Hair bows and happiness

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
“The LORD is my portion,” says my soul,
“therefore I will hope in him.”

Lamentations 3:22-24

When God called us to adopt a baby girl from China, I knew exactly how it would be. After two boys -- and the boring clothes and hair cuts -- my daughter would wear adorable dresses, with matching tights and giant hair bows. She'd snuggle close, baby doll in her arms, as we read books together. She'd be my "little twin," the two of us dressed to match -- or at least coordinate -- each Mother's Day weekend. A sweet little bundle of hearts and flowers.

In steps reality...

Ellie's orphanage, her first "home."

Our daughter was none of the above. After nine months in an orphanage, one of 60+ girls cared for by a staff of six, rarely cuddled and certainly not fussed over, she wanted nothing to do with dresses, hair bows or cuddling. I'd put the hair bow in and 1.3 seconds later it was gone. When she was old enough, she even asked for them. Still, they came out.

Forget the dresses, too. Anything uncomfortable -- seams, the scratchy lining some dresses have, elastic -- bothered her and she'd cry, wiggle and complain. She seemed reasonably comfortable in one-piece outfits and play clothes without tags. Good-bye frilly dreams.

Don't even get me started on the cuddling. I've blogged before about her challenges. We never got to cuddle her. She didn't fall asleep in my arms until long after her second birthday. She just couldn't handle that much closeness -- instead she'd sit on our laps, as close as possible to our knees, back rigid, facing forward -- no eye contact, thank you very much.

My dreams were shattered. My sweet, beautiful girl was not the human baby doll I expected.

Fast forward six years to this morning. Ellie is a first grader, filled with confidence and giggles. After breakfast, she ran upstairs to get ready for school and came back down carrying the basket of hair bows and a brush. She sat in front of me on the floor while I brushed her hair (she's growing it out for locks of love) and pulled it back into a pony tail. I found the biggest hair bow in the basket and finished my work. She jumped up and spun around, "How's it look, Mommy?" Beautiful, baby girl... Absolutely adorable.

My eyes filled with tears.

Then we prayed and I sent her off to begin another day of learning and fun.

Ellie doesn't remember her struggles. She doesn't know my heartbreak at not being able to snuggle her the way I wanted -- loving her meant letting go of my dreams and accepting her right where she was. She has no idea how I grieved and prayed and fought the system on her behalf. That's okay with me.

God knows. He listened. He answered. He provided the care. The wisdom. The ability to love differently.

Today, she's my cuddly girl. We read her books to her baby dolls (and the dog) together. She loves frilly dresses that flare out when she twirls. And hair bows. And nail polish. She's filled to the brim with hair bows and happiness.

Ellie, Dr. Seuss, Daisy and me

Thank you, God, for your faithfulness. Thank you for my sweet baby girl.