Our new little one is getting used to being rocked to sleep. He (along with most children who are cared for in an institution or group home) was put in his crib with toys and he would play himself to sleep. His group home was awesome, but now he has a mom and a dad.
He laid his head on my chest. It is his new favorite spot – listening to my heart beat. But tonight as he snuggled in close, he raised a hand up to rub my face. As he rubbed back and forth, he said four words over and over and over again.
“This is my mom. This is my mom. This is my mom…”
Lord Jesus have mercy.
A two year old claiming me as his own, thankful for my arms, and reminding himself that he no longer is alone.
Of all the waiting children who are hoping for a family – God led us to him. A baby who desperately was ready for a family. Miraculous really. But, I wonder where is the miracle for all of the other babies (and not so little babies) who wait for a mother of their own?
I know the children who wait. You can’t possibly get paint on your elbows alongside the beautiful children who live in an orphanage and not fall in love. They have asked me – “Do you have friends who want another little boy? Why would I not get chosen? Would you take me home?” Some of the kids go as far as to call me “White Momma.” I can’t tell you how often I walk away from that place crying out for a miracle for the sweet ones I leave behind in the classrooms. They were created in the image of God – to love and be loved – yet they live in one of the deepest forms of poverty.
“We think sometimes that poverty is only being hungry, naked and homeless. The poverty of being unwanted, unloved and uncared for is the greatest poverty. We must start in our own homes to remedy this kind of poverty.” Mother Teresa
Some of our friends and family have joked with us about our expanding family. Five is pressing the “acceptable” limits just a bit. My own supportive Mom recently asked when we would start the paperwork for #6. “Oh, honey,” she said “as long as you work at an orphanage, how could you ever be done?”
I am not the only one. I have read story after story of adoptive parents who come to adopt their child and are forever haunted by the orphans left behind. An amazing, raw post just written by a friend of mine could have been my own words of wonder and lament. Where are the miracles for the ones left behind?
Over the past week one of my favorite things to hear come out of our new son’s mouth is “Bao bao,” which means, “Hold me.” I drop everything at that request. He made a game of it today throwing his arms open wide and laughing every time I would make a dramatic run for him. Sweet boy.
His miracle came. Our miracle came. God provided every dollar we needed for this adoption. The approvals were met. Paperwork was completed and my sanity is still in place. We have squeezed another soul into a small apartment, and now there is life to be lived. I catch myself reliving this adoption story. Marveling at the miracle. Soaking in the perfectness of my new one. My heart sighs and is filled with the joy of it.
And my heart cries out and breaks over the injustice of it.
Why do so many still wait, and yet this baby is being held?
Lord have mercy.