by Julia Ellifritt. I can only imagine what is going through my son’s mind on the day we visit the orphanage where he spent his earliest years. When Nate lived there, it was the only building in that area; now, though still extremely impoverished, the village is completely built up. The orphanage still has a dirt floor and there is still no running water, but now there is electricity.
On the ride out there, Shawn and Dan ask Nate what he remembers of his life in the orphanage. Through the years, many have asked Nate this question, but he has no memory. When he first came to the USA (after he could speak English), Nate told me he remembered being hungry. He remembered going days at a time without food. He remembered digging through creek beds looking for frogs to eat. So does he have memories from his early childhood that are repressed because they are too painful to think about? Probably. But he is a well-adjusted, happy young man, so there isn’t a need at the moment to dig them up. Maybe in the future. I really can’t tell you what is going through my son’s mind right now; I can only tell you my own thoughts.
I have always prayed a Moses-calling over Nate. In order to fulfill God’s plan for his life, Moses couldn’t be raised by his birth mom, in his own culture. But when he was grown, God brought Moses back to his people to fulfill a significant purpose among them. I have always prayed that Nate, at some point, would return to Madagascar. I’ve never pretended to know what that might look like. Maybe he would return as a native missionary. Maybe he could play professional basketball here, or become a businessman, earning enough money to build a hospital in Tana. I’ve thought of many scenarios. I just know that he is forever linked to his birth country.
Yesterday, a Malagasy pastor shared a dream he had about Nate, not knowing anything of what I have just written. He shared the analogy that, when Jesus was born, God looked for, and found, an earthly vessel in Mary. And even though his physical body was on earth, his spirit was in heaven where it belonged. In that same sense, Nate’s birth mom was the earthly vessel, the womb for Nate to be born through, but spiritually he was always meant to be with me, the mom that God looked for to raise him. Now some things may have been lost in translation, but I think it’s a similar vision as mine. I hope as Nate matures, he will see the hand of God on his life, working things out for His glory, even before Nate was even conceived.
I learned another significant piece of info today. The orphanage director said Nate was always a very shy child, always hiding when someone visited. He did not interact much with others. But the first time he saw me, he came running right to me. I don’t remember that, but I do remember that every other time I came to Madagascar, he would run out of the orphanage yelling, Mom Julia! When the day finally arrived when I would make the journey to bring him home, Nate flew out of the orphanage door straight towards me, promptly fell and cut open both of his knees on the gravel. He couldn’t wait and asked the question: How will we get to America, by bus or by taxi? – the only two forms of transportation he could imagine. He had no idea how his life was about to change.
Of course, the question of why he was given up by his biological mom and delivered to the orphanage has now surfaced. God alone knows the absolute truth about Nate’s early childhood, and what really happened. The story has been changed so many times that I don’t know where the truth is. But today Nate finally meets his birth mother face to face and is able to ask the list of questions we have prepared together .
I honestly expect his birth mom to be either sad or depressed. I expect her to ask me for money, as she has done in the past when I was in the process of adopting Nate. But what I encounter today is a sweet, put together woman. She hugs Nate and myself multiple times. We sit on a park bench, and I begin to ask questions, as Nate wants me to.
We find out the name of Nate’s father, an African fisherman living on the coast. She was never married to his dad but her other four children share the same father, her ex-husband. We are told that one daughter was so distraught after the divorce, that she died of a broken heart. We are told that another brother died from neglect but that two of his brothers are married. But Nate wants to know, why him? Why, when she needed to give up one child to feed the others ( a hard choice that women around the world have to make every day), why did she choose him?
She tells us that when she was six months pregnant, Nate’s father beat her to the point of death. To protect herself, she went to stay with the orphanage directors for the duration of her pregnancy. She eventually left, but it became Nate’s home.
When I put myself in her shoes, I can’t fathom not having a thousand questions about my child. Yet when I ask her if she has any questions about Nate, she says no. But our Malagasy friends tell us that when a woman gives up a child here, they never think of that child again. Life is too hard; they must move on and focus on survival. That is hard for us to comprehend, but neither can we judge.
With Nate’s permission, I share personal information about him – his hobbies and interests – and give her a few photos. We take pictures of them together, as well. I fully anticipate that she will ask me for money – she doesn’t. But when we say our goodbyes, I hand Nate some money to give her. She asks if we can meet again because Nate’s siblings want to meet him. Nate is still mulling this over; ultimately, it is his decision.
As we part ways, Nate’s mom says to him, over and over again: You were in my womb, but Julia is your mom. Love her and respect her. You were in my womb, but Julia is your mom. Love her and respect her….
It was an emotional morning for all of us. Nate says he is ok, but I don’t know that it has really hit him yet. Or maybe it has. Maybe his questions being answered, whether truthful or not, is enough for him.
