The Orphaned and Fatherless

One day when I was around eight years old, maybe younger (or a little bit older), I went shopping with my mother. As she tried on items, uselessly telling me to "stay here," I ran amuck between and underneath the clothing racks. I was having a blast - adventures far away from Mervyn's in my mind. And it was great, until I looked for mom where she had been last time I saw her and she wasn't there. She wasn't there. Everything had been great and then the one thing I thought would never happen, did. She had left me, and I was alone.

Yesterday afternoon at an orphanage in El Porvenir, Mexico I saw the most beautiful children. One was a drug baby and, though well over the acceptable age, was just learning to walk after being left. She was abandoned in a drug house, so who knows the condition she was left in - I don't recall because, honestly, my ears failed by then as my eyes usurped the focus needed to take in this beautiful gem of a girl. One would watch me playing with the other girls as we laughed but wouldn't come close - I don't know her story but also don't know if I could even stand to know it. There were two others who couldn't get enough of me tickling them, chasing them around their community bedroom, and playing make-believe - the fact that I didn't know what they said seemed to matter very little. I feigned dying of exhaustion earlier on and was moved to watch them both return the gesture for me as I left (the first time) to see some of the older children. It seemed a last-ditch effort to keep me there. Even though my Spanish is weak, we played and laughed and they talked to me as I smiled without understanding. They were absolutely adorable.

Before I left I went to each one of them, doing my American best to look them in the eye and say "muy Bonita!" I asked one of the directors how to say 'hugs (abrazo)' and 'strong (fuerte),' so I could speak directly to them and get hugs before I left. I asked for those hugs and many did come for hugs though a few were more reserved. They seemed guarded, neither wanting to come close for a hug nor wanting me to leave without swinging them around or acknowledging them first.

One of the girls, who was quick to want to cuddle/be tickled was also quick to show how tough she was (she later feigned death and did surprisingly well ignoring the tickling assault and fake-crying over her). My heart went out to her, not knowing what she had endured in her short life. Though quickest to reach me, she was also most resistant to a hug. She would come in close enough for me to hug, actually leaning against me, but would lightly hit my shoulder. As I said goodbye and hugged and tickled her I told her I would be back, but I also said to her, "muy bonita, muy fuerte." I hugged her close and playfully shook her, something she both fought and stayed close for, standing and sitting on my knees.

From there I went to see the older children there, and watched them play their computer and video games during their hour allotment. When that was over, they seemed happy to play around with us humans and, just like the younger ones, seemed thrilled to have someone to go for a tickle or teach them a ridiculous handshake. One boy tried to mount my back but I swung him around at the other boys, an activity all seemed to enjoy. When we started to leave that building, despite the language barrier he made clear his intentions: he was going up on my back. He did, and we played, and he climbed up higher to sit on my shoulders - which DID make it easier to faux-ram him into doorway arches, clothes lines, and ceiling fans. He didn't speak English and I don't speak much Spanish, but I'm pretty sure I caught the well-used, smile-surrounded, "you crazy!"

When we returned to the main orphanage building the girls I had played with before were being brought out into the larger community room. The same girls found me, especially the 'beautiful strong' one. As I picked her up, swung her around, and playfully slammed her down on the couch she was talking to me as I said, "See, I told you I'd come back." We played for a few minutes before we finally had to begin the drive back to Lakeside. She followed me to the door and didn't want to let go. Neither, I must confess, did I. She finally had to be called away by one of the female caregivers and I walked to my van with schemes in my heart for when and how I could come back.

As I said goodbye and thank you to Jerry and Robin for showing us around and 'lucky' to summer intern Leanne for getting to be with them more she said, "yeah, but when you do have to leave they make it really hard. Sometimes I wish I didn't speak Spanish." "Well," I replied, " I don't and it doesn't make it any easier!" Leanne countered, "yeah, it was kind of sad that while you were saying 'see I told you I'd come back' she was saying 'don't leave, don't leave.'" As we drove back my heart broke to think of what she was saying to me, and the brokenness those words undoubtedly came from. I don't know that I can stop the tears from coming when I think of it - and part of me doesn't want to.

We were not at Niño's de Baja for very long at all but it took even less time for true love to be conveyed and received. These children didn't know me, we didn't speak the same language, but experiences like this change us precisely because love transforms and is the same no matter the language. As I played with these beautiful children, I touched the face and heart of God. They are children beloved of God, a truth I only saw a glimpse of, and it completely broke my heart for them! These kids deserve more than life has given them, yet they can run and laugh and play with an absolute stranger and put our American pursuits of happiness to shame.

We shared a common reality because all of us had been left by our parents. My mom came back though. They were literally abandoned, cut off from the ones who were supposed to love them and look after them. Alive, but in every sense of the word aborted, killed by their parents, and yet dying for someone to breathe the breath of life and love into them again. Driving away felt like I was doing the same. Abandoning them to their own private hell. But being there with them - that felt like heaven. Like heaven is where they will finally be loved and cared for by people they've never met but have loved them all their lives. Loving and being loved as a part of a family, not because they or we have to but because they and we get to...

'Strong' and 'Beautiful' is the one in prime tickle position, shoes facing the camera. Top & bottom pictures are from the orphanage but not from my visit; the middle picture is from a stock photography site. I hope to make many other posts about these beautiful children with actual photos of them in the future.