Children without Parents

Spent all weekend at church services. The guest speaker was Heidi Baker, a missionary from Mozambique. She builds orphanages. Of course I was intrigued. There was raw charisma in the place.

I don’t know when “my thing” for orphanages came about. Perhaps it was instilled in me when I learned I was adopted. In 2^nd grade, each student had a day which celebrated him or her. It was like a birthday because we got cupcakes or other treats. The student stood in front of the class (you could bring a friend up with you) and told everyone else about him/herself. The process usually involved some sort of favorite stuffed animal or pet undoubtedly accompanied by lots of family photos. I distinctly remember that on my special day, I proudly declared to the whole class that I was adopted. Any of you who knew me at this age can probably image in what manner I undoubtedly declared this tiny declaration – wild eyes, disheveled hair and a huge grin – so characteristic of me, even now. This was the first time I remember having a definite knowledge of my adoption.

I used to write stories and act out plays involving orphan trains. I pushed hard for my youth group to sponsor an orphan. I found my niche in an orphanage in the Philippines. Even now, there is a part of me that wants to be involved with orphans. I don’t know where or how, but I think everything will be revealed in time.

So this weekend spent listening to Heidi Baker was incredible. I cried. I rarely cry. Tears don’t seem to come naturally to me. My soul wept and my eyes cried.