Kids: Joy, Sadness, Innocence

I had three distinct experiences with kids this weekend. One of holy joy, one of deep sadness, and one of pure innocence.

My moment of joy was on Friday. One of "my" boys was adopted to Sweden, and though each adoption is a beautiful story, it is a little more meaningful when you have had the pleasure of being one of the child's fill-in moms for two and a half months. My boy is sweet and forgiving, timid and silly, cuddly and hungry. He loves kisses, he knows what he wants, and he is a child of repetition. So on Friday when we all filed into the chapel to celebrate this beautiful union, my heart was especially joyful to see one of my kids be given a forever family. I did my best to keep in the tears, but I quickly melted into a little puddle when, near the beginning of the ceremony, he hopped off the couch by his mom and came searching for me to give me a final hug and kiss. Though not in school yet, he understood fully what was happening, and I was ruined by this sweet act. My cheeks remained tear stained for the remainder of the ceremony, and my heart was filled to the brim with such a holy joy that can only come from the witnessing of God's redemption story being played out before you. His mother came up to me later and said, "I can see that he really loves you, and I can see that you love him too. But please, tell me why." So with pride in my heart and a lump in my throat, I told her all the reasons I loved her son as I watched her eyes twinkle at the gift she had been given. Oh my friends. Words cannot even explain the magnificence of seeing a mother be given the child she had been praying for, of seeing a child be given the mother he had been longing for. I know I was only two and a half months of his life, and I know I was not anywhere near being his mother, but I have such pride, hope, joy, and love for him. What a beautiful moment to cherish. 

My moment of sadness came this afternoon. I know I will fail miserably at explaining the depth of my emotions, but I will do my best. Most of the time, the kids just seem like kids. They play like kids, laugh like kids, cry like kids, eat like kids... But every once in awhile, you get a tiny glimmer of the weight of their past. Today, I was dragged around the playground by one of "my" girls. Our time was full of giggles and silliness, and a sweet moment of just gazing in awe of each others' differences. However, when it was time for me to head back up the hill and go home, the sweet lightness of her face quickly dissipated into the look I hate most here at Beautiful Gate: abandonment. I stood up and said goodbye, and her eyes filled with tears. I thought at first that she just wanted to play longer, but when I looked into her eyes again, there were more than just tears there. Fear had settled in as well. I kneeled down in front of her and took her small hands in mine, assuring her that I would be back in the morning to give her breakfast before she went to school. But no matter how much I tried to give her confidence of my return, she continued to shake her head, not wanting to be left. Finally I just had to leave as she cried and took a few steps after me. I waved and blew a kiss, and through tears, she gave the most heartbreaking blow of a kiss back, one that truly looked like a final goodbye. What a stark difference to the sweet hug and kiss I had received on Friday.

My moment of pure innocence came shortly after, and was gladly welcomed. I had settled onto a big sleeping bag in the sun, rolled up like a burrito, when Mercy (the director's youngest child) rolled up next to me in a smaller blanket. We giggled about how we looked like tacos, and our conversation took flight. We covered everything from our favorite colors, the depth of a tree's roots, the recipe for a perfect rainy night (pizza, a movie, and green caramel popcorn), all the way to discussing which was really home, America or Africa. As we lay there, faces close, I soaked in her innocence and honesty. She was unafraid to ask questions, unafraid to answer. She was curious and thoughtful, and she was eager to share her silly jokes with me. She didn't want to be talked down to because she was young, she just wanted to talk. It was such a moment of peace, and in a way I can't explain, a moment of restoration. We simply thought about life together, and I had the privilege of seeing the world through her innocent eyes.

These instances don't flow together in some poetic fashion, except to show you the breadth of emotions experienced here. There is joy unexplainable, despised sorrow, and restorative peace in a matter of a weekend, along with all the other little feelings thrown in as well. I don't have a big point to share, no revelation from these moments. But it's a view of the rollar coaster this journey is and has been. Praise God for His faithful, constant, and ever-loving presence in our lives!