1980 Bringing Lynn Home In Taiwan

As we walked in the front door—me carrying a box of supplies,
and Mary carrying the baby—Woody had his camera and caught the moment

The Bences and Woodmans got into a routine of playing mahjong Sunday afternoons at our house, with gin and tonics. During one such sesson, the phone rang, a rare occurrence. Mary answered; it was a fellow American acquaintance. “The priest wants to meet with Steve and me,” she said. “They don’t have a phone at the church.”

“You two must be in deep trouble,” Woody joked. “You better go; we’ll wait here until you get back.”

The Catholic church, St. Christopher, was in Tianmu, a few miles down the hill from where we lived. It was led by a Dutch priest, Father White, who knew we were interested in adopting.

“I’d like to give you a tour of our orphanage,” he said.

We furrowed our brows—or maybe only I did; Mary might have known more than she had led me to believe about the possibilities of adopting. Seemed like an odd request for this spur-of-the-moment call. Behind the church was a large area filled with children of all ages, most with obvious disabilities.

“When people have children that they can’t care for, they bring them here,” he said.

I looked around. It was heartbreaking The saddest situation was an older child, probably in his late teens, who was in a large crib with his wrists and ankles tied down, presumably to protect him against himself.

“With the healthy children, we try to adopt them to families. We have an infant girl who was supposed to go to a couple in the Netherlands, but they were rejected because they are too old.”

We approached a small bedroom and were ushered in.

“This is Sister Margaret’s room, and this is the baby who was scheduled to go to the Netherlands. Sister would like the baby to stay here; she has a huge heart, but she is too busy to take care of this child and I heard you might be interested in adopting.”

It was true. Father White handed the baby to Mary.

“Can you take her?” he asked.

I was stunned. Mary bonded instantly. We were given time to discuss the possibilities alone. Father White returned.

“Well,” he said, “what do you think?”

Mary nodded. “Yes, we’d like to adopt her.”

He broke into a satisfying smile. “Do you want to take her now, or come back tomorrow?”

“Now is fine.”

It was a bizarre moment, one of those shall-we-box-the-shoes-or-do-you-want-to-wear-them moments. Two hours ago we’d been playing cards with friends; now we were suddenly mother and father. With the baby in her arms, Mary’s maternal instincts kicked in, and no one was going to rip that baby away. The Woodmans were still waiting at the house. On the way back, we stopped at a local store to buy supplies: baby bottle, formula, diapers—and more gin.

The store had a phone and Mary called the Woodmans to give them a heads-up. As we walked in the front door—me carrying a box of supplies, and Mary carrying the baby—Woody had his camera and caught the moment.

We propped up Lynn Margaret Bence in a chair next to the game table and finished playing. That night we emptied a wicker chest and made a bed out of it, which is where Lynn slept for her first night with her new parents.

So just like that, after interrupting our mahjong game, we were now a family of three.