Because she didn't speak English and I didn't speak Nepali, I gazed into her eyes and tried to imagine what she might be thinking. Did she have any idea who I was? I did not know what her father had told her. I longed to talk to her but I would have to be patient. Most of all, I wanted to remember how special the day was.

On this day, as we picked flowers, admired the birds, and basked in each other's company for the first time, I realized that G.o.d had heard my cries for a daughter.

"...what hath G.o.d wrought" (Numbers 23:23)!

After a while, Raj and Ankit came outside. They had been discussing plans. I started to realize how late it was in the day and how hungry I was.

"Could we get something to eat?" I asked.

Neither Ankit nor Raj seemed particularly interested in food. They were talking about doc.u.ments and legal things that needed attention. Tiredness was on the verge of sapping the last ounce of energy within me. I needed to eat something.

After much discussion in Nepali, Ankit translated.

"We're going to go to my house and get some papers and doc.u.ments signed."

I acquiesced without any more mention of food. At least I could use the bathroom. He flagged down a taxi for Manisha and me to ride in and Raj rode behind Ankit on his motorcycle. Manisha seemed content to stay with me rather than her father, so I was happy to keep her.

We arrived at Ankit's house and he took us up some stairs to one of the bedrooms. I sat down on the wooden floor and they sat on the bed. Ankit was holding a folder with some papers. Manisha, like any active three year old, wanted to run around. So I set her down and she ran out into the hallway.

I could hear a woman's voice talking to her. It was fretful that I couldn't understand so much of what was being said.

Ankit spoke English well and would translate for me when I looked at him questioningly. Apparently Manisha didn't like the picture of the white monkey in the hallway, so it was promptly removed.

Now that we were here and things had settled down, I told him again I needed to use the facilities. He called for one of the ladies in the home and she came and took me to the bathroom.

"Thank you," I said politely, not knowing whether she understood me or not, only to discover as I closed the door there was no toilet paper.

Sheepishly and somewhat embarra.s.sed, I went back to Ankit.

"There isn't any toilet tissue." I would have preferred to have told one of the women, but I didn't think they spoke English.

In typical Nepalese inflection, he translated into Nepali for one of the women to bring me some toilet paper. By now my stomach was really hurting. So I asked if they could also bring me some food.

After I used the facilities, I saw they had brought me a couple of crackers and a gla.s.s of water. I focused on the water and all I could think was what I had been told before I left home. Don't drink any water unless it's in a bottle.

Again, I went back to Ankit, "Do you have any bottled water?"

"No," he said. "We don't have any bottled water."

There ensued a great deal of discussion in Nepali. I felt like I had caused everybody a great deal of inconvenience, but after a while, another young lady showed up with some bottled water. I thanked her as best I could.

I thought to myself, Lori, try not to cause any more trouble. You have caused enough for one day.

On a more personal note, I wondered, do they not use toilet paper around here? What about when it's that time of the month?

I know, too much information.

After a few bites of food, I made myself comfortable on the floor. Ankit handed me what seemed like volumes of doc.u.ments. Unfortunately I had never been good at filling out papers. I made several errors and could tell he was a little upset. He left the room to retrieve something akin to white out to blot out all of my mistakes, mumbling something to the effect, "It's important to not make mistakes on the doc.u.ments."

There were too many papers. I did not feel like answering any more questions. I was preoccupied with watching Manisha and her father. Everyone was talking in Nepali as I continued to fill in blanks.

There were a lot of personal questions.

"Do I have to answer all of this?" I asked.

Ankit explained, "You did the American side in the States. Now you have to do the Nepali side."

I had no idea what was in store for me. This was just the beginning.

After what seemed like a long time, I finished answering everything.

Ankit asked me, "Would you like to take Manisha with you? It's okay with the father."

I glanced at him who nodded approvingly.

After a few seconds, however, I realized how stressed and tired I was. Jet lag was beginning to take its toll and I knew I needed another day.

"I think I should wait till tomorrow. I need a good night's sleep."

Chapter Six.

...I will fear no evil, for you are with me Psalms 23:4 On March 15, 1994, at the end of the child referral letter I received from the adoption agency was this paragraph: Any family adopting Manisha will be required to travel to her native village in Janakpur to obtain signed paperwork from the village mayor and Chief District Officer. This district is accessible by plane, car, and foot. It is a remote, rural district isolated from medical and other facilities. There may be no heat, running water, or electricity. The location and isolation of this district places any individual or family at increased risk for accidents, disease, and even death, prepared by the director and placement supervisor.

Today, as I reread the paragraph above from the adoption agency, I am reminded of my fear that night at the Bleu Hotel.

Romans 8:15 says: "For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, Abba, Father."

Why would G.o.d contrast a spirit of fear with the spirit of adoption? I knew G.o.d wanted me to adopt Manisha so why was I so fearful? Upon arriving back at my hotel room later that night, I succ.u.mbed to overwhelming fatigue. I laid my head on the pillow bemoaning my weakness. I didn't have what it took to be a single mother, I cried.

Halfway around the world all alone in a country and culture completely different from America, I wondered if I had made a terrible mistake. Could I take a child whom I had just met, who didn't look anything like me, and promise her, you are mine forever? Was I willing to spend twelve hours in a van the next day on a one lane, half-paved road with strangers speaking a language I didn't understand? Could I eat strange food and not worry about the guards that Silas warned might stop or search us? What about my fear of heights as we traveled atop the highest mountains in the world on a road that wind like a corkscrew to China?

I felt dizzy thinking about what lay ahead of me, as if I was a minute droplet amongst millions cascading over the steep Himalayans into streams thousands of feet below. Could I handle seeing starving children with red hair and distended bellies, images that would sear my conscience forever, knowing I could only save one?

"Oh, G.o.d," I cried out, "please help me not to be afraid." I was too overwhelmed to read my Bible. The lack of sleep made even the simplest of logic seem impossible. I wasn't sure I could go through with it. Would G.o.d be sufficient in my hour of greatest need?

But even this didn't compare to my fear a few years earlier scuba diving in the waters off the Turneffe Islands.

The Turneffe Islands are the largest of three atolls consisting of over two hundred mangrove islands thirty five miles off the coast of Belize City. Not only is it a diver's paradise, but after leaving Belize City for the three hour jaunt in a small boat, it becomes a complete escape from the busyness of our chaotic world. There are no TVs, no computers, no telephones, no radios, and no newspapers.

One morning we went out on what is called a "drift dive." A drift dive is where the diver jumps off the side of the boat and the current carries him either on a harrowing rollercoaster ride or a meandering, leisurely tour.

Drift diving was my favorite kind of dive because I didn't have to worry about where the dive boat was. I was never adept at using a compa.s.s under water. With drift diving, the dive boat follows the "bubbles" and picks up divers when they float to the surface.

On this day I jumped off the boat and went down like a weighted anchor. Rather than floating lazily in the current, I found myself within a few seconds at eighty feet deep. I was quite impressed that I beat everyone else down. Usually my dive buddy would have to wait on me because scar tissue in my left ear made it difficult for me to equalize. All alone, I moseyed around for a few minutes waiting for the other divers to float down beside me, but no one showed up. It was a beautiful dive and I didn't want to cut it short by heading to the surface, but divers aren't supposed to swim alone in the ocean. Actually, it's a foolish thing to do, so reluctantly, I went to the surface.

When I poked my head out and looked around, the only boats in sight were way off in the distance. The dive boat had left me behind, following the other divers on their drift. I was all alone in the Gulf of Mexico with a 40-pound tank on my back in the middle of nowhere. I knew it would take an hour for the others to finish their dive and decompress, depending on how deep they went. They would have to get back on the boat and discover I was missing. I figured it would be at least a couple of hours before I would be rescued if I was ever rescued at all.

The first hour floating all alone in the ocean I remained calm. The second hour gave way to waves of fear and panic as I began to seriously ponder my desperate situation. Suppose the dive boat never found me? My life pa.s.sed before my eyes. What a horrible way to die. I wasn't ready. "Please, G.o.d," I cried out, "don't leave me out here in the Gulf. I want to live."

I contemplated what few options I had, which were none, and thought about how many sharks might be lurking. What was underneath my dangling feet and would I ever be found? I floated helplessly for hours with a forty-pound tank on my back breathing though my snorkel in the middle of nowhere.

Had G.o.d not saved my life that day in the Turneffe Islands for something far more wonderful than I could have imagined? Would I let Satan rob me of my joy of adoption by filling my heart with fear? I was tired, hungry, and emotionally drained. Satan knew I was vulnerable.

Only G.o.d could take away my slavery to the fear that paralyzed me. As fear's grip on me let go, G.o.d held me in His arms, much like a mother would hold her infant daughter, and spoke silently to my heart, "I love you."

At last, I peacefully dozed off. I awakened early the next morning feeling strong and courageous, anxious to get on the road and ready for an incredible adventure. Never again in the years since have I doubted that Manisha was supposed to be my daughter. I was filled with peace, had a good night's rest, and was ready for whatever storms lay ahead.

We would be leaving at 5:30 a.m. to travel to the Janakpur District to have doc.u.ments signed by the CDO. It would be a long and arduous journey.

Chapter Seven.

...let us go up to the mountain of the Lord Micah 4:2 I ate a light breakfast at the small restaurant inside the Bleu Hotel, consisting of tea and toast. I made sure everything was packed for the trip, including nuts, bananas, and candy bars.

"You have to feed everybody for the trip," Ankit said. "There will be five of us."

I triple checked that I packed all six sets of doc.u.ments and that everything was in order. I was anxious to get going and was impatient for him to show up.

At last, he arrived at the hotel wearing jeans, a light jacket, and a red cap, along with the driver in a white van. It was barely light outside and quiet. The streets were empty and the stores had not yet open. I was surprised that Manisha and her father weren't in the van.

"We'll pick them up on the way out of town," Ankit rea.s.sured me. I wondered if Manisha had anything to eat. If not, she could fill up on all the snacks I brought. I showed Ankit the food and we both climbed into the van.

Wearing a blue dress and white blouse, I was glad to be spared another motorcycle ride. I loaded a fresh roll of film in my Nikon camera and made sure I had plenty of money to pay the driver. My paranoia prompted me to check once again that I wasn't missing any doc.u.ments.

I looked forward to getting out of Kathmandu for the day (the dusty air was bothering my sinuses) and seeing the beautiful countryside and towering Himalayan Mountains.

"Be sure to bring your camera," Ankit said. "You will get a good view of Mount Everest if it's not cloudy."

It took a while to travel through downtown Kathmandu. The sun was just beginning to cast its first rays of light over the streets and buildings, and I could see shadows of people in the distance.

I was startled to see so many standing on the edge of small streams by the road brushing their teeth. The water appeared muddied from the rains. I had noticed a toothbrush and toothpaste in the hotel room when I met Manisha. For a country that didn't seem to use toilet paper, it surprised me that anyone would brush their teeth.

Ankit exited the van and walked into the hotel to retrieve Raj and Manisha. Eventually they made their way out and I saw that Manisha was wearing the same dirty blue outfit from the previous day. My heart ached to put something new on her. I imagined how beautiful she would look in the pretty pink dress and checkered blue top I brought her.

They climbed into the van and Raj smiled at me. Manisha was quiet and did not want to sit beside me today. She stayed with her father. I asked Ankit to ask Raj if she had eaten.

"A gla.s.s of milk," he replied. I felt badly as I had eaten more than she had.

After a while we left Kathmandu far behind. Old brick and concrete buildings were replaced with scenic flowers and gra.s.s, with clumps of trees dotting the countryside. Every so often we pa.s.sed young lads shepherding cows on the side of the road. Gra.s.s took over where there had been dirt and scenic rolling hills followed one after another in an orderly, rhythmic pattern. The panoramic vistas, the motion of the van, and lack of sleep made the trip seem dream-like, but I was jolted back to reality by the start and stop of the steady stream of vehicles ahead of us and those coming from the opposite direction.

As the day went on, the road deteriorated into one b.u.mp after another. Eventually the two lane road narrowed to one, and the rolling hills out of Kathmandu became gigantic mountains. The road wound like a child's slinky, and I wondered at every turn if someone approaching from the other side would hurl us into the abyss below. Around every bend I heard horns honking, ours or another car, and sometimes both.

Our destination was the Dolakha District of the Janakpur Zone, the town of Charikot. Our trek took us from Lamusagu, which was about 47 miles outside of Kathmandu, to Lamosagu Jiri, another 27 miles. Then we traveled to Khaktapur, which had been the main trade route for centuries between Tibet/China and India. That accounted for the high volume of traffic. Its position on the main caravan route made the city rich and prosperous by Nepali standards.

The scenery was spectacular. Never had I seen such incredible beauty. We were surrounded by mountains in every direction as far as the eye could see. I wondered how such incredible beauty could coexist side by side with some of the most dest.i.tute people in the world. If it weren't for the children who were so malnourished, with protruding bellies and red hair, I could have been totally absorbed in the magnificence of the Himalayans, but the children were heartbreaking.

Nepal's per capital income was only $180 per year, one of the lowest in the world and the lowest in South Asia, where the average per capital income was $350 per year. Of its eighteen million inhabitants, half lived in abject poverty.

The next town was Dolalghat, where we crossed a long bridge over the Tamakosi River, which was about six hours from Kathmandu.

We subsequently came upon the Indrawati River where a large group of people were gathered, facing an unusual construction of wood in the middle of the river. It was still smoldering from being burned.

"What is that?" I asked Ankit.

"They are having a funeral. It is the Hindu custom to burn the dead body over a river."

I hated thinking about Manisha's birthmother in that way.

"Just down the river a little further," he continued, "at Chere, we recently baptized about twenty people."

I chose to focus on the baptism of believers in the river rather than the burning of dead bodies for the rest of the trip to Janakpur.

We traveled along the Bhotekosi River and crossed that river at Khardi Sanopakhar, Dada Pakhar, and Thulopakhar, which was close to Ankit's village.

Then we came to Sildhunga, Mude, and Kharidhunga, which were nine thousand feet above sea level. After that, we traveled through Boch, and finally arrived at Charikot, which was the district headquarters of the Dolakha District in Janakpur, arriving in the late afternoon. Januk was the name of a famous king and "pur" means city or town. It was a historical holy city.

As we were driving along and the road became nearly intolerable to ride on, I looked at Manisha and wondered how she could not get sick. I shouldn't have thought it because soon thereafter, she threw up. Her father tried to hold her out the window as we were driving until the last of the milk landed on the road instead of in the van. Maybe it was a good thing she only had milk for breakfast. She looked dreadfully unhappy. If only I had brought a change of clothes for her.

After a long while, we stopped. Everybody got out and walked in different directions. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do.

Ankit glanced back at me and said, "It's time to go to the bathroom."

I convinced myself I didn't need to go. Maybe if I waited a while, we would come to a restaurant somewhere, like a McDonald's, and I could go then. Of course, there was nothing but mountains around us in the middle of the Himalayans. I just wasn't ready to head for the bushes.

"I don't need to go," I lied, waiting in the van while everyone else disappeared. Plus, I didn't bring any toilet paper. D___ that toilet paper. As I looked out the window, a female monkey in season scurried by the van.

I had a few moments to be captivated by the view. There was nothing around me but mountain peaks adorned in various shades of blue and green. I wondered how there could be so much evil, so much violence, so much wrong with the world when so far from all of that, G.o.d's handiwork stood tall and majestic. It was like G.o.d had painted the sky, the mountains, the rivers and waterfalls with a touch of heaven, a glimpse of what awaits us beyond heaven's gates. The mountains and the trees and fields would have burst forth in praise if it were possible.

The beauty was like a tiny thread woven through a tapestry where time and sin had ravaged the perfect nature of all things; one lone thread that promised redemption, a taste, if you will, of the magnificence of G.o.d's original creation.

Within me a sense of longing arose, a burning desire to partake of the beauty of our heavenly home that G.o.d is preparing for us. Whatever my eyes have beheld here, that my senses have been awakened to, so much more so will it be there. Paul wrote in I Corinthians 2:9, "... as it is written: 'No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what G.o.d has prepared for those who love Him.'"

Eventually everyone returned to the van. Manisha and her father climbed in sitting to the left of me in the back. She had warmed up to me again and I was able to hold her for a few minutes as the van gathered speed on the half paved, half dirt road.

Her clothes now were not only dirtied and soiled, but smelled of sour milk. Her shoes, riddled with holes and far too small, had been tossed into the back of the van.

It was still hard for me to believe she was going to be my daughter. I would rest easier when we were in the air over Kathmandu headed toward Los Angeles. That seemed an eternity away right now. There was lots of talk going on but since everyone spoke in Nepali, I didn't know what was being said except for the occasional translation by Ankit.