Little Miracles
Today we celebrate the birthday of 4 of my nieces. Happy 7th to Tessa, Kaylee, Tysen, and Kenzi! Where did the time go???
As we celebrate these 4 little miracles, I can't help but think of the 27 miracles that Randy and I were lucky enough to spend time with last week at the orphanage in San Felipe, Mexico. To cook for and love on, to play with and pray with.
Lupita, Mia, Jesus, Brian, Lorenzo, Amber, Alexa, Carime, Juliet, Christian, Isaac, Natalie, Rene... they too are miracles. Little miracles who love to chase each other around the playground, sing and dance, cook in their play kitchen and color, just like my nieces.
Only without the security of a mother and father.
These kids are lucky to have been placed in this particular orphanage, the best in San Felipe, perhaps in all of Mexico. It is a place full of love and care, comfort and cleanliness, nutrition and nurture.
But is that enough?
One of the regular volunteers, Julie (who invited us on this trip), made up a game with the kids. And they taught it to me. It is a very simple game. One person says the name of an animal, while the other person acts out that animal on the first person's back, head or arms.
For example, if Natalie says to me: "gato," I would kneed her back like a cat making dough. Or Isaac might say: "serpiente," and I would draw snakes up and down his arms.
The game is silly and fun for the kids, but designed by Julie as an intentional way to show love through safe, physical touch.
Each day these kids are hugged and kissed on the cheek by the Mamas and Papas who live there, and the younger kids are loved on by the older ones. But with 27 kids, and the number likely to increase all the time, you have to wonder if it is enough. Is it enough for them to thrive? Particularly for the youngest ones.
On our last afternoon at the orphanage I was playing the animal game with Amber. She has only been at the orphanage for 6 months, and is a chatty, high energy child. While the rest of the kids were settling down before dinner, watching Team Umi Zoomi, Amber and I sat off to the side, going through our animals.
"Gato."
"Perro."
"Serpiente."
I kept prodding her for more: "Que mas?" and what's next: "La proxima?"
"Elephante."
"Tigre."
As we celebrate these 4 little miracles, I can't help but think of the 27 miracles that Randy and I were lucky enough to spend time with last week at the orphanage in San Felipe, Mexico. To cook for and love on, to play with and pray with.
Lupita, Mia, Jesus, Brian, Lorenzo, Amber, Alexa, Carime, Juliet, Christian, Isaac, Natalie, Rene... they too are miracles. Little miracles who love to chase each other around the playground, sing and dance, cook in their play kitchen and color, just like my nieces.
Only without the security of a mother and father.
These kids are lucky to have been placed in this particular orphanage, the best in San Felipe, perhaps in all of Mexico. It is a place full of love and care, comfort and cleanliness, nutrition and nurture.
But is that enough?
One of the regular volunteers, Julie (who invited us on this trip), made up a game with the kids. And they taught it to me. It is a very simple game. One person says the name of an animal, while the other person acts out that animal on the first person's back, head or arms.
For example, if Natalie says to me: "gato," I would kneed her back like a cat making dough. Or Isaac might say: "serpiente," and I would draw snakes up and down his arms.
The game is silly and fun for the kids, but designed by Julie as an intentional way to show love through safe, physical touch.
Each day these kids are hugged and kissed on the cheek by the Mamas and Papas who live there, and the younger kids are loved on by the older ones. But with 27 kids, and the number likely to increase all the time, you have to wonder if it is enough. Is it enough for them to thrive? Particularly for the youngest ones.
On our last afternoon at the orphanage I was playing the animal game with Amber. She has only been at the orphanage for 6 months, and is a chatty, high energy child. While the rest of the kids were settling down before dinner, watching Team Umi Zoomi, Amber and I sat off to the side, going through our animals.
"Gato."
"Perro."
"Serpiente."
I kept prodding her for more: "Que mas?" and what's next: "La proxima?"
"Elephante."
"Tigre."
"Caballo."
And then she added one that just broke my heart:
"Mi madre."
My mother.
I caught my breath. What does her mom say? What does a mother's touch feel like? I'm not a mom, how should I know?
"I'm not a mom" may be something I wrestle with on my own time, but it wasn't important in this moment. (It's not like I'm a cat or a horse either, right?!) In the moment all that really mattered was: what does Amber need to hear? to feel? to know?
I caught my breath. What does her mom say? What does a mother's touch feel like? I'm not a mom, how should I know?
"I'm not a mom" may be something I wrestle with on my own time, but it wasn't important in this moment. (It's not like I'm a cat or a horse either, right?!) In the moment all that really mattered was: what does Amber need to hear? to feel? to know?
So I wrapped my arms around her and, rocking side to side, said, "Te amo. Te amo mucho. Te amo todos los dias. Siempre." I love you. I love you lots. I love you every day. Always.
Part of my heart will always be in San Felipe with these kids. As Rand and I discern where and what God is calling us to next, I will certainly be holding these kids in my heart. And as beautiful as it is that they have created a family, a home at the orphanage in San Felipe, I long for more for each of them. To know an even greater love. To know security. To know that they are each a miracle.
Part of my heart will always be in San Felipe with these kids. As Rand and I discern where and what God is calling us to next, I will certainly be holding these kids in my heart. And as beautiful as it is that they have created a family, a home at the orphanage in San Felipe, I long for more for each of them. To know an even greater love. To know security. To know that they are each a miracle.
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