A Moving Reality

No, not moving as in packing up the house and moving (scared ya there for a minute, didn't I Mom!!), but moving as in touching or according to Webster's, "stirring deeply in a way that evokes a strong emotional response." This post that I saw in the Madison Adoption Agency Yahoo group from Ashley, who lives and works in China, did just that to me. It is about a little girl's reality and so many realities in China and all over the world. I typically post about waiting kids at the end of the week, but I have found that there are not as many people active in the yahoo groups over the weekend and I really want my waiting kid's posts to reach as many as possible. So, I thought I would post this very "moving" truth as a precursor to my waiting child posts, that I am now going to try and post at the beginning of the week. Please check back on Monday because there is a huge list of kids whose files go back on April 16th and these kids are just precious! Until then, please read the post below and tell me how "moved" you are!!!

AMEN! In my work with SN orphans in China the last four years I have often come home bursting to the seams and my only recourse was to write. I felt tonight, I should include this story about an older girl with CP. She is one person, but there are so many others in her shoes.

L., Beautiful, chubby L. The poor child, I never knew she was a girl until she had to go to the bathroom in the bucket, after several weeks of calling her, “little boy.” It wasn’t her fault of course, she was trying to show me with that too-pretty smile that she was a girl, but CP without therapy has left her lips partially paralyzed and she couldn’t correct me. But now that I know, I put barrettes in her hair and give her flowers to draw and bring her pretty socks and she is so appreciative.

L. is waiting in her chair from which she seldom moves as I walk around holding others; waiting to catch my eye and flash me one of her gorgeous smiles. She mostly smiles, a huge sparkling bowl full of grace and joy to anyone who will look her way. She only rarely weeps and it is only when she is sick or in pain and seconds later, even through the tears, she will smile again.

Limited movement of her hands mean coloring and using scissors is difficult, but to L. it’s worth the struggle and she never leaves a craft or drawing half done. And when you praise her art, her smile turns into a full-body dance that shoots down those useless legs and returns to her lips as a joyous giggle.

She has the softest cheeks I’ve ever kissed and I know why it is her mother waited until she was quite old to turn away from her, she’s not an ounce of trouble, and such a gentle little lady.

L. will stay. Unless a miracle occurs she will live out her days in this room watching others come and go to foster care, or permanent families. She will stay, cared for by Ayis and volunteers hat have to go home at the end of their shift. But L.’s life is not scorched by bitterness. She lives and loves and expresses gratitude.

My dream for L. is not that we relieve her monotony or give life to stiff limbs through our games, but that our touch would be the expression of a different kind of Father. The One who is never off duty. The One who waits with open arms and sits with her as He shapes the inner life just as gently as He shaped L.’s body in her mother’s womb.