Feeling completely and utterly alone—one the worst feelings to find yourself in. Unfortunately, last night I found myself in that position on a smaller scale. Exhausted after traipsing around Angkor Wat all morning, I laid down for a nap at 3:30. I must have needed it because I didn’t wake up until 7:30. Fifty-two World Racers staying in one hotel and I woke to find none. My roommate was gone; my teammates were gone; the other racers in the rooms on my floor were all gone. I was hungry, but the sun was down and we are not able to go out alone after it’s dark. Even if the sun was still up, I was out of money and dependant on team funds for my meals. After knocking on all the doors down both hallways on my floor, I gave up and went back to my room to scrounge for munchies—wasabi peas, crackers, and a few remaining M & Ms. I tried to occupy myself, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being left. Satan took the opportunity to poke fun at me and make me feel sensitive about it.
I started to think about a childhood experience. I must have been eight years old. My family was living in the city in Thailand, running an MK dorm. For whatever reason, one Sunday I was accidentally left at the church. I don’t remember how I realized that everyone had left without me, but when I did figure it out, I made my way to the bathroom and began to cry in one of the stalls. One of my friends that was a few years older overheard me crying, and long story short, I made it home. For a while, though, I had this desperate feeling. If you’ve ever been left somewhere you know what I’m talking about. You feel disappointment, fear, irritation (with the other people that left), frustration, and many other emotions.
Last night, as I sat there thinking about that Sunday many years ago the feelings came back. First I just felt kind of disappointed that everyone had left and I didn’t go. Then the feelings of irritation crept in. Questions like, “How did no one notice?” or “Does anyone even care that I have no dinner?” started to pass through my mind. Then I just was frustrated that I didn’t have the money or means to fix it on my own. I know the truth—that no one intentionally meant to leave me; that some of them even thought they were helping me by allowing me to sleep—but my mind was tricking me.
I wonder if this is at all how orphans feel, except without a sense of truth behind it. I’m not talking about the ones that live in orphanages in which they are provided for; I’m thinking about those that live on the streets. The children that have to literally beg for their breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The little boys and girls that have no home available for them come dark. What must it be like to suffer that kind of disappointment on a 24-7 basis? And what can we possibly do for them?
