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.

Easily Touched

I wish I had the self-respect or the machismo - is that the understanding? - to pretend I didn't have an emotional bone in my body. But the wonderful fact is that I am both a man of sport and mud and sweat and work, and a man of tender love and compassion and sympathy and attempts at vulnerability and transparency. When did we, as a culture and as a world, buy into the lie that a man is cold and calculating, not allowing emotions or care to 'negatively' influence steely-willed rational thought? Unfortunately, this is about the furthest thing from a man you can find.

Men need to strike out again as the providers, conquerors, lovers, and dreamers God created us to be. (As a brief caveat, I wish to address that I don't at all suggest that men need to finally get in touch with their "feminine sides." This man does not believe that men have feminine sides - we have the God-endowed capacity to practice godly masculinity, which includes a sensitivity and compassion that is suited to caring for others, and especially women as the precious treasures they are. Without this sensitivity, men are lacking the full expression of the nature given to them. Women, also, can be instrumental in helping us learn to exercise this strength.) We have for too long allowed these beautiful qualities to be bastardized by selfishness, weakness, fear, and comfort. And I'm not talking about returning to a time when women had their male-prescribed roles to fill so the men in their lives can rule with an iron fist and a pot belly. What I am talking about is this:

1. A man who works his butt off, with a heart to provide for those in his charge, even if his wife still has to work (or wants to). I despise those lazy jaggamoes who let their woman go work their butts off so they can eat and play video games and ignore even the work that needs to be done around the house. SHAME on you!
2. A man who will fight for his family and his children and everyone's well-being at the sacrifice of himself - just like the men on the Titanic that willingly went to their deaths to get as many women and children on the boats as possible. These men don't give up when love gets hard, when raising kids becomes thankless, and when doing the right thing means they'll suffer for it. They fight. And if they screwed up in the past, they make amends, take their earned lumps, and move forward. I despise those selfish jaggamoes who think they deserve to be happy at the expense of others, and deserve to reject those they've previously made commitments to - either through marriage, steady relationship, or creating a child - in favor of someone or something new. You're not a man; you're a little boy with the puberty-granted ability to make babies. SHAME on you!
3. A man who will love a woman as Jesus loved the Church and gave Himself over to death for her. A man who sacrificially loves a woman as he loves himself, providing for and nourishing her above all else - showing that kind of love to the children under you can break down walls and destroy decades of familial curses passed through the ages. I despise those selfish jaggamoes who love only when it's convenient, and consider that love does not include doing the dishes, laundry, child duty, apologizing when you're in the wrong, compromising for the sake of these relationships, spiritually leading those God has placed in your care, and prioritizing your nuclear family above all other relationships in your life. SHAME on you!
   
4. A man who dreams a better way for his family and takes risks to provide and nourish them. I despise those selfish jaggamoes who spend more time thinking about themselves than about the ones they claim to love and care for. SHAME on you!

Now, for a moment of clarity and truth, at times I have been each of these men I despise. I don't consider myself as being through the rough waters and smooth sailing from here on out. I know it takes work each and every day, for the rest of my life, but I'm not the kind of man that wants to shrink back from the struggle. I've been a boy, I've been a guy, and a man is better by far.

Where did all this come from? Nothing dramatic or personal, in the strict sense of the word, but a commercial. A commercial I've watched before, I've posted on Facebook, and I have successfully wept over each time I saw it. I don't mean waterfalls or anything, just that tear of recognition over something beautiful, sneaking out the corner of my right eye (and it doesn't hurt that there's an adorable young girl in it that ignites this father's heart to give Jace a little sister). A commercial done by someone in the UK, this commercial:

So why share it? Because I'm a man. And I'm not afraid to share it. All of it.