Years ago, while we were waiting for Dayna, we sent her a care package. (We also sent one to Annie, and I blogged about that here.)
Among other things, we sent her a CD. We made recordings of us reading her stories and me singing to her, so she could become familiar with our voices. On the CD, I sang "You Are My Sunshine."
We had no idea if they ever actually played the CD for her. We received everything back from the care package but that.
On Gotcha Day, everything went smoothly. A little too smoothly. She never cried. Just a bit shell-shocked. Dayna came straight to me and let me hold her.
Several hours later, the three of us were alone in our hotel room waiting to be called for our passport pictures. Suddenly, it hit Dayna in full force. For the first time in her life, she was alone with people who looked nothing like her. We looked funny, we smelled funny, and we sounded funny. She just lost it. Cried and cried. Indescribable grief.
A bottle didn't work. She didn't need changed. Wasn't sure she wanted me to hold her. We didn't know what else to do. And so I sang. "You Are My Sunshine." I didn't get to the word "sunshine" before she whipped her head to the side and stared at me with eyes of total recognition. The sobs turned into hiccups, and then sniffles. Her expression was "You're the one!" From that moment, whenever she would get upset, I would sing. And her tender heart would know that Mama was there. And she was safe.
It reminds me of this verse:
My sheep know my voice, and I know them...John 10:27.
I pray as she grows up, she continues to listen to the voice of her Shepherd.
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