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blanks.
    There were a lot of personal questions.
    “Do I have to answer all of this?” I asked.
    Ankit explained, “You did the American side in the States. Now you have to do the Nepali side.”
    I had no idea what was in store for me. This was just the beginning.
    After what seemed like a long time, I finished answering everything.
    Ankit asked me, “Would you like to take Manisha with you? It’s okay with the father.”
    I glanced at him who nodded approvingly.
    After a few seconds, however, I realized how stressed and tired I was. Jet lag was beginning to take its toll and I knew I needed another day.
    “I think I should wait till tomorrow. I need a good night’s sleep.”

    Chapter Six
    …I will fear no evil, for you are with me
    Psalms 23:4
     
    On March 15, 1994, at the end of the child referral letter I received from the adoption agency was this paragraph:
    Any family adopting Manisha will be required to travel to her native village in Janakpur to obtain signed paperwork from the village mayor and Chief District Officer. This district is accessible by plane, car, and foot. It is a remote, rural district isolated from medical and other facilities. There may be no heat, running water, or electricity. The location and isolation of this district places any individual or family at increased risk for accidents, disease, and even death, prepared by the director and placement supervisor.
    Today, as I reread the paragraph above from the adoption agency, I am reminded of my fear that night at the Bleu Hotel.
    Romans 8:15 says: “For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, Abba, Father.”
    Why would God contrast a spirit of fear with the spirit of adoption? I knew God wanted me to adopt Manisha so why was I so fearful? Upon arriving back at my hotel room later that night, I succumbed to overwhelming fatigue. I laid my head on the pillow bemoaning my weakness. I didn’t have what it took to be a single mother, I cried.
    Halfway around the world all alone in a country and culture completely different from America, I wondered if I had made a terrible mistake. Could I take a child whom I had just met, who didn’t look anything like me, and promise her, you are mine forever? Was I willing to spend twelve hours in a van the next day on a one lane, half-paved road with strangers speaking a language I didn’t understand? Could I eat strange food and not worry about the guards that Silas warned might stop or search us? What about my fear of heights as we traveled atop the highest mountains in the world on a road that wind like a corkscrew to China?
    I felt dizzy thinking about what lay ahead of me, as if I was a minute droplet amongst millions cascading over the steep Himalayans into streams thousands of feet below. Could I handle seeing starving children with red hair and distended bellies, images that would sear my conscience forever, knowing I could only save one?
    “Oh, God,” I cried out, “please help me not to be afraid.” I was too overwhelmed to read my Bible. The lack of sleep made even the simplest of logic seem impossible. I wasn’t sure I could go through with it. Would God be sufficient in my hour of greatest need?
    But even this didn’t compare to my fear a few years earlier scuba diving in the waters off the Turneffe Islands.
    The Turneffe Islands are the largest of three atolls consisting of over two hundred mangrove islands thirty five miles off the coast of Belize City. Not only is it a diver’s paradise, but after leaving Belize City for the three hour jaunt in a small boat, it becomes a complete escape from the busyness of our chaotic world. There are no TVs, no computers, no telephones, no radios, and no newspapers.
    One morning we went out on what is called a “drift dive.” A drift dive is where the diver jumps off the side of the boat and the current carries him either on a harrowing rollercoaster ride or a