Keeping vigil at the hospital in Colorado, as agonizing as it was, we sensed the Lord gently urging us to focus on my precious dad and family here. We heard him whispering into our hearts that He Himself watched over our son. We often prayed through our tears that He would sing over our son as he slept.
One day I snuck away from doctors’ reports and medical apparatus to the hospital chapel. Alone in reverent silence, tears trickled down my cheeks. I looked up and saw a sculpture of Simeon holding Baby Jesus. Deeper than words, God promised me that, even so, He held our son.
Throughout these tumultuous two months, our lawyer in Kenya remained completely silent. But on the day after my grandmother’s funeral, we received a mind-boggling fax that not only could we come for our son, he was in fact already legally ours.
The details of what exactly transpired during that time concerning our son’s heart remain unclear, but American doctors continue to declare him absolutely healthy.
I am acutely aware that He faces many challenges. It is not so easy to figure out what it means to be a Black male when the people who love you most are White, when the only other Black person in your family is a younger sister. It’s frustrating when you aren’t sure about hair care and your mom has to consult the internet or email your youth pastor to find answers. It is not so easy to discern your identity when the Black people in your church look like you, but you were born in another country where people savor ugali instead of Southern fare. A wound festers with unanswerable questions when other kids talk about blood ancestry, and yours begins and ends with you. It’s a gaping hole that can never be filled, without a trace beyond the Mother Teresa orphanage gates of those who gave you life. There is a void of panic when you consider your first moments in this world, alone and vulnerable, abandoned. When you imagine your tiny body pressed against the muck of slum-ground instead of embraced in loving arms.But through it all, then as now, I know without a doubt that the God of the Universe cradles my son against His chest. When I needed it most, God gave me a visual promise for what will always be true no matter what circumstances transpire. My son is God’s beloved, and God’s beloved he will always be.