Somewhere out there

Flying into Vietnam late last night was a surreal and profound moment. Looking out of the plane window at the twinkling lights of Ho Chi Minh brought both Christel and I to tears. I guess partly due to the idea that this long journey to Honour is coming to an end. Kind of like that dam burst of emotion you see when an athlete who has trained all of his life for that one big race crosses the finish line.

It’s ironic, because the in-flight movie I was watching right before the descent was Run Fat Boy Run. There is a scene at the end where the lead character Dennis is crawling toward the finish line after limping through a 26 mile marathon with a sprained ankle. Lying on the ground, delirious with exhaustion and pain, he is about to give up. He looks up at the finish line and catches a glimpse of the reason he was running…his wife and son. He’s infused with one last burst of strength, gets up and runs like a mad man across the finish line into the arms of home. Pain and exhaustion take a back seat to love.

As we were landing last night, we experienced that dam burst of crossing a finish line. But it was more than that. We couldn’t help but think as we looked out at those twinkling lights, that somewhere out there, beyond the city lights, a little girl we call Honour is soundly sleeping in her bed. Having no idea how many things are going to change so quickly. Having no idea how her world is going to suddenly become very unfamiliar for a time. Having no idea how much she has been loved from a distance. Having no idea how close she is to a forever home, to family, to dreams coming true.

Funny thing about finish lines is that in a strange way, they are actually new beginnings. As Green Day sings in the song Closing Time; “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.” We are now approaching another beginning…another starting line if you would. Tomorrow, our Tribe of seven becomes a Tribe of eight.

-Rob