March 2016 – Casting A Stone

My first mistake was telling Little Man he could ride his tricycle to the market. An unseasonably warm day made me unusually optimistic on how much I could carry with a kindergartener and a tricycle in tow. Lesson learned.

A box in one arm, several days’ veggies and fruit in a bag on the other with the tricycle slung over my shoulder, Little Man and I started crossing the road to start the trek home. He was holding the hem of my jacket as we stepped off the curb. I am not really sure what happened next. It all went so fast and slow at the same time. We had plenty of time to cross the road in front of the white car that suddenly seemed to be barreling down on us when Little Man’s leg came off. Velocity taking over, his body kept going and he landed hard on the pavement near the other side of the road.

You know those moments? The moments when you are standing in the road deciding if you should let the car run over your son’s leg or scoop him up and comfort him — all the while trying to untangle yourself from a bag of broccoli, apples and tomatoes. AND while doing all this, you are thinking in the back of your mind….”Wow, I guess his leg really isn’t fitting that great these days!” See what I mean? Never in my life did I think there would be such a moment. I chose wiping tears and checking for broken bones and blood. Little Man was not happy with that choice, and he began screaming even louder that his leg was about to be road kill.

In enters a stranger.

Just a little cultural context. It is not common to help strangers. Friends and family, absolutely. Strangers, no. It is culturally common to stop and watch, but not to help. Let’s just say, in all of my years living in Asia I have been stared at A LOT more than I have been helped.

Wednesday was different.

A man stepped out into the road, rescued Little Man’s leg, retrieved the roll away tricycle and was at my side helping me steady a weeping boy. He held a little hand while I checked for wounds (there were none) and slid an intact prosthetic leg back in place. When I finally had enough wits to look up at the man, I said. “You are a very nice man.” His reply was with typical Asian modesty, “No, not at all.”

And he walked away.

We made it back home with a story to tell over dinner. All of the kids marveled at the nice man who stopped to help. “I want to be a nice Chinese man like that.” Little Man exclaimed. It truly is amazing how a few moments of help can make a deep impression on those around us. It reminds me of a statement our pastor in Michigan used to say often, “Small things done with great love make a big difference.” Okay, rescuing a prosthetic leg from being run over by a car actually was kinda a big thing. But, the few minutes he took to help us…well that was a small moment from his life and I am very thankful. It made a big difference to us.

I want to be that type of person…willing to stop for a moment and help. We can make grand plans on how to live out our faith and how to love those around us, but if we aren’t able to slow down and embrace the unexpected moments – well, it is worthless. I am striving to live a life of service that will encourage those around me and I am so thankful when the blessing is turned my way.

Been pretty quiet over here on the blog lately. Oh, we have been doing stuff. Two of my kiddos have celebrated birthdays. We traveled to Thailand for a training conference and some much needed vacay time. That, of course, says nothing about art lessons, orphanage visits, English classes and homeschooling. So there has been stuff. I just haven’t felt like writing about it.

This past Fall I have had my heart broken like never before. I couldn’t really explain it, write about it, or even verbalize it. I just cried. Jesus was taking me on a journey into the depths of his heart and it hurt to weep with him, but that is what I felt called to do. Children who wait for families. Not enough families. Kids without access to medical care or education. Sweet loving children with no hope of a future. Students who have never heard. Not easy stuff and – for sure – not stuff that makes for award winning, light-hearted blog writing.

Through my tears, I have tried to come up with many plans to do something about it all. Maybe I should get my masters in social work in order to have more influence. Should we adopt again? Maybe if we were in the States, we could tell more people about the needs and more families would feel led to adopt or give towards adoptions? How could I advocate more? Is becoming a foster family the way to go?

I want to DO something.

Silence.

More weeping.

I had the opportunity to hold two pretty special kiddos this week. After I teach, I go to the third floor of the orphanage where children who are bed ridden spend their days. They are not able to feed themselves, move from their wheelchairs or beds and many of them are unable to communicate. I go there to help feed these precious souls. I spoon feed them mush, wipe their faces, and rub backs. You wouldn’t believe the smiles that are my rewards.

This week, I walked in and immediately noticed that one of the teens was laboring for breath and was swollen. My heart knew. His time is coming to an end. I sat next to him, held his hand and brushed back the hair from his face as a prayer bubbled up from within me.

Last night we hung out with some special friends who have unexpectedly become foster parents. I took a turn holding the smallest of babies with perfect eye lashes and tiny fingers. I marveled at the perfection, wondered about her future, sighed with contentment knowing that she is in the best of care while she waits. A prayer bubbled up from within me.

This business of weeping – I think it is teaching me to pray.

When I am surrounded by situations that are out of my control and when the river of tears can not be tamed…praying is the only response.