Fingers and noses pressed up against the large airport window, 
          Eyes peering into the Chicago darkness.
                              Gate 26… O'Hare airport… November 18, 1982.
Then the silver stork landed and ever so slowly eased up to the window,
                    Where four little children watched it grow as it came closer,
                    Bringing their new sister home--
                              And where a Mom and a Dad stood bravely behind
                              Their row of two blondes and two ebony tresses,
                    Fighting back the tears of anticipation and excitement.
The airport lights… the hustle and bustle of a Thursday night in Chicago, 
                              Our daughter is coming home!
          From Seoul, Korea, her birthing process spanned
                    Twenty hours and half the globe….

And oh my, there she is, that's her, I know that's our Sarah!
          She is bundled up in wool and plaid, no other luggage in hand.
          She is wrapped up in a lineage of sad good-byes and hesitant hellos,
                    Baggage accumulated over her seven years of odyssey…
                              A litany of tears--a liturgy of hope.

     

Sarah's little fingers lingered in the palm of her Korean escort-
	[An interpreter telling about eating chicken for dinner,
	A midwife showing us a picture that her "newborn" drew
		While flying over the ocean,
	A loving lady who now had completed her mission work….]
	          She placed Sarah's hand into mine,
		And suddenly the noisy homecoming seemed very quiet
	As the family of seven eased into the stream of the concourse.
Sarah stopped, turned to look over her shoulder at the lady
	Who loved her across the threshold of a crowded orphanage
	Into our hearts--our hearts that had decided we had room for one more!
Our van broke through the darkness as we traveled westward home;
	A pillow fight punctuated by giggles gave way to
		Sighs and childhood snores that created a melody line
		To the clackety-clack of the tires along the interstate.
	I squeezed Steve's hand as he proudly steered his family home.

And so the history of Sarah Jin's final fifteen years began.
	She jumped feet first into our family;
	She wiggled headlong into our hearts,
	          Turning predictions upside down,
          Melting our fears and concerns about birthing a seven-year-old into nothingness…
	           A smile needs no translation;
	           No interpreter is needed to feel the warmth of a hug.
          She made our home bounce with activity,
          She livened up our house with laughter…
	           She created hope, she magnified joy,
	           She drew sunshine into the shadows and corners of our lives.
          She made us laugh,
          And her smile helped us to take ourselves less seriously somehow.
		             Her eyes danced with trust
	           And our hearts grew full and whole and deep…
And soon we could barely remember our lives
		Without Sarah's being there with us.

 

    
Her journey from seven to twenty-two was full of surprises:
          Sometimes she forged a road out of a wilderness,
          Sometimes she floated on the winding river of circumstance,
          Sometimes she swam upstream,
          Sometimes she went two steps forward, one step back,
          Sometimes she disappeared into the woods of uncertainty;
                    But always, always eventually Sarah came home.
          Sarah was love in animated s-l-o-w motion;
                    She was courage with curled eyelashes,
                              She was determination with a charming smile.

And then one warm Wednesday afternoon
          The crunch of metal upon metal awakened her--
                    And the flash of red lights and the sound of sirens
                    Escorted her towards a hospital that would never receive her,
          Because on a stretch of highway God intercepted
                    That northern passage at breakneck speed,
                    And He took our little girl's hand safely into His and
          He whispered to the background music of a choir of angels,
                    "Sarah, dear heart, you're going home."

    
Yes, we all thought she was set
    to go to Hays as a college sophomore,

    But on August 13, 1997, Sarah Jin Brom skipped academics and
    protocol

    To graduate with her Master's Degree.

    Sarah Jin… Home, Safe and Sound… Journey Complete.

     

            Joyce A. Brom
            August 29, 1997

One year --
     A year of tears . . . questions with no answers,
     Or answers that echo in the depth of my soul.
One year --
     An emptiness . . . there where things lay scattered
     Haphazard around her room, organization in her own way.
     An awful awareness of her being nowhere to be seen,
     Not to be touched, not to be heard.
One year --
     The steps back seem full of mire and mud,
     The steps ahead seem too steep, too hard.
One year --
     I guess I will never ever be the same,
     My smile will always be somehow forced,
     My heart will always be somehow severed.
One year -- yes, one year . . . a year that seems blurred by tears.

I pray that I am somehow a deeper person for the pain,
For what a shame to have lost a year to the hurt and heartache.

Lord, I need You more now than ever before -- yes, more than ever before.

Joyce A. Brom

     
1000 W. Lotus Ave.
Ulysses, KS 67880-1636
jbrom.uhs@ulysses.org