Condescend

We were there once today already.  This morning to pay the $230 US dollar application fee,
and after lunch again - early and waiting for our 2:30pm appointment for Robert's visa interview.  So it all boils down to this question: do we have everything in order for the United States to let Robert into the country?

On the way there Harriet told us that she was tired of seeing people coming out of there crying.  Being delayed and inconvenienced by the authorities.  Why did they have to make it so hard for people to try and do good?  That was enough to give Molly and I a small lump in our throats.  Uh oh.

The US Embassy in Uganda is a lot like I'd imagined. Heavy duty security checkpoints, heavily armed guards, multiple screenings, thick steel doors and bullet proof glass but once inside the compound, it is beautiful, well manicured, quiet and serene.  Almost like a secure library set in the midst of a carnival.  Outside the immigration building there is a covered courtyard with benches and that is where a number of people already sat waiting.   Being a well-seasoned team by this point, we decided to divide and conquer.  Molly would wait inside with the air-conditioning, 2 year old magazines and CNN on the TV so she could monitor the bureaucratic process.  I, on the other hand, would wrangle the boy outside and find a way to pass the time.  Ever since he got up this morning, Robert had been a little more wound up than usual and here we were, over-tired and way past nap time with that reckless, unfocused energy so I was glad to have outside duties, where being quiet wasn't imperative and there would be room to run around or hopefully curl up on a bench and sleep.

Sure enough, there were other people outside waiting that we knew from past encounters at the Embassy, medical check ups, etc.  The folks from New Mexico with the brother / sister sibling group Patricia and Abel.  That other guy with the cute, chubby girl in purple who seemed to remember me but I couldn't place him and a few other families.  After a bit of initial shyness, Robert fell into play with Patricia and Abel and I leaned back in my chair, casually monitoring them as they chased each other around the pillars, attempted cartwheels and climbed chairs.  It was perfect.  A little reprieve from my duties and a little spare time to get lost in my own thoughts before the interview.

After 20 minutes or so, I heard a thud, followed by that sharp inhale which always precedes the howling scream.  Sure enough, Robert had tripped and was splayed out on the cobblestones screaming and looking to me for help.

I jumped up and ran over to my son.

The way he was holding his right arm, I knew he was hurt. And I knew just what to do.  Or maybe I didn't, but I was certainly more equipped than he to handle the situation.

In fact, I have many years of experiencing life's bumps and bruises.  I've been to the emergency room a few times.  I've had my head split open, I've had my heart broken and I bear a lot of scars, both seen and unseen.  And I've got wisdom too, some of it hard-earned and some of it hard-wired.  I've got an amazing family, amazing friends, an incredible wealth of relationships and to most people around here, incredible financial wealth too.   I've got everything to offer.  The resources of the world are at my fingertips, or so it seems.  But forget all that stuff.  More than that, there isn't a man alive on this planet who loves and cares for this boy more than I.  Not by a long shot.  So, if anybody could help this boy in this moment, there was no one better than I.

So I did what came natural in that moment for our tired, helpless, hurt and inconsolable little man.  I got down on my knees and face to face, gathered him in my arms and wiped away the big tears rolling down those sweet cheeks while he screamed and moaned and writhed.  And I whispered in his ear.  Sorry, sorry. Bahmbi silly-kah, bahmbi silly-kah, Robert.  It's going to be alright.  Shhhhhhh...  Your Daddy loves you Robert.

And there it was. In that moment I caught another fleeting glimpse of the big picture.

We hurt, we cry and we look for help.  Then the incalculable wealth, wisdom, capability and resource of the Almighty comes running to us, gets down on its knees, wipes our tears and assures us that it will be alright.  This is what Love condescended looks like.  It looks a lot like me right now, holding my boy with my own heart breaking just a little, telling him (and reminding myself too) that everything will be alright.    

I looked up and Molly was motioning to me from the door.  They're ready for us...

So I gathered up our little sobbing boy in my arms and the three of us went through the door and straight into our interview.

Robert's eyes are dry now but his wrist is still tender.   However, I'm the one with tears in my eyes as I write this all to tell you:  our visa is approved.

We are coming home.