elli's heart. You don't easily get over being abandoned. But with every stroke of her soft, black hair, every gentle kiss to her forehead, every tickle fight, every book I read to her at night, every time I comfort her when she cries and every soft touch of her blanket on her back, I am picking up the pieces and shoveling unconditional love into her heart.

And I hope, piece by piece, as I love her, we are rewriting the first line of her song. And every night I pray she will she will grow to learn that a man can be kind and a father should be great.

Daddy, It's Scary

I am always amused by the over-the-top sensationalism of local media. This weekend I sensed a weird joy in the local reporters as they prepped Houston for "Flood-Mageddon"...or "March Floodness"...or any other lame name they could come up with to describe the impending weather conditions for Houston. A wave of thunderstorms were predicted to sweep through the Houston area leaving us wishing we had been wise enough to build Noah's ark.

The storms did come through, but they were not nearly as bad as the weatherman had predicted. There were, however, 2 kids affected by the weather. At about 3:00 a.m. a loud crash of thunder rattled the windows in my bedroom and awakened two cute kids who were fast asleep in my bed: Adam and Elli (it's a long story, but Leslie had to put the kids down for sleep by herself last night and I came home to find them cutely snuggled up in my bed).

Adam has never been a fan of loud noises so immediately put his hands over his ears and just stared at the windows as lightning flashed and thunder crashed. I put my left arm over his chest to help him feel secure. Elli sat up and had fear written all over her face. She looked at me and said, "Daddy, it's scary" and reached out for me. I put my right arm behind her and pulled her close. This is no small moment. Trust and security are big things for an adopted child and this was another evidence of her growing trust in me.

She buried her head in my chest and closed her eyes and held onto me tightly. I reassured her, "Daddy's here. It's going to be okay. Daddy's here."

Then I had a moment. As I comforted two of my kids, my mind went to a place to which it has gone many times. Ever since Adam breathed his first breath almost 5 years ago I have been with him. There has never been a day of his life when "Daddy wasn't there." Elli's story is very different. When we finally got her in September of last year she had lived 1,358 days without "Daddy's here."

My mind has gone to this place many times. When Elli falls and scrapes her knee and I hold her and bandage the wound, I wonder who did this before me...or if anyone did. When Elli cries because she is upset and I hold her and tell her, "It's going to be okay," I wonder whose arms were holding her...if any. When Elli wanted to swing "high in the sky," who was there to push the swing for her? When Elli's smile lights up the room I often wonder, "Who stopped to enjoy this beautiful girl?" When she laughs, whose heart used to be filled with joy...or did anyone even notice?

Last night as the thunder rolled on and Elli held on tightly I wondered, "What did you do in the orphanage when a storm passed through? Who held you?" And a giant lump formed in my throat as I wondered, "What if the answer is 'no one'? What if no one came into the room to hold my little girl while she was scared?" The thought just tears me up.

So last night as I held her close, kissed her head and reassured her and Adam, I prayed and thanked God that He chose me to be their daddy. And I whispered to my sweet Elli, "I'm so thankful you are here with me."

I don't know who bandaged her wounds, comforted her when she cried, pushed the swing for her, basked in the warmth of her smile or held her during a scary storm for the first 1,358 days of her life. But I do know this: for the rest of my days, daddy will be here.

"Daddy?"

A baby's first words are important- especially to mom and dad. As soon as a baby starts making sounds parents develop a special skill of interpretation. Others may listen with interest in hearing cute baby sounds, but parents are listening for something more.

Parents have to learn to interpret their baby's "Ba-ba-ba" to see if he or she is asking for a bottle, bath, ball, balloon or a blanket. As good as parents become at interpretation, sometimes things are lost in translation. I'll be honest- I have changed many diapers because my kid said,"Poo poo," but all he wanted was a "poo poo" (purple) crayon.

Although it is amazing to hear your baby's first words, every mom and dad is listening for one word, or should I say, one name: theirs. You hear "da-da-da" and you come running only to find your kid playing with the dog. You hear "ma-ma-ma" and you break your neck, thinking the child wants "mama" only to find your baby pointing at the milk jug. Then it happens: they look right at you and say, "Dada"- and you know they mean it. I'm telling you, there's not a feeling like it in all the world.

I remember the first word Elli said to me: "Baba." We had just met and the teacher at the orphanage introduced me to her. The worker pointed to me and said, "Baba." Elli repeated it: "Baba." Her sweet little voice got me all choked up. Looking back at that moment now I know she didn't really understand what a "Baba" really was as she had never really known hers. But it didn't matter to me. It was great to hear my name.

Over the past 5 months we have both learned what "Baba" is: he loves Jesus (hopefully she sees and knows this), he takes care of his family, he loves Luke, Noah, Adam and Elli and he loves their Mama. Baba is the guy who jumps on the trampoline with the kids, fixes an incessant number of chicken nuggets and pizza in a given month and laughs at kids movies like he's a kid as well. Baba coaches his sons' basketball teams, plays four square, grills for Mama sometimes and reads books at night. Oh yeah, Baba also loves to snuggle his kids, kiss them and tell them "I love you." "Baba" is really "Daddy."

One of my favorite parts of being a dad is coming home after a day of work. The kids hear the door open and all come running, "Daddy! Daddy's home!" Hugs and kisses fly and immediate requests for attention flood the doorway. Now a little girl comes running, "Baba! Baba!" It is music to my ears.

I am a lot of things to a lot of people. To some, I am a friend. To others, I am a pastor. To some, I am a neighbor. But only 3 people in the world can call me daddy, and only one can call me Baba. The relationship between and dad and his kids is special.

But a couple of months ago something happened that stopped me dead in my tracks. We were at our house one evening. Luke and Noah were playing with Legos and Adam and Elli were playing with Play Do. From across the room Adam called to me, "Daddy, can you help me?" I made my way to their table and helped him get the blue Play Do to pass through one of the Play Do squeezing mechanisms (I have no idea what you call those things). With Adam satisfied with the help I offered I got up and turned to walk away, back to whatever it was I was doing.

Then I heard that voice. The sweet voice of that little girl who captured my heart from the first time she uttered a word to me. "Daddy?" My heart stopped. She said it with a question mark at the end. She said it as though she was testing me, "Is that okay? Can I call you Daddy? Are you Daddy to me as well?" I felt like the world was standing still and everything went silent. I turned around and she was holding a lump of red Play Do as a lump was forming in my throat. I could see it in her eyes. I had answered when she called me the name she had heard her brothers call me hundreds of times.

I knelt back down, "Yes, baby? What do you need?" Without hesitation she made a request, "Daddy, help." She held out the Play Do as I held back the tears. I kissed her on the forehead and helped her. And just like that, I was no longer "Baba." I was now "Daddy"- not only to Luke, Noah and Adam- but also to Elli.

"Baba" will always hold a special place in my heart. It was the first word she said to me and it was my name for a few months. But I don't miss Baba.

When that garage door opens and my kids come running, I hear all four voices calling me from around the corner, "Daddy! Daddy's home." From around the corner this cute little girl appears with a smile from ear to ear: "Daddy!" I'm Elli's Daddy: and she means it when she says it. There's not a feeling like it in all the world.

Can I See Those Beautiful Eyes?

With all of my children I have one photo that is my favorite: Luke's is a picture I took of him on the beach at Matagorda Bay. There's just something in that picture that helps me remember how incredible it was to be a father to such an awesome boy. Noah's is a picture we took of him when we first brought him home from the hospital. Luke is holding him and kissing his hand. Their bond as brothers is deep. Adam's is a picture I took of him while riding Thunder Mountain Railroad at Disneyworld. The joy on his face captures his spirit perfectly.

This is Elli's:

I remember exactly where I was, what was going on, what the room smelled like and how I felt when I took this picture:This photo was taken in our hotel room in Hefei, China. Just a few hours earlier we met this kid for the first time. She was wearing a red and black plaid dress with cherries on the top. She had a cute red bow in her hair and some dirty pink shoes. She was the most beautiful little girl I had ever seen. 

I remember how I felt about her. I was captivated. It was instantaneous love. A deep, committed and compassionate love...that was one-sided. I loved her, but she didn't love me. If I had been pulling petals off a flower it would have sounded something like this, "I love her. She loves me not. I want to hold her. She loves me not. I want her to look at me. She loves me not. I want to see those beautiful eyes. She loves me not."

This picture captures the initial struggle of our adoptive relationship so vividly. She is coloring in a coloring book and she is preoccupied with her work. But her preoccupation is not just with coloring. She is preoccupied with ignoring me. She won't look up at the camera. She is preoccupied with trying to be strong and hold it together. She is preoccupied with trying not to be scared. She is preoccupied with not showing her eyes.

At one of the adoption conferences we attended before we met Elli we were told by adoption experts and parents alike, "Attachment is in the eyes." Many adoptive children will not show you their eyes due to things like shame, fear, distrust, lack of confidence...you name it. And it's easy to understand why. For their entire lives they've been told "no" or "you're not wanted." They don't look you in the eyes until they begin to feel any sense of attachment to you. This picture reminds me that Elli felt that way.

A couple of weeks ago our friend captured this picture:

Study this picture for a moment. Can you see the difference? Look at her eyes. Do you see it? There's no shame, no fear. There are no walls up. She is confident. She is happy. Her face is at ease. She feels loved and she feels safe. Nothing makes me happier. Well...almost nothing.

So I have this thing I do with Elli where I say to her, "Elli, let me see your eyes." She will look at my eyes and I will say something like, "You're beautiful...you're daddy's girl...I love you." I've done this hundreds of times since that first day in China.

Recently I said to her, "Elli, let me see your eyes." She looked at me and those big, beautiful brown eyes met mine. I was captivated all over again and I was taken back and given pause. In that pause, before I could say anything, she said to me in the sweetest voice you could ever imagine, "I love you, Baba."

I hugged her tightly and the final two petals fell: "I love her. She loves me."

You can tell a lot about a person by their shoes

One of the classic lines from the movie Forrest Gump is spoken as he reflects on the various pairs of shoes he has worn through the years: "Momma always says there's an awful lot you could tell about a person by their shoes. Where they're going. Where they've been."

While working my way through college I worked at Fleet Feet Sports (the best shoe store in Houston, by the way). Fleet Feet specialized in running shoes so people would often bring their old shoes into the store when they were looking for their newest pair of shoes. Forrest's Momma was right. You could tell a lot about the person by looking at their shoes: how much they ran, how "hard" they ran on their shoes, you could tell whether or not they pronated while running, whether they ran on trails or concrete and how much they sweated while running (I don't miss the smell of some of those shoes).

September 15 will always be our "gotcha" day with Elli. It's the day we got her for the first time. When we met her for the first time she was wearing the cutest little dress with mismatching shoes.

We were immediately fascinated with the story of her shoes. Those shoes meant the world to Elli. On the first day she would not allow us to take them off her feet. She played in them, she ate with them on, she wore them with her bathing suit at the hotel swimming pool and she slept with them. When we finally convinced her to take a bath on the second day she took them off for her bath, but the moment she was dried off, she wanted her shoes.

Her shoes told her story. They were dirty, scuffed up and obvious hand-me-downs. The scuffs told the story of the places she had played and the people who were her family for so long. The dirt was probably from the yard near her orphanage and she had probably received these shoes once an older kid in the orphanage had outgrown them. The shoes were a reminder of where she had been. At times she would just cover her eyes and cry. The tears would fall on those velcro shoes and my heart would melt. My heart would hurt for her but we could not comfort her like her shoes could.

Then something happened 2 days into our journey. After bath time that night Leslie showed her some new shoes. They are "pinkish-peach-salmon-colored" (look, I'm a guy! I don't know all these girly colors, okay!) with polka dots. Elli saw them and got so excited. She took off her old shoes and put on her new ones.

It was such a powerful moment. She was so proud of her new shoes. She came and showed them to me, "Baba, shoes." She smiled as she played that night and for the first time she slept in her new shoes.

These shoes tell the story of where she's going. Her entire world has changed. She is learning what it means to be a daughter, not an orphan. She lives in a house now, not an orphanage. She has a Mama and Baba, not just caretakers. She has brothers, not just other orphans. Her shoes bear the scuffs of trips to the zoo, playgrounds, the concrete of our cul-de-sac, a trip to Baskin Robbins and the dirt from our yard.

For those who have followed our journey you know that Elli initally kept "Baba" at arm's length. It was not easy for her to trust me. I'd say I'm probably at "pinky's length" now. There are still things only Mama can do for her.

However, a couple of days ago I heard someone walking on the tile floor of our hallway. The steps sounded heavy as someone was clunking their way into the living room. It was Elli. As she came around the corner into the living room she looked for me immediately and had this big smile on her face. She walked up to me and said, "Baba, shoes." I looked down. Instead of wearing her pink/peach/salmon colored polka dot shoes, she was wearing mine. 

She laughed. I laughed, too. But inside my heart was listening to the story being told by her shoes. She was giving a little more of her heart to me.

You can tell a lot about a person by her shoes. Where she's going. Where she's been. One day Elli is going to put on new shoes for her first day of school and before you know it she'll be putting on shoes for her graduation then shoes for her wedding day (that young man better back off!). Each new pair of shoes in her life will tell a part of her story. But her story is our story and our story is God's story. As she looks back at her life I hope she will look back with great joy and see God's story in bringing her into this family.Wherever Elli's going, we're going together.

I snapped this picture last week:

Her shoes are packed away. These shoes tell us where she's been. Where she's been is a part of her story. But she doesn't need these shoes anymore. Now, she has a family. In fact, she doesn't even need shoes. She's got 3 brothers who will buy ice cream for her with their own money. She's our girl and we're going places- shoes or not.

A New Story is Being Written

On June 13, 2012 the following article was posted in the Anhui Newspaper:

"An abandoned female baby, name unknown, was found in the Nanhuhuayan Economical Zone Area of Tianchang City on March 17, 2012. There was nothing left with her." This is a copy of that article:

That last statement still gets me. At the time she was abandoned, this nameless baby girl was just under 3 months old. No name. No history. No explanation. Just "nothing left with her."

Since March 17, 2012 she has been in the care of workers in a Chinese orphanage- one of over 600,000 orphans in China (some estimates are closer to 1 million). She was given a name: AiJing Fu.

About a year and a half later, thousands of miles away, a dad was taking his 3 boys upstairs to get ready for bed- just like they had done every night for years. As he was taking the boys to the bathroom to brush their teeth he passed by their guest bedroom. It had a queen size bed, a dresser and some night stands. On this particular night God spoke clearly to this young man's heart: "There are 150 million plus orphans in this world who would give anything to sleep in this bed and have this family." That night, as the dad laid down with his boys to read books, he told God, "You have already provided an extra bedroom, I know you can provide everything we need to adopt a girl into this family."

That dad was me. That girl was Elliana Joy.

That was the night I said "yes" to adoption. When I said "yes" I didn't know her name, I didn't know her story and I didn't even know who she was, but I knew then that whoever God would give me, I would love her unconditionally. Outside of saying "yes" to Leslie 15 years ago today, it was the best "yes" I've ever said- hands down. I can't imagine my life without this little girl. I've only known her for a little over a week, but I am crazy about her. I mean that word. Almost psychopathically crazy. When she laughs, I melt. When she gives me a kiss, I almost cry. When she yells "Baba" from the other room, I come running. I stare at her. I am enthralled with every word. I kiss her every time I pass her (this has to be annoying for her!). And every time I look at her I thank God that He chose me to be her dad.

I am glad I said "yes". Tomorrow morning we leave China. We are coming home. We are so ready. I can't wait for all of my family and friends to meet this girl who has stolen our hearts. I have tried to imagine what this week has been like for her. She went from being one of dozens of kids in an orphanage to being a princess. In one week she's:

-Been to to zoo for the first time

-Experienced an amusement park

-Gained three brothers who are in love with her

-Got the best mom in the world

-Met a dad who loves her with all of his heart

A new story is being written for AiJing Fu. And unlike the cold, emotionless, factual newspaper article that has defined her life to this point, Elliana's is a story of God's love, redemption and grace. We are humbled to be a part of that story. Tonight, my baby girl is sleeping without any shoes. Just 3 years ago a parent left her with nothing: tonight, her Mama and Baba would do anything to give her everything she needs. 

Okay, Baba, I'm Ready to Dance

I've always had two left feet when it comes to dancing. I can put a third step in a two step pretty easily. Dancing has always been hard work for me. I have to concentrate on my feet, where I'm going, the beat, and whether or not I'm humiliating myself in the process.

On Saturday night I was sweating like crazy. For about 45 minutes I had been falling on the bed as Elli karate-kicked the air. She would kick, I would fall. That was the routine. Over and over and over...and over again. Those were our dance moves that night. Other nights, it was a pillow. Saturday night: the cutest karate kicks ever seen or heard and the goofiest falls you've ever seen as well. But I had to dance with her.

Her laugh. Oh, man. To hear her laugh just gets me all choked up. It is the purest, most sincere laugh I've ever heard. When I hear it I wonder if she has ever laughed like that before. When I would fall on the bed she would laugh with such joy: I just had to keep doing it. Leslie watched all of this unfold and she said, "You're having to work hard for these laughs, daddy." She was right, and I had the sweat to prove it.

After all that playing, we went to bed. Sunday morning started just like every other morning since we.ve been in China. We woke up, got dressed and went to breakfast. Now, let me explain something to you:  Elli is not a morning person (like her Mama). Leslie needs a cup of coffee before you can talk to her and Elli needs an exorcism...I mean, she needs breakfast before you can talk to her. Especially Baba.

I'll be married to Leslie for 15 years this Wednesday and I still haven't learned. I still aggravate her before she's had her coffee and I get the death stare. At breakfast Sunday morning I tried to blow a kiss to Elli, kissed her head, tried to offer her some juice and even offered her a donut (what kid doesn't like a donut?)- but she wasn't having any part of it. Cue the death stare. I guess I haven't learned.

After breakfast we loaded up the van and headed for Shamian Island to attend Elli's first church service. The ride there was just like every other ride: she rode with Leslie and didn't have a lot to do with Baba. When we arrived, we got out of the van and started walking the 1/4 mile to the church. The street was narrow and there was a lot of traffic. Leslie was carrying Elli and I was following behind with the boys.

Then, it happened. Right there on the streets of Shamian Island...my princess asked me to dance. As Leslie was carrying her (the safest place in Elliana's mind), Elli put both hands in the air reaching toward me, and said, "Baba." I couldn't believe it. I immediately began to trip over my feet. "Did I hear her correctly? Was she asking for me? Do I go get her from Leslie- something that has resulted in a meltdown every time in the past week? Did she really say, 'Baba?'" My heart was pounding as I reached for her. When I tried that before she would fold her arms and scowl as if to say, "How dare you even think I would come to you?" I think I expected the same response as I I reached for her. However, this time, she lunged at me.

I had her. Maybe she had me. Or better yet: we finally had each other. On any other Sunday, it would have just been a walk to a church building. This day, as I held her close and she held onto me, we waltzed to church. And we danced all day long:

-she stayed with me while Leslie went to Starbucks (without freaking out)

-she let me hold her while she ate a lollipop

-we took a long walk together through the gardens of Shamian Island looking at flowers, watching people fish, laughing at strange Chinese people randomly singing karaoke under the gazebo by the Pearl River and blowing kisses to one another

-I pushed her along the cobblestone roads making funny noises and she threw her head back and laughed

-we snuggled in the car on the way back to the hotel (she was asleep and didn't know any better- but Baba's got to get some snuggles when he can)

-When we got back to the hotel, we wrestled and played ball with Adam. At one point she looked at me and said, "Baba" followed by some of the cutest Chinese words I've ever heard, asking me to put her on my back and shoulders (which, of course, I did)

-she even let me give her a bath (incredible trust-moment for us)

Today, the dancing continued. I had to leave the hotel room to pick up our laundry this morning and Leslie told me she was asking about me (heart melt). She shared some of her beloved French fries with me at dinner (heart melt and heart attack due to cholesterol at the same time). And tonight, before she went to bed, after we had wrestled, shot Nerf guns, talked, blown kisses and felt safe with one another all day long: she said, "Baba."

I knelt down in front of her. She reached up with both hands and rubbed my rough, unshaven cheeks, spoke the sweetest Chinese words EVER as she rubbed my face, then bowed her head for me to kiss her forehead. Oh. My. Goodness.

When all of my biological children were born I just could not kiss them enough. Every time I would pass by their high chair, their crib, their blanket on the floor, or wherever they were- I would have to kiss them.

For the past week, I've done the same with Elli. I've kissed her so many times. Every time I passed her I would kiss her sweet forehead or her hair. Until Sunday, I think I was that annoying guy who kissed her all the time, Tonight, as I go to sleep, I feel like her dance partner...and I hope the music never ends.

Sleep well, Elli. You'll need your rest. Daddy's feet are tired, I'm working hard for this dance, but tomorrow, we'll dance again. You are loved.

She's Perfectly Imperfect

I wasn't on any social media site when our first son, Luke, was born. As first time parents we must have been so annoying to every doctor, nurse, specialist,photographer, friend and family member who came into the room- "Isn't he beautiful? He's such a great kid. He lets you hold him, he opens his eyes and looks at you, he's so alert, he's so awesome. He's perfect." Had I been on social media at the time, you would have likely blocked me, unfriended me or even reported me. The reason: "annoyance," because it's likely that I would have posted about 4,964 pics within the first hour, give or take a few.

When my family and I started praying about our adoption we prayed for someone to be a perfect fit for us. Adding a fourth child into a family with 3 dynamic boys, each with distinct personalities and quirks, can be quite challenging and an overwhelming proposition.

Enter Elliana Joy Jing Pollard, or "Jing Jing" as she was known at the orphanage. Her nickname say as a lot: playful, cute, smart, alert, beautiful, well...she's perfect. Come on. Just look at her.

Since the first day we have noticed some of the things that make her perfect for our family:

1. She's a picky eater- but she loves McDonald's.

I thought by adopting a daughter from a foreign country it would be great to have child that doesn't eat chicken nuggets. But we made the mistake of giving her one. Now she's hooked. My life is over. But have you ever seen anyone so cute while enjoying chicken nuggets?

2. She smells her food before she eats it.

This one is SCARY. Luke takes a whiff of his food before he eats it. It's a strange quirk, but we can't seem to break him of it. Elli does the same thing. Freaky. She couldn't be more perfect for us.

3. She takes over the bed and turns over "violently."

When my kids crawl into our bed it feels like a space-eating mule has moved in. Elli has the same mule like tendencies- kicks, laying perpendicular to everyone else, and gobbling up space in the bed like PacMan after eating a power pellet. She fits in perfectly.

4. She is crazy...and hilarious.

She can more than hold her own with the boys in rough housing. She makes hilarious faces and she is LOUD! She has an infectious laugh and a great personality. And she is crazy. When she play-fights with us she does these hilarious Chinese Karate sounds, "Ya! Kai-ya! Hai!" She's too cute. She's, well, perfect.

5. She loves Mama- and she's just like her.

Leslie is my number one girl. I have always thought Prov. 31 was a perfect description of her- "Strength and dignity are her clothing. She opens her mouth with wisdom and the teaching of kindness is on her tongue" (Prov. 31:25-26). My wife has shown amazing strength, dignity, kindness and wisdom this week. And I don't use the word amazing lightly.

This week has been challenging for us on many levels, but Leslie has remained strong when the rest of us have struggled to keep it together. She has lovingly cared for all of us with incredible poise and grace. She is so beautiful...and perfect for our family.

When I think of a woman I want Elli to be like when she grows up, Leslie's the girl. Elli is in love with her Mama. She does everything Leslie does. She puts on lotion (she even danced with Baba for a few minutes and put a little lotion on my arm). She puts on makeup.

She cares for her brothers. On our first night in Guanzho the boys were wrestling on the bed. Noah fell off and hit his head on the floor. Elli watched intently as Leslie put some ice and a wet rag on Noah's forehead. Later that night Elli walked up to Noah, gently put her hand on his forehead and in the sweetest Chinese words you will ever hear asked Noah if he was okay. Heart melt.

Elli's medical report says she has spina bifida. Her hesitation to connect with Baba and her moments of crying reveal she has a wounded heart. She's got some attitude, she's bossy and she's sassy...but Elli is perfect.

So give me a little latitude, if you will. I'm pretty much crazy about our kids. We're not perfect by a long stretch, but we're perfect together.