[sigh]
Where to begin? We always come to this point in a
trip where the tide turns and we all realize that we will soon be going
home. First we begin dreaming of what we
miss and what it will be like when we get it back. For some, it is a hot shower or running
water. For others, the internet. For some it is their favorite food. For me it
is chocolate in my coffee, my bed, and my grandkids. I will no doubt be sipping a hot tall mocha
with no whip cream and nonfat milk as soon as we land in Atlanta Airport Tuesday
afternoon. My last prayer of the night
will be thanking God for my comfy, cushiony, clean bed with no sand, ants, or
mosquitos landing on it. And by the
weekend, I hope to be spending a day with my kids, their wives, and all five
Grands as we swim, eat ice cream, and play at the park.
But from there, most teams then move to what they will
miss leaving this place we have called home for over a week now. Rosie throwing her head back, laughing, and
clapping her hands in hopes we will do the same. Sonson intently painting, after flying in the
door in his wheelchair as to not miss a thing.
Fredno smiling from ear to ear as we compliment him on his artwork. Both staff and children swaying, dancing, and
singing to Lindsey on her guitar. Little boys flying their hand made kites of
plastic bags and plant stems. Junior
catching my eye, smiling from ear to ear, and then throwing me one kiss after
another after another.
Tonight, our devotion centered on the gifts God has given
each of us and how they are special, needed, and bring joy to both ourselves
and others. We went around the circle and shared what each of us most enjoyed
this week. Answers varied from spending time loving on the kids, to working
with the impaired kids and their new equipment, to singing for the kids. But
all day I have been thinking about just one thing… or maybe I should say, just one
child. His name is Isaiah.
Isaiah is one of the blind boys that Sister Flora found
abandoned at a hospital on the mainland in April. These five boys had been
there for two years. It doesn’t seem that anyone knows any history, why they
were there, what their names are, or anything else about their situations. But
Sister Flora doesn’t need any of that to bring kids home… and give them new
names. All she needs to know is that they need a family… and she can provide
one.
But Isaiah is different. Isaiah will not wear his
clothes. The staff try their best to get a tee shirt on him, but he works just
as hard to get it off… immediately. He
does not speak either. He moves from one
person to another, listens for a passerby, and then grabs them with both of his
arms around their waist before throwing both his legs around them like a monkey
hanging onto a tree. He does it to
adults and other children, staff or strangers. If you peel his legs off (and I
do mean peel), he will still hold on for dear life, and simply follow. If you
go upstairs, he will go upstairs. If you walk, he will walk. If you stop, he
will stop. He simply becomes one with you.
The staff is trying to get him to be independent so they ask that we
peel him off and sit down and allow him to sit next to us, but not to remain
clinging on. It’s hard and constant. He
doesn’t make it easy… even after the fiftieth time. My thoughts keep going to
this: how will Isaiah adjust to life in his world? He will soon be an age that
being naked just will not work anymore, especially out in society, outside
these protected walls at the orphanage.
The movie “Jungle Book” comes to mind. It is almost as though he was raised
by animals. He crawls around on the
ground, he climbs on railings and hangs like an animal, he howls and cries and
wails uncontrollably. And yet he is not an animal. He is a child. An 8 or 9
year old child.
Will he end up living the rest of his life in a
psychiatric ward? Or will I return next year or the following and his new
environment, plenty of love and acceptance, and some strict guidelines have
begun to have an impact on him… and he will be talking… and wearing his
clothes… and holding hands instead of climbing on people for attention? (sigh)
I wish I knew the answers, but I don’t. What I do know is
that Isaiah will be cared for here. If he can never be well and whole and fit
in society, he will still be welcome and belong here. There are older impaired
adults who allow Isaiah to wrap around them for hours, or follow them around
with arms wrapped tightly around their waist, or will share their food with him,
even though he is buck naked and they are not. He is already home here. If
nothing changes, he has found home. But
I still will pray for more. All things are possible through Jesus Christ, and
it is my hope there are new possibilities for Isaiah.
So tonight, several of our team sit around a circle with
Haitian friends, singing and playing guitar, clapping and laughing. Others are indoors, sharing their favorite
experiences with each other, retelling stories that are funny or touching or
will change us forever. Others are
already in bed, exhausted from the week already given. We will get up early
tomorrow and load into a boat to go around the island to another Methodiste
Church that my son helped work on, one of his first trips to the island years
ago when he was just a teen. Afterward
we will return to Lover’s Island for another few hours of heaven on earth
before returning to the orphanage tomorrow afternoon. It is quickly winding
down… and then chocolate in my coffee… and a soft, safe bed to sleep in… and
hugs for my healthy, well cared for and adjusted grandchildren…
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