Zack* has these little blue glasses with no lenses. As soon as we put them on, he grins from ear to ear. The caretakers will call him “boss” for the day. Even though he can’t say much, he knows exactly what’s going on—when you walk into the room, he’s the first to notice and wave. He’s also mischievous… recent crimes include hair pulling, pinching, throwing toys off the balcony.
Clay and Eli are the cutest two best friends. They’re always together, zooming around on little trikes or building something industriously. They’re about 2 1/2 y.o., and rock the onesie-with-no-pants look like no one’s business.
Penny will sit, simply analyzing a toy at eye level, much like a geologist examines a rare gem.
Isabella struts around wearing any adult shoes she can find. She is the queen of the house, and everyone knows it.
Addie is the giggliest little girl I’ve ever met. Every time I see her, she’s squealing with joy.
Abigail can’t walk, but has some admirable upper-body strength. I can lift her high into the air just by her hands and she holds her body up in the pull-up position. She’s also known for playfully steamrolling unsuspecting siblings during “tummy time”.
Jami has the cutest dimples and her gait is more like a dance. If I ever sit down, she’ll waltz over and plop into my lap.
Eden is the most balanced, flexible little girl I’ve ever met. She can comfortably stand, bent over 180 degrees with her head brushing the floor, for minutes on end. The foster mom calls it “baby yoga.” Her repertoire also includes down dog and the splits.
Caden is always ready for preschool because he scoots around wearing this teeny, empty Nemo backpack.
Nevaeh brought pink lip gloss to preschool one day and continued applying it for the rest of the hour. She also (forcefully) shared it with on everyone else, including the volunteers.
I could go on and on about these kids. They are rambunctious and snuggly and loud and teary and wonderful. Every day is different.
This month has been emotionally heavy because we’re confronted with innocent children who suffer. They experience pain, constant supervision, feeding tubes, rigorous schedules, and lots of new faces. It seems unjust and cruel. What did they do to deserve a life that’s so…difficult? It’s unfair.
It’s easy for these questions to spiral into the “Why does a good, just God allow suffering?” debate. And I’ve done my fair share of complaining to God. But instead of explaining the rationale behind every decision He’s ever made, He’s gently turned my gaze to all of the beautiful facets of my surroundings.
I’ve been able to focus on the unique strengths of each child, instead of his or her disability. I’ve been able to observe the kindness and patience that goes into their care. I’ve been able to breathe in an atmosphere that’s filled with grace and unconditional love. It’s seriously impossible NOT to feel the presence of God in a place like this.
If you’d like to sponsor a child or learn more about Sarah’s Covenant Homes, please visit their website (schindia.com) or contact me!
*All names are changed to protect privacy
