We settled into our 5 star hotel, which was surrounded by a neighborhood comprised of tiny hovels. We were almost ashamed as we entered this stunning atmosphere. We were greeted by Kumar the assistant manager. Once the process to check us was completed, Kumar gestured to a beautiful woman carrying a tray, saying this was our welcome. In my sleep deprived and inexperienced state, it looked like chips to me. I was a little confused as she started waving it around my head in a circular motion, until she placed a red dot on my forehead. Completely embarrassed, I realized this was a Hindu blessing and not potato chips. It was at this moment that we realized with great hilarity how far away from home we truly were. Eagerly, we made ourselves at home in our room. The lack of sleep, our own inexperience, coupled with anticipation for the coming days, melted into several moments of unbridled mirth. All I could say over and over was, “I thought she had a plate of chips!” We had been in India less than 24 hours, and already we had amassed a lifetime of memories.

 

Making our way to hotel restaurants, once again the fragrance of Indian cooking assailed our senses. We had anticipated this part of our trip for months: the chance to enjoy the complexity of true Indian meals. We were not disappointed. Meal preparation in India is a true art form. Layers of spices, oils, and fresh vegetables combine to create a tapestry of tastes unlike any other. Spread before us was a glorious display of the finest in India cuisine. The taste buds are tantamount in memory making as is ones sense of smell. Many a family memory is made around meal time. The phenomenon of an Indian meal is a microcosm of Indian culture: layers of customs and beliefs, the influence of invading people groups, combined with the evolution of their own society join together to form unforgettable experiences.

While in India, the last of our senses was engaged by the touching of our hearts. In each major event, we were afforded the opportunity to see God’s hand through the beauty of the Indian people. Men on the planes to help point us in the proper direction, the warm glances of strangers, a woman who presented me with flowers on our way home to celebrate my Motherhood. Each incident touched our lives and hearts, providing us with a complete view of the Indian people.

In India, every occasion mandates the use of all the senses. The day we met Micah was no exception: January 18^th dawned a beautiful sunny day in Kolkata. At 10:00 a.m., we began the drive that would change our lives forever. We left our hotel a couple, we would return a family. We were about to experience the best of the moments of our trip: meeting our precious Micah. The short trip to the orphanage afforded the opportunity for reflection. The journey to parenthood for us was in no way simplistic. Every emotion, every fiber and core of our being was wound around this drive. For two and a half years, we had poured our hearts and hopes into waiting for this moment. It has been said that parents would travel the world for their children. Joel and I did. Jumping into a process that was frustrating, difficult, and a roller coaster of emotions we were committed to this child whom we did not know, had never seen, and whose culture was completely foreign to us. However, we were about to experience the miracle of our senses: the touch of our son, the brush of God’s Hand around our hearts-binding us together as family.

We met our son that Thursday morning in the Babies Home where he had spent the first eleven months of his life. He was placed in our arms, laughing and smiling. It was a moment like no other. I was touching my son! I could feel his tiny body hugged close to me. I could breathe in the scent that was Micah. I could behold his beautiful face with my own eyes. Our joy was so intense and complete, we could taste it. For two and a half hours, we interacted with the orphanage staff, the beautiful children, and our new son. Inside that building, our senses were engaged in a myriad of different ways: the sound of children crying, laughing, playing; the smell of the formula and fragrances unknown; the touch of the children as I spoke to each one; the sight of all the children waiting for their own families to arrive. Each incident, touch, laugh, smile, is ingrained in our memories forever.

Our trip to India is a kaleidoscope of moments, each one vivid and intense. It is impossible to classify an adoption trip into one particular category, especially to such a place as India. At the beginning of our process, we were convinced that having someone else escort our child home was the way to go for us. I will forever be thankful that God changed our minds. Spending a week in the country of my son’s birth, seeing his homeland, experiencing the beauty and the sorrow, meeting him in such a way binds us in ways that an escort never could. Our experience in the Indian culture allows us to enjoy a much deeper understanding of our son and how what life is like in his homeland. We realize what a great privilege and responsibility we have to share with him complexity of his heritage. Our journey to become a family began in a most amazing way, in a land far from our comfort zones. We remember our trip to India with great fondness, thankfulness, and humor anticipating the days when our son will join in our conversations about how family was formed: not just at the moment of his birth, but by a million moments- memories ingrained in our hearts forever categorized by sight, sound, taste, and touch- India is truly in our hearts and will not let go. Our lives are forever changed.