Small Town...Big Hearts

This month we started at a special needs orphanage in a very remote village. Corn fields, grazing sheep, and a peaceful creek greet us each morning during our 1 mile walk from our apartment to this wonderful place of healing and love, which can only be brought about by Father's vision. To introduce our time here we thought you may like to hear from our coworker, Caroline, who has been here longer than us. We took this entry from her blog. It gave us a better understanding at the work being done here and the work that still needs to be done. It’s a long read, but trust us, its well worth it:

Today, this country broke my heart.

I know why I came to this nation. I know why I care so much about trying to make a small difference here. I know that I wanted to be used to touch a life or two. I know these things.

But somehow it’s different when the reason why I’m here becomes so very real.

Today was just like many other days. I spent most of it at my desk, answering emails and fixing spreadsheets. I snuck out a little early to play at the foster home. As I left our snug little environment, I waved at a group of students sitting on the steps outside our dining hall with a guitar and the chords to a couple American songs. My mind wandered to the list of fresh produce I hoped to find in the village on my way home and the items I needed to pack tonight for my upcoming trip back to America.

But just as I walked outside our front gate, my whole world stopped.

I heard a baby crying.

To my left, I saw a wriggling little bundle on the ground just beyond our main entrance. That bundle was a terrified, howling baby, wrapped in a dirty, navy blue man’s blazer.

I had no idea what to do. Stunned and more than a little shaken, I hurried back to find a co-worker who could help me figure out what to do, while our gate guard carried the baby into the guard house.

Soon, we contacted the police and the little one was whisked over to our foster home to be cared for until the authorities figured out what should be done. I sat on the floor in one of our nurseries, feeding him a bottle. He wouldn’t take his eyes off me. He looked about 4 months old and seemed relatively healthy, save a nasty cough and the mark indicating he’d recently had an IV. After his meal, we peeled off layers and layers of bundled clothing to give him a bath. Three layers down, I pulled out a small note that was tucked inside his little overalls. I can’t read characters very well, but I could recognize the characters for “no money.” (Later, I found out the note said they were very poor and had no money to pay for the surgery he needed.) A red string was tied around his chubby little wrist. In this country's culture, they believe an invisible red thread connects you to other important people in your life. This string can survive all kinds of twists and tangles through life, but it can never be broken. Tied to his wrist was just a bit of thread, but I knew it symbolized so much more. In a tiny way, maybe his parents wanted to communicate that they would always be connected to their son.

After his bath, I held him in that tiny nursery. I looked into his beautiful eyes. His tiny hand squeezed my finger. He smiled. I melted. I placed him in a crib. I walked home.

Did he know that in the last hour, his entire life had been turned upside down? Did his parents hide themselves somewhere near our front gate until we found him? Did they see us pick him up and carry him inside? How long did he lay there crying until I walked by? Are they wishing they hadn’t done it? Are their hearts breaking at this very minute? What will they tell friends and family when they inevitably ask what happened to their son?

I used to think that abandoning a child was one of the most heartless things a parent could do. But since then, I’ve learned that for many families it’s seen as a final hope. Here, you cannot get medical treatment until you can prove ahead of time that you have the funds to cover all expenses. Many, many children with physical needs are abandoned simply because their families are poor. I can’t imagine how heartbreaking it would be to love and care for your own child, realizing that they will eventually die without the surgery or medical treatment they need. For children with physical needs, parents so often choose abandonment as a final act of desperation and love.

Tonight, there is a little one sleeping in a crib in our foster home who was abandoned less than 3 hours ago. And somewhere nearby, his parents are grieving an unbelievable loss. But perhaps their grief is laced with hope - hope that the choice they made will save his life.

Maybe hope is that unbreakable, invisible red thread, connecting that precious little child to his past and to the future that only our Father knows.

I will never, ever forget this day.