Just a forewarning: this post is about babies.
But before you shut the nursery door, know that when all of these things first started turning over in my head, I rolled my eyes at myself. How cliche for a 23-year-old single girl to think about babies. But it turns out that all of these thoughts were not just “mommy instincts”… it’s a weight on my heart, and it feels heavier than little Mercy Camba.
Much of it starts with this ticklish little half-Ecuadorian chica. For the first 5 months of this year, I took care of her for two days each week. She kept me company as I worked on my translation project, and the way that she helped me through that far outweighs the cost of her gnawing the corners of my pages. I talked a little about that in a previous post. Basically, it was just comforting to have a child to hold while having to nearly memorize instances of the horrific things Peter lived through.
Two months later, his stories became the foundation for a strangely weepy Sunday. It is also notable that two of my very close friends were adopted as infants: one from a foreign country, and another from a crazy & wonderful family in Missouri that she now knows and loves.
Somehow all of those stories came crashing into the forefront of my mind on Sunday morning. The trigger was only loosely connected: the story of Jordan, who was singing that day. Her parents had shared their story a few months ago, about finding out they were pregnant with her while in college, while unmarried, afraid and uncertain. Something about that trapped the song in my throat, and I couldn’t help but cry. Jordan sings so beautifully, with a rare and overwhelming joy. It was hard to imagine her causing anyone fear or uncertainty, but that was a reality that surrounded her–although briefly–before she was even born.
Later that day, I ended up at The Gathering in Kansas City. I think I just wanted to say, “thanks, God!” for a sweet and memorable afternoon I’d just spent with girls from high school. As the service ended, I heard a baby cry. Trigger #2… I broke down again.
Peter.
My two friends.
Jordan.
Story after story in my mind of children caught in uncertainty, needing real love. It was overwhelming.
Without really thinking about it, I approached the young couple who held the crying baby. She was a girl, about two months old. I awkwardly introduced myself, and asked if I could tell them something. All of the stories crashing through my mind came out–surprisingly quickly and coherently. (Don’t ask me how that happened. It’s rare.) My mini-speech ended with, “It is so important to me, the most important thing in the world that your daughter has you, that you love her, that you want her.”
But rather than being freaked out by a strange girl who came up to them in tears wanting to talk about their baby… these young parents gently put a hand on my shoulder, thanked me, cried with me. The father told me that I carry a burden, that he would pray for me to find out exactly what to do with it.
At that moment, the World Race ceased to be my next adventure, my mission trip, my “career path”. It ceased to be anything about me, and truly became about loving the children of God. How amazing that he’s been building these stories in my life for years, bringing these people to me, one after the other to show me His heart for his sons and daughters.
God is a Father above all else. Let yourself be Loved.
-Katie
