Gotcha!

I stood in my kitchen. Tears flowed silently down my face. I slowly spun around the room, trying to remember it all. Four sizeable red zebra print suitcases filled the small hallway. Leaving this country and the people I had grown to love was ripping my heart out. Yet I knew on the other side of the world, there was a new life waiting for me. An 18-pound bundle who had stolen my heart via FaceTime was waiting for me to return… was waiting to call me Mama. But pulling my heart in two different directions felt like it might cause it to implode permanently. How could I say goodbye and hello all in the same 30-hour window? Two monumental emotions welled within me.

A knock on my door brought me back to reality. My pastor, Daehong Sensei, waited outside, ready to load my luggage and take me to the Chapel for my final goodbye to students and church members. Wiping away yet another falling tear, I opened the door.

For the previous 21 months, I had called Kashiba, Japan, my home. Arriving at the Osaka airport on a cold December day in 2013, I was greeted by unfamiliar faces that would soon become dear friends. After a very short onboarding process and brief introductions to Japanese culture, I began teaching ESL. My one goal was to share my Jesus Christ with my students through friendship. I set out on this new adventure with much prayer, a heavy reliance on Google, lots of confusion, tears, and a confident call from the Lord.

"What is Jesus, Sarah Sensei?" My heart lurched. My eyes filled with tears. Suddenly, my classroom had been transformed into holy ground. I was standing at the beginning of a colossal moment. It was my honor to share Jesus with an adult who had never heard His name.

Having always loved to travel and rarely meeting strangers, life abroad was in my wheelhouse. Or so I thought. But I was unprepared for the alienation of living in a world where I understood so little – language, culture, idealism, and spirituality. With much support from home and the gift of beautiful friendships in Kashiba, I slowly caught on to this new way of life. I soon found my "help desk" friend, Kawori. She, indeed, was my 1-800-HELP line. I couldn't have made it without the gift of her friendship! She laughed with me through my mistakes. Like that time I ended up with five pounds of salt instead of sugar. Or the time I used dish soap to wash my hair because I couldn't find shampoo at the store. Or the moment I tried to order at Mcdonald's and realized Mcdonald's didn't equal English. Or that time… well, I guess "that time" is for another day!

Back to the story at hand.

Early one Monday in February 2015, I stood on the train from Kashiba to Osaka. It was rush hour; the train was packed. All the passengers moved as one body through the surge and retreat of the motor on the tracks. The early morning quiet was one of my favorite times. It amazed me how there could be so much hustle and bustle yet so much control and calm. While this Monday had started like any other, it would soon become a day etched into my mind forever.

A simple email. A simple imperative statement. And everything changed in the blink of an eye.

"I think you should pray about adopting this baby."

My brain did a double take on the words. My eyes returned to the sender to ensure I had read it correctly. "From Dad? For reals? Adopt a baby?" My mind swirled. And, like Sara of old, I let out a little laugh that caused my fellow passengers to give me a look that said, "Gaijin (aka foreigners) are so strange." Little did I know that that email was the beginning of a new chapter that allowed me to witness firsthand the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.[1]

The following days were a flurry of confidential activities. Communication with the birth mother. Consultation with the attorney. Facetime calls with my parents. Time on my knees crying out to the Lord for wisdom. And a million and one pictures of the little 1-month-old bundle - then known as Ava. After what felt like a blur, the Lord made it clear that I was to leave this Asian Continent that I had come to love and return to The States. Return to embark on a new adventure called motherhood. The extreme of every emotion was always near the surface. I couldn't imagine leaving Japan. My heart and soul had found a home. My life had found its purpose. But a baby? A baby changed everything.

Within 60 days, I had guardianship of this tiny human from over 7,000 miles away. My parents, Jim and Sherri, shared this guardianship – allowing them to physically care for Ava until I could finish the teaching semester and return to Alabama in late summer.

One night, around 10:00 p.m., my phone rang. “Hi, do you plan to change Ava's name upon adoption?” “Yes, sir,” was my reply. “To what? We need it for the paperwork we're filing today.” “I don’t know for sure. You need to know … like now?” “Within a couple of hours, at the latest.” “Okay, then. I’ll get back to you shortly!” So much for nine months to name my daughter, I thought! How about two hours, instead? I mean, it’s not like a name is important or anything. It just identifies my child for the rest of her life! When I first arrived in Japan, the name Nozomi had captured me. It’s a fairly common name, and it means hope. I remember thinking, “If I ever adopt a daughter, I’d love to name her Nozomi.” I also wanted to keep Ava, as that was how her story began. But we were also starting a new story – the dawn of a new chapter. So, I did what every daughter probably dreads and used them all!

Ava Nozomi-Dawn: The beginning of a life of hope in Jesus Christ.

Yes, that was my daughter’s new moniker. Eight months later, while standing before the judge, he so decreed: In accordance with the request for a change of name, it is hereby ordered that the name be changed from Ava Lynn Smith[2] to Ava Nozomi-Dawn Henson, as prayed. (After sharing her new name with my siblings, and saying that she would go by her middle name, my brother, Josh, replied, “Nozomi sounds like a Japanese noodle! But whatever you want. I’ll just call her Noodle.” And to this day, she is Noodle to her Uncle Josh!)

Soon, I was in a bitter season of saying goodbye to students and church members. Even taxi drivers, 711 attendants, and bus drivers had become part of my daily world and friends. Due to the legalities of the adoption in The States, I couldn’t explain why I was leaving Japan so abruptly. My attorney permitted me to tell my pastor and dearest help-desk friend, Kawori. But for my other students, I could offer no real explanation. During those goodbyes weeks, I thought my heart would break beyond repair.

(Miriam Adeney says, “You will never be completely at home again, because part of your heart always will be elsewhere. That is the price you pay for the richness of loving and knowing people in more than one place.” In the middle of Mariam’s thought is where I have lived my life since leaving Japan. Part of my heart is always on the other side of the world. Half of my prayers are for those who live 7000 miles away. And my greatest dreams involve returning to the land of the rising sun with Nozomi-Dawn one day!)

My pastor's knock at my door that Sunday morning brought me back to the present. I arrived at Kashiba Chapel to say my final goodbyes. There wasn’t a dry eye in the Chapel as this American gave hugs and waved goodbye. My last memory of the Chapel is filled with the sounds of “God bless you! We will miss you!” and my Japanese family's smiling, tear-filled faces. A car ride, a bus ride, and a train ride later, and I arrived at the Osaka International Airport with my pastor’s wife, Sunoh San. We waited in the ticket lines and as far as she could go through security, both crying constantly. We shared memories, pondered the future, and prayed for each other. I didn’t think any emotion was left inside me by this point. My broken heart constantly wondered how it could feel so much sadness and yet so much excitement at the adventure to come. Triggers. Trimmers. Glimmers. Where joy and sorrow meet!

After 30 hours of air travel, where tears of sorrow and excitement were always close to the surface, I finally touched down in Birmingham. “Ladies and gentlemen, we welcome you to the Birmingham-Shuttlesworth International Airport. If this is your final destination, welcome home!” My nerves were like a ball of yarn. I had butterflies in my stomach. In just minutes, I would meet my 8-month-old daughter for the first time! My weary body walked down the aisle, stumbled through the jet bridge, and entered the terminal. Home. Knowing the airport like the back of my hand, I soon found myself on the escalator leading to baggage claim. At the bottom, my family stood with “Welcome Home!” signs.

Dad was the first to step forward. Stress. Fear. Excitement. Exhaustion. I let it all go as I stepped into his embrace. After a few minutes, he whispered, “I’m so sorry. But Baby Ava was really fussy, and Mom felt it would be best if we kept her home. We’ll get your luggage, and you can meet her at the house.” Tears… again! I didn’t want to wait a second longer. Let alone the 2+ hours it would take to make it home. He then broke into a smile and said, “Gotcha!” while pointing to my left. Around the corner came my mom, holding the sweetest little bundle there ever was! With what little physical umph I had left, I ran to her, holding out my hands. My precious daughter came to me then... staring intensely into my eyes as I cried, “Oh, she’s so beautiful!” Again, nary a dry eye around as Mama and Daughter said their inaugural hello. I fed Nozomi-Dawn for the first time, sitting on the luggage carousel while American Airlines tried to track down my now-lost bags. After several minutes of taking in all her cuddles, I finally realized the rest of my siblings were around and started catching up on their hugs!

That night, with jet lag playing games in my mind and body, I asked Mom to let me do the night feedings with Nozomi. I was doubtful I would be asleep, and I just wanted to hold her and try to catch up on the eight months I had missed. (Though from the moment I had guardianship, I began recording videos for Nozomi-Dawn. I read her books, sang her hymns, and prayed over her. When we met for the first time, I wanted her to know my face and my voice. Dad would call me for her late-night feeding, which was early morning for me in Japan, and the three of us would chat.) After the Walton-style goodnights had been said at my parent’s house, I carried my soon-to-be daughter into her makeshift nursery. I placed her on my chest and rocked, singing softly while memorizing every feature of her face, hands, tummy, arms, legs, and feet. When I finally thought I could rest a little, I snuggled Nozomi-Dawn in my bed and drifted to sleep. I remember those moments like it was yesterday.

The following two months seemed to move so slowly and yet steam full ahead simultaneously. I was preparing for a home study, completing medical reviews, and filling out more forms I knew existed. When I left for Japan, I sold almost all my belongings to rent the house. I came home with only personal items and treasures to remind me of my adventures. My house was largely empty of furniture, home goods, and decor. And it was most certainly devoid of a nursery! Mom and I ran from store to store, turning my empty house into a home.

Once I was home study approved, we proceeded with the remaining legal steps to make Ava Nozomi-Dawn officially a Henson.

Finally, the October day arrived. I awoke that morning and stared at Nozomi-Dawn’s face. I still couldn’t quite believe she was about to be mine – forever and always. How could this be? Fear of messing her up completely mixed with confidence that the Lord would guide me. I rested my hand on her head and prayed the blessing I had daily prayed from the moment I said “yes” to her adoption.

“Grow in grace, Nozomi-Dawn. Share the hope of Jesus Christ. And love the Lord with all your heart. This is your Mama’s prayer for you.”

It was another high and holy moment when the judge looked at me and asked me to raise my right hand.

“Do you, Sarah-Marie Henson, solemnly swear that you will faithfully and diligently fulfill the duties and responsibilities of being a parent to Ava Nozomi-Dawn Henson? Do you promise to provide her with a loving and nurturing environment, to protect her from harm, to provide for her needs, and to support her emotionally, physically, and financially? Do you understand that this adoption is a permanent commitment and that Ava Nozomi-Dawn Henson will be considered your own child in all respects? Do you further understand this oath's gravity and its legal obligations?”

With my right hand raised, holding Nozomi-Dawn in my left, I voiced two of the most important words of my life. “I do!”

“Be it so ordered!” The gavel rapped, thus signally the completion of the proceedings. Nozomi-Dawn was officially a Henson. I was officially a mother. We were officially a little family.

The Lord had restored to me what a hysterectomy had taken. I saw the Lord's goodness in the land of the living.

As I type these words, Nozomi-Dawn is playing in the surf on Navarre Sound. The wind is gently blowing its salt air through her hair. The sun is glinting off the water and making stardust shimmer off her skin. The surf laps at her feet as she chases minnows with her net. Her calls of “Mama” cause a lump to fill my throat. My heart leaps in amazement that she’s mine and I’m hers. Indeed, she is the embodiment of the goodness of God in my life. Nothing could replace her. Nothing fills me with more wonder than her crawling up on my lap and snuggling to listen to my heartbeat. Watching her now as she bounds along the beach, exploring the world around her and happily running back to show me her latest discovery, fills me with astonishment. These are the moments. These are the moments that take my breath away. Glimmers, my friends. Straight-up glimmers of God’s mercy and grace.

Happy 8th Gotcha Day, my Lovie!

💐 Your mama loves you more than words can say. 💐

🌱 Grow in grace, my sweet girl! 🌱

✟ Share the hope of Jesus Christ. ✟

💜 And love the Lord with all your heart! 💜

Until we Muse again,

[1] Psalm 27:13 [2] Ava’s full birth name has been changed to protect the privacy of her birth mother.