Chinese Babies

This morning at church a Chinese couple was dedicating their baby daughter. The family sat right in front of me. The baby, about 2 or 3-months old, was sheltered in her mother's arms, round and pink. Her thick black hair was pinned back with a felt clip. Her eyes were thoughtful and serious, watchful. She was calm and trusting, unafraid of the strangers around her. She bore a striking resemblance to Arielle as a baby. And I couldn't hold back tears.

The baby quietly observed us from the safety of her mother's shoulder and I studied her perfect features. Why the tears? Because when my precious daughter was that age, she was not yet mine. I wasn't able to hold and comfort her. I grieve for that lost time. This baby is so blessed. She seems to have everything. I protest again the circumstances that tore my daughter away from her birth family. But then, if not for that, Arielle would not be my daughter. I can't imagine life without this child! She has so enriched my life with her ideas, her laughter, her calm spirit. She has challenged me with her questions. She asks so many questions! She wants to know everything and she makes me reconsider, re-evaluate.

I'm sad as I look at this baby because my baby is gone. The sweet little face with the bright smile that greeted me each morning from her crib. The curious little girl so fascinated with life that she would page through picture books for hours before her world really exploded when she learned to read. The child with the shiny black hair that I danced with in the kitchen while dinner cooked. But look who has replaced that baby--my gracious, poised, intelligent 11-year-old. The girl who is wise beyond her years. She is a deep thinker, still watchful and serious, yet so confident and courageous. I still study her perfect features and imagine the woman she will soon be.