We continued to travel for a long time pa.s.sing through small villages where we had to make numerous stops to register with an official who sat in a hut beside the road.

A couple more hours pa.s.sed and no McDonald's or Wendy's showed up on the radar, so I thought before things got desperate, I better do something. There were too many jolts of the van on the b.u.mpy road to wait too long.

Ankit asked the driver to stop and a few minutes later he pulled the van over to the side of the road.

"Is this okay?" Ankit asked.

"Well, I don't have any toilet paper."

He looked back at me in amazement. "Why didn't you bring toilet paper?"

"I didn't know I would need toilet paper. I just thought we would stop somewhere at a restaurant and go."

"We're out in the middle of the Himalayan Mountains!"

There were no restaurants out here, just mountains and small make shift homes with poor, needy children running around taking care of cows more dead than alive, and one monkey in heat. No five star hotels, let alone anything resembling a Western style restaurant.

"We'll stop at the next village and I'll try to get some," Ankit said.

Guys just don't get it, I thought. Or maybe I really am a soft American.

Later we made a brief stop at a little shack in a small village. Ankit ran in and purchased some toilet paper, quickly came out, and handed it to me through the window. I tried not to look embarra.s.sed and avoided eye contact with everybody. I was just glad to have my toilet paper.

We proceeded to drive along the road and every few minutes the driver slowed down and Ankit would look back at me with a questioning look, "Is this a good place to stop? Do you want to stop here?"

"Yeah, this is okay," I said at last. I just wanted to be done with it.

I climbed out of the van and started heading down a little path off to the side of the road carrying my toilet paper mumbling to myself, "I am not a soft American girl. Gee, they probably do this all the time."

After doing my deed I headed back up the trail and saw that everyone else had left the van. Fortunately n.o.body went my way, so I just waited until everybody returned.

By now we were all hungry so I handed out some of the snacks that I brought and we began to munch on them. It was about 3:00 or so in the afternoon when we finally arrived at the CDO's office.

We pulled off the road to a large open area in front of a two story, white concrete building with brown shutters. A red and white Nepali flag hung limply from a flag post out front. There were a few children and men milling about. It was quiet and peaceful, unlike the bustle of activity in Kathmandu. The whole area was surrounded by mountains off in the distance.

As I looked toward the east, Ankit said, "Just over those mountains is China." It felt like the ends of the earth. I took a few pictures and then followed Ankit up the flight of stairs to the second story of the CDO's office. Manisha and her father followed closely behind. I clasped my doc.u.ments under my arm and held on to them nervously.

"You need to be friendly with the CDO and talk to him when he asks you questions." I could tell Ankit was also nervous.

Appearing in front of a government official who wielded such power over my future was certainly out of my bailiwick. I tried to focus on the matter at hand but my heart was racing, wanting it to be done. My throat was so dry I wasn't even sure I could respond to any questions he might ask me.

As we stood in the doorway, the room appeared very dark. We were motioned in and I found an empty seat several feet from the door. As I waited for my eyes to adjust, I gazed through the window. The Himalayan Mountains in the distance seemed to symbolize the huge hurdle in front of me in the guise of this official.

Manisha sat beside me. One exposed light bulb with wires crisscrossing the ceiling provided the only lighting. Old wooden chairs lined the bare walls. I felt like I was starring in a movie as I sat in the dusty, dingy office of the CDO of Dolakha, Nepal.

A man in his early 30's, the CDO was dressed in a green suit with a pointed little cap on top of his head. It was hard to comprehend how a man on the other side of the world could have such incredible control over my destiny except G.o.d had given him that authority.

My thoughts flashed back momentarily to all that preceded this defining moment in my life. As a child my parents told me I was born under a cloud. My husband chided me, "Is this another one of your sad stories?"

"I don't love you anymore," my partner spitefully responded one night after I presented him with evidence that he was seeing another woman. I remembered the wine bottles and cheese that I uncovered in the garbage after being away for a few days visiting my family.

I replayed scenes of the long hours I worked as a court reporter putting him through medical school. I recalled the night he contacted the police after I confronted him in his office at the hospital. Two weeks after our divorce was final, the other woman gave birth to his child. I was devastated and hurt. Only a loving G.o.d could help me to recover and begin a new life in Him. Would G.o.d give me a chance to redeem the years the locusts had eaten?

A few years after my divorce, I received a letter from World Vision, an evangelical organization that sponsors children in Third World countries. The beginning of the letter, dated February 13, 1993, read: "Over 150 million children worldwide are trapped by hunger, sickness, poverty, and neglect." I took the letter and put it on my refrigerator. Someday, I thought, I am going to adopt a child from another country. How and when, only G.o.d knew.

The letter ended with the quote from Proverbs 13:12 (LB): "Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but when dreams come true at last, there is life and joy."

I looked at Manisha and reflected on what the future would hold. With her piercing, dark brown eyes focused on me, she spoke softly in clear English, "I love you."

I responded back, "I love you, too."

I did not know how she could have uttered those words because she could not speak English. I thought about what the Bible said concerning speaking in tongues and wondered if I had witnessed another one of G.o.d's miracles. Whether I could explain it or not, it gave me the a.s.surance I needed over the next few days that G.o.d was in control.

As we sat and waited, there was a lot of talk in Nepali.

The CDO asked Ankit a few questions as various men walked in and out handing him papers to sign.

He continued to pour over my doc.u.ments and after awhile looked up and asked, "You're not forty?"

"No," I said, "but I'm almost forty."

"It's the law you must be forty." He gave a cursory glance through the rest of my papers. He and Ankit exchanged a flurry of words in Nepali. Some elderly men sitting in the room stared at me. I had the feeling that Ankit was talking about my infertility. I felt exposed that such personal information was being bantered about. I saw worry in Ankit's eyes and knew my hopes of becoming a mother were precariously in limbo.

Ankit and the CDO continued to talk for a while longer. I went and sat by him hoping for some rea.s.surance. More old men came in and the CDO turned his attention to other matters. About this time, Manisha's father, not happy with the sudden turn of events, took Manisha outside and I could hear her running up and down the wooden planks.

Ankit said to me in a whisper, "The CDO said he cannot approve your adoption because you're not forty, and he has to abide by the law. He is putting in a call to the legal office in Kathmandu to see if they will give him permission but they won't do it. We will have to go ourselves and meet with the Home Minister after we get back to Kathmandu."

We continued to wait for a long time for the phone call. Finally the phone rang and the CDO talked loudly on the phone. When he got off, they discussed the call. I could tell it wasn't good.

Ankit shook his head indicating that he could not get permission to sign my paperwork.

"I wish I could do your adoption, but I can't," the CDO told me in broken English.

I knew it wasn't his fault. He had tried. I had known before I came to Nepal about the age forty rule, but what difference did it make in my case because I couldn't get pregnant? Written laws prohibiting a child from having a home, a future, and a hope-why, G.o.d?

Manisha was an orphan; her mother had died when she was a baby, and her father couldn't support her. He didn't want to support her. Girls were considered a liability in Hindu culture and without her birthmother, the life she faced was one of dest.i.tution and death.

This road seemed so familiar to me. I had walked it before, more than once; loss, separation, and abandonment. I cried out, "Not here, Lord, not in Nepal. A three-year-old orphan girl needs a chance to know You."

Chapter Eight.

...ask the animals, and they will teach you Job 12:7 My mind flashed back to when I was young. I was awakened by a big white dog licking me in my face and jumping all over my bed. As I tried to open my eyes from what I thought was a dream, my mother said, "This is Gypsy. We are going to keep her."

Gypsy was the friend I longed for but didn't have. When I came home from school, she would greet me at the door with her tail wagging. I walked her, fed her, and played with her. After we returned from each walk, I would announce how many times she had used the bathroom, both number one and number two, as if to validate I was the best dog walker in the world. I even cleaned up after her when she threw up so n.o.body would know.

Gypsy was a stray. The night before she jumped on me in bed she had snuck into the house with my dad. She was G.o.d's gift to me. We were inseparable.

One afternoon I arrived home from school and knew something was wrong. She didn't greet me at the door like she usually did and I ran through the house frantically looking for her.

"She's gone," my mother and father told me. "She won't be back. The manager of the apartment came and took her away."

"Where did they take her?" I cried.

"The manager said they would dump her off on the road somewhere far from here. You know the apartment complex doesn't allow dogs."

I ran out of the room and up the stairs to my bedroom. My mind was flooded with memories of the most important thing in my little world. My heart was broken, confused, and hurting. Gypsy was gone.

That night bolts of thunder crashed outside my bedroom. Lightning pierced through the window shades. I imagined Gypsy in the darkness. I could feel her white warm fur against my skin and see her dark, brown eyes pleading for me to come get her. I cried into my pillow as peels of thunder bounced off the walls. If Gypsy ever found her way back, I vowed to run away with her. I would never let anybody take her from me again.

But the next day came and went and she didn't return. I went to school each day hoping for the impossible, that somehow she could find her way back from wherever they dumped her.

It was Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. We were packing things up to go visit my new father's family in North Carolina. My mother had recently remarried. I kept looking up the hill in front of the apartment, imagining that she would come running down the street any minute. I knew it would be impossible, but still I hoped. I made one last trip to my bedroom. The car was loaded and we were ready to leave. I picked up my pillow and thought of the first morning she licked me on the face in bed.

"Please, Gypsy, come back to me. You need a home and someone to love you. I need you."

I walked out the door of our apartment to get into the car. I glanced one last time up the hill. Out of nowhere, suddenly, there was something white. Was it, could it be-I dropped my pillow and started running up the hill. I ran as fast as my legs would carry me, my mind racing to think what seemed like the impossible. It couldn't be-but it was.

Gypsy ran frantically toward me, tattered, dirty, and exhausted. Somehow she had miraculously found her way home through the raging storm. After being lost for days in the cold November nights, miles from our home, Gypsy had done the impossible. She had found her way back to me.

"Gypsy!" I cried. I crouched down to grab her as she jumped into my arms, holding her tightly around the neck, crying and rejoicing all at the same time. My dog was lost, but now she was found.

"I will never let go of you," I promised. She squealed with delight and licked my face. For the first time in my young life, I knew there had to be a G.o.d.

Chapter Nine.

...weeping may remain for the night Psalm 30:5 Does G.o.d not take care of orphans and widows? In John 14:18 Jesus promised that "I will not leave you as orphans. I will come to you."

Surely G.o.d would not abandon Manisha, leaving her here in Nepal where she would never hear of the Savior's love. If G.o.d was able to reunite a little girl with her beloved dog against all odds, if G.o.d could become the husband for a young wife abandoned by her unfaithful husband, if G.o.d was my heavenly Father who had promised to never leave me or forsake me, surely He wouldn't abandon me now.

G.o.d, who knows every hair on my head, who knows everything about me and loves me anyway, who sacrificed His only Son so I could have eternal life with Him, could I not render unto G.o.d what was G.o.d's and render unto Caesar what was Caesar's? Did G.o.d not put the authorities in power in Nepal? Did not the winds and sea obey Him?

When everything seemed hopeless, could I believe that G.o.d is the Great Shepherd who never abandons His sheep?

In John 10:11, Jesus says, "I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down His life for the sheep."

For this is what the Sovereign Lord says: I myself will search for my sheep and look after them. As a shepherd looks after his scattered flock when he is with them, so will I look after my sheep. I will rescue them from all the places where they were scattered on a day of clouds and darkness. I will bring them out from the nations and gather them from the countries and I will bring them into their own land (Ezekiel 34:11-13).

I reflected back to what Manisha said to me shortly before the CDO said he couldn't approve the adoption, "I love you." It was as if G.o.d had said to me, "I love you."

The trip back to Kathmandu was emotionally difficult. We arrived just after dusk. Manisha had thrown up two more times in the van. She needed a mother's comfort and touch to clean her up and make her feel loved. Her old, thread bare shoes looked like they had been used by a half dozen kids. I longed to be her mother, to bathe her, to give her a new dress and a bright pair of brand new shoes she could show off, but it wasn't meant to be this night.

The most I could hope was for her dad to take some things I had brought and give them to her. I picked out a pink corduroy dress and blue checkered shirt that I knew would fit her. I also handed him a pretty nightgown and underwear. But he did not know what they were for and I didn't know how to explain it to him. The little girls of Nepal did not wear nightgowns or panties to bed. They were too poor.

I said good night to both of them. As they left for Ankit to drive them back to their hotel, I closed the door and realized how totally exhausted I was. All I wanted to do was sleep.

The next morning arrived. I heard stirring on the street four stories below with the first rays of sunlight peeking through the window. I had become accustomed to hearing people throw up every morning as the hotel walls were thin and betrayed more than I cared to know.

I wanted today to be different. I found a new place to eat where the food promised to be more appetizing. There appeared to be more Westerners and Europeans here. I had yet to run into another American.

Later in the morning following breakfast, I heard a knock on my door. I opened it and Manisha stood by her father with a broad smile and eyes sparkling like diamonds. Even in my troubled heart, I felt swept off my feet as she modeled her new outfit. Far from her home where she wore ragged clothes and shoes, she had become a princess. Rags to riches in a day, fairy tale stories still happen. I wanted this one to end with her knowing her King.

Earlier I had called my mother and asked for prayer. Isaiah 34:5 6 came to mind, "Do not be afraid, for I am with you. I will bring your children from the east and my daughters from the ends of the earth."

"O, Dear G.o.d," I prayed again, "Please let this be Your will. Please give me the desires of my heart." I had dressed up, too, waiting for Ankit to come and take me to the Home Minister.

He arrived a little later and we had a big discussion about whether to take his motorcycle or a taxi. I was all dressed up and didn't want to ride on a motorcycle. He hated spending so much money for rides even though it was my money, but every time I rode on a motorcycle, I was covered with dirt. I prevailed this time. We hired a taxi.

As we traveled to the Legal Office, he warned me, "The Home Minister is directly underneath the Prime Minister. Try to make a good impression."

The courthouse and government buildings were located in the heart of downtown Kathmandu. A tall, white wall surrounded the entire complex. The taxi dropped us off outside the walled entrance and we walked inside to the legal office of the Home Ministry. It was a beautiful day. The sun's rays lifted my spirits as if G.o.d's radiance shown upon me, but Ankit was uncomfortable.

"They don't like me in the legal office," he said. "I refuse to pay them money for the adoptions."

Bribery is what they call it in America. Although illegal even in Nepal, with some adoption facilitators it happened all the time.

As we sat patiently waiting, n.o.body went out of their way to help us. Ankit eventually engaged a male secretary at the front desk in conversation, and he motioned us into another room.

There followed a lot of talk in Nepali. I knew that whatever happened there would be no bribes and no money to pay anyone off. G.o.d would have to intervene and make it possible for me to adopt Manisha.

I prayed quietly for G.o.d to move on the Home Minister's heart. An errand boy, after an extended discussion with Ankit, went into his office. We waited until he reappeared. Speaking in Nepali, he relayed the Home Minister's decision.

Ankit breathed a sigh of relief and antic.i.p.ation.

"The Home Minister has said it's okay for you to adopt Manisha."

My eyes filled with tears as I remembered Manisha's softly spoken words in the Himalayan Mountains, "I love you."

G.o.d had given me a daughter from the ends of the earth. He would restore the years the locusts had eaten.

Sher Bahadur Deuba, the Home Minister, later became Prime Minister of Nepal on three separate occasions. I can't underestimate the power of prayer and that it is G.o.d who moves in the hearts of kings and leaders to do His bidding.

Chapter Ten.