“A Father to the fatherless, and a judge of the widows, is God in His holy habitation. God setteth the solitary in families:” Ps. 68:5-6a
Today I met her for the first time over the phone. Meeting her was like unwrapping a beautiful, unexpected gift. She has known and volunteered with our Cedi boy since he was first brought to his orphanage as a 4 pound baby.
I’m learning there is a grief in adoption when it comes to your child’s past and you know absolutely nothing about it. It startled me how much that part hurts. My experience in parenthood has been being completely immersed in every second of their lives. His life has been different. He has 6 years that I will never know. To find someone who knows and is willing to share those years with me is a connector piece between me and his missing years. It is beautiful. It is painful.
Today, I found her, my connector piece. She shared with me stories that no file could contain. She shared with me HIM. I have read how he was sick when he was an infant, but to hear it from the woman who was nurse to him, and helped to make the decisions, was so very different from reading it in a file.
Today she told me about the infection that surrounded his heart. She told me he needed heart surgery, but the money was not there. She told me that his caregivers took 24 hour shifts sleeping on the floors of his hospital room so that he would never have to be alone. She told me that when he came home and they realized there was nothing more they could do for him, they decided the one thing they could give him was love. He was sent home to die, but he would know love. They loved him well. They fed him and cared for him and poured themselves into him. Against all of the odds, against all of the understanding of the medical professionals, he got better. In those dark hours HE was a Father to my fatherless boy. He was watching, He was healing, and He was loving. Maybe the best medicine for fatherless children, is indeed love.
Today she told me how he could not walk for a long time and they worried about him. And so, one sweet man who acts as a papa to the children of the orphanage, made him parallel bars and a walker. They worked with him and loved him. He not only learned to walk, but he now runs and is in constant motion as all little boys should be.
I cried as I listened to her stories. I cried for all that I had missed. I cried for the mother that should have been there, but wasn’t. I cried for all of the love the wonderful caregivers lavished on him. And I cried because I am so humbled that God would give me a turn to love this amazing boy. I am thankful that in the years that I was not there, he had a Father in heaven that was watching over him. And I am thankful that that same Father, sets the lonely in families. He has a beautiful work started in this little boy, and I believe it’s only just begun.