Court

We returned from the orphanage, heads spinning with the visit and the potential questions from the judge tomorrow. I attempted to type e-mails to my boys on the laptop on our drive back to Krasnoyarsk, and after hitting the business center at the Hotel Krasnoyarsk (where we were supposed to stay) to e-mail, we headed to California Pizza Kitchen for dinner. The pizza was excellent, though the nerves about tomorrow made the experience a little less enjoyable.

Returning to the hotel, it was cram time. I sat down with the questions we had jotted down on the drive, and proceeded to pen answers to all of them. By the end of the evening, my eyes were crossing and my brain had turned to mush. So I put it down and decided to get some sleep. Tomorrow would come either way, and I needed to be rested.

Sleep came fairly quickly at first, but in fits and starts after waking up at about 2 am. It was a little before 8 am when I decided to give up the fight. Sara slept a grand total of 1 hour during the night, surrendering the battle at about 5 am. Our driver was set to pick us up at the hotel at 11:30, so we had time to spare. I finished the answers to the remaining questions, and proceeded to study them so that, given the intimidation of standing before the judge, at least I wouldn’t have to come up with something off-the-cuff.

Nerves zapped my appetite, but I managed a small cup of yogurt and some water. Nothing could have prepared me for the stress that I felt that morning. It’s crazy. With God in the driver’s seat all along through this process, you would think that I would have been resting secure. But, when you have spent nearly 2 ½ years preparing for something like this, and you know that future of a child is at stake and it all comes down to this moment, it can be a little overwhelming. Through prayer I tried to calm myself and trust that God had lead us this far, and he was not going to back down now.

Many times through this process I have felt like a battle waged for the life of Mikhail, one side wanting him to come home to a loving family and one side wanting him to stay alone in the orphanage, without a hope. I just prayed that this battle would be won before we even set foot in the courtroom, and that what was right and what was true would win out over what was evil and what desired misery. I prayed that Satan would be bound from the courtroom completely. That when those doors shut, he would be gone.

We arrived at the courthouse shortly before 12 pm, when the first hearing before the judge would begin. We were not sure who would be first, us or the Franks. Both of us hoping secretly inside that we would go first and get it over with. We reached the outside of the courtroom and were informed the Franks would be going first. Just what I wanted, another hour to sit and think. I tried to put my head back and pray, but weariness from all the stress began to sink in. I wanted to be alert and fresh for the hearing when it was our turn, so I grabbed my cheat-sheet and began to pace up and down the hall, answering the questions in my head. The Franks’ son, Andrew (he’s 7 years old), thought it was a pretty fun game, so he joined me in my pacing. We two, in suits and ties, must have looked like quite a pair, wearing a groove in the stone tile floor and appearing a bit odd to the casual onlooker. But I will be forever grateful for the smile that he brought to my face and a small, but much needed break from my apprehension that he provided. Thanks Andrew.

Shortly under one hour later, the Franks were finished. They exited the room, and I almost threw-up. After a long deliberation of one minute from the judge, they returned to the courtroom. Andrew was the first to come out with a huge smile on his face. We exchanged high-5’s as he said “Dmitry gets to be ours!” Inside I was so happy for them. Their process was just as long and daunting as ours, and to know that this little boy was going to such a wonderful family was cause for celebration. But in my fear of what was to come, I only managed a simple “congratulations”. I know they understood.

Sara and I entered the courtroom, holding our heads up high in mock confidence. We took our seats in front of the judge’s bench. The translator was seated to my left. A table on my left held our Krasnoyarsk liason, the orphanage director, and the representative from the Russian Ministry of Education. The secretary in front and to the left, the prosecutor in front and to the right in bright blue uniform, and Judge directly in front on the elevated bench below a Russian seal. Before the cotton in my mouth could fully form, the proceeding began.

Questions flew and were translated. Answers flew and were translated. I got choked up once while detailing my boys’ feelings toward Misha. Sara struggled to explain “home schooling” to the judge. Discussions were sparked in Russian between all those present about why more Russian families don’t adopt these children and their foster care system and what can be done to change things. More questions, more answers, more translating. I had never felt so lifted up in prayer in my life than during that moment. I knew that so many back home were staying up late, praying for us. And I felt it in a way so powerful I was at times struck dumb with awe. Over an hour had passed before we were dismissed. Our minute passed, and we returned to hear the verdict.

YES!

We shook hands and exchanged hugs with all that were present, and left the courtroom with feelings too great to put into words. In the blur of time that passed, we took pictures outside the courtroom. Curious George sat on the steps and posed, amidst much pointing and laughter from Russian onlookers. But I didn’t care. Misha was ours! For the first time, we could say for certain and forever that “Misha is our son”.