Here is a glimpse into the world of these children and some of the things I describe in the blog below!
The Hope for the World van rolled to a stop in front of a pale-colored gate. The gray sky did not aid in identifying the exact color. Behind 8-foot concrete walls which enclosed the front yard, there were children living almost entirely off the compassion and efficiency of women staff and the provision of state funding. We were going to attempt to befriend them and play together at an indoor park nearby. The minister’s wife, who connected us to the orphanage addressed us while opening the gate.
“I am going to go inside to make sure all the kids are getting ready and then I will be back out. We have a lovely yard that you can wait in!”
She closed the gate behind us once we were in the yard. I took in my surroundings. Assorted play equipment was spread throughout the yard in a manner similar to an untidy storage unit. It was packed with baby swings and bouncy rubber ponies; a rain-soaked baby walker, which was likely meant to be inside when yesterday’s storm began; and a couple of slightly-rusted, brightly-colored playground sets. Another thing I noticed was the mural on the insides of the walls. The paint was chipping but I could still identify the hopeful story of the Good Shepherd from the cracked and faded images, a relevant reminder for the kids that seem to have found themselves outside of providence’s care…They are still seen and loved by the One who knows every hair on their head. Now, if only they would know His voice…
We gathered and began praying for the children and the workers, asking the Lord to come to their aid and show them abundant grace and faithfulness as they approach the future ahead of them. We could hear a few little ones crying and yelling within the walls of the orphanage as the two workers scrambled to get 16 toddlers dressed for their first field trip in who knows how long. The minister’s wife came up next to us with a young boy that she said had only been there about a month. She introduced us and shared with us how the boy is bright and doesn’t belong in a place like this.
“No young child is meant to live here…No child should live here. It breaks my heart,” she said softly. She had poured her all into these kids for the last 21 years of her life.
Shortly after, the clamor of the toddlers grew louder as they approached the front door and spilled out into the lawn, the workers handing each of us a child or piece of equipment without knowing our names, thankful for the extra hands. I attempted to busy myself in the midst of what felt foreign and vulnerable. Will these children even let me hold them?
In my peripheral vision, through the chaos, I watched one child get picked up and placed in Isaak’s arms. A faint smile began on my lips until the child wailed and screamed the moment her weight settled in his embrace. The worker took her back from my husband. He was then given a quiet little boy with brown eyes and a few small scratches across his soft cheeks, no doubt from other children.
I was instructed to go pick up one of the others who had yet to come out from under the awning over the front door. Saying a brief prayer under my breath, I crouched down to look into the face of a young boy who appeared bewildered by the whole situation. I smiled and timidly put my hands out to take him. I don’t know what he will do if I just try to grab him…I need to be gentle and kind. Jesus, please please help him to trust me. I didn’t have to ponder long, as his face lit up and he gladly waddled into my empty arms, trusting my ability to carry him instantly. My heart jumped for joy as this precious child allowed me to lift him, his little figure resting comfortably on my hip. I felt an immediate affection for this child who made the most innocent and soft-sing-song comments in Albanian throughout the short bus ride. He never even squirmed, but simply leaned back in my lap and enjoyed the ride. He had a light blue sock on one of his hands. I still don’t know why.
As soon as we arrived at the play area, he took off to run through the course, his covered hand not hindering him one bit in climbing or scaling the foam obstacles. Wow, I didn’t expect him to be able to run like that! Haha. Man. He is precious. I chuckled softly.
I heard a child crying loudly. The girl that had wailed in Isaak’s arms was being calmed by one of the workers again. She must be having a hard day…or maybe she is always like that. Poor thing.
I continued looking around and busied myself with another beautiful little girl with honey-colored hair and chocolate eyes; she was barely old enough to walk and had a fascination with the stray ball-pit balls.
After a few minutes, the girl was whisked away by one of the workers to be fed a snack and I was left watching the kids tumble through the course, asking a question that has been coming up more and more often as we engage in ministry.
Jesus, if you were here right now, what would you be doing? Would you be playing with or showing love to a certain child?
That is when my eyes fell on the girl that howled when my husband held her. She was sitting cross-legged on a foam block, drained from the extreme emotions she had experienced within the short span of 45 minutes. Her hair was cut close to her skull and didn’t even conceal her pale ears, let alone her tear-streaked cheeks and numb expression.
Lord…if any child doesn’t want affection, it is this one. How am I even supposed to approach her??
Go. Sit with her. You asked what I would do.
So I took a deep breath, cautiously closed the gap between us, and plopped down on the padded floor in front of the orphan with dark eyes.
To Be continued…
