There was a time when I lived by a river…a little river that fed my mother’s coffee plants and tall corn that grew to the east of our house. I remember sitting on the grass, watching my mother wash clothes in the river water. Sometimes she’d sing to herself, and sometimes she’d talk to me – and while I couldn’t always respond in a way she could understand, nor could I always understand her words, I knew that her voice was loving and warm. At night, when i refused to fall asleep, my mother would carry me back and forth across the front porch of our home. Back and forth, back and forth. Her arms would cradle me gently but firmly, and it was always soon after that that I would fall asleep. She would hum or sing softly to me, a tune I can’t really remember too well, and would keep the mosquitos and flies away from me. She was Safety; and there I would sleep.
When I walked into the infant room here at the orphanage yesterday morning at 6:30am, he looked at me and smiled – and my tiredness washed away in a flood of joy that came in just seeing him. He’s a happy baby, content really, if you just give him some of your attention.
He’s got a smile brighter than the sun.
And when he laughs?
Oh, when he laughs….
I find that it’s easy to cry.
He loves being held. He’s a lot happier if you aren’t sitting when you carry him; the only exception I’ve found is lying down with him on your chest – he sleeps pretty well that way. He loves eating, and he’s a little on the chunky side. He is currently very sick. He almost refuses to fall asleep without someone’s arms around him. As one of the wonderful house parents put it, “He loves to cuddle,” she told me while he was fast asleep on my chest and drooling on my neck. She looked at us and smiled and said, “I know that he is happy now because there are so many who can hold him…we cannot always give him that attention because we have many things to do with the other children.”
They do indeed. They have a crazy bunch on their hands 24 hours of the day.
This little one’s first memories (scientifically speaking of course) will most likely be of things taking place here at Mt. Moriah; at the orphanage. He probably won’t remember anything before his arrival here. This children’s home; this orphanage, is where he’s growing up right now.
More than two dozen kids are now his brothers and sisters just as a handful of extremely compassionate men and women who care for him and the others are now his “parents”. It is the picture of what he’ll know as “family” until he’s adopted. If he’s adopted.
Secondly, logic screams that my time spent with him is a waste. The voice of logic tells me that he is an infant, and that while studies have shown that human touch is extremely important to a growing child, it doesn’t matter if I spend time loving him or not; that he won’t remember any of it anyway.
While I may not know little Alex’s story of his life before he came here, it’s not my right to know. I have a task set before me – just as we all do – and that is to love, love, and love some more. Regardless of race, religion, or circumstance. Because love, REAL love? It’s like a seed. It starts underground, and you can’t see the Life it brings until it breaks through the surface…and as it is with Alex, I may not see what comes from my hours spent with him – late hours through the night when he refuses to sleep; time spent loving him as best as I can. While it may be an analogy sorely overused, Love is what keeps Life growing. Love keeps it healthy and gives joy that is irreplacable.
Truth be told, Alex has stolen my heart and I would adopt him and take him home right now if it were possible. I feel like I’ll see him again after I leave this place, but where or when or how is a complete mystery to me. For now, though, I am here…and I am taking it all a step at a time.
I thank God every time I think of you…yes, YOU, reading this. I hope you have a blessed day.
