These
are the faces of the children at the Cambodian Hope Orphanage in Phnom
Penh. An abundance of life, affection,
joy, gentility and selflessness flows from their every touch and Asian-accented
English word. “Hello brother” and a
waist-high embrace is like water being served in an American restaurant: we’ve grown to expect it for no cost. But there is a price to relationship. Every time they welcome a stranger into their
world, they must also eventually say goodbye, yet they never stop saying
hello. They never stop offering their
piece of banana, hanging on human limbs, inviting us into their games, learning
English words at a faster rate than we learn Khmer, or putting their hearts out
for us to love. They never stop
smiling. 
This
is Sopath. He is the boy who would not
smile. During our first day or two I noticed
that he wasn’t like the rest of the other children. He was a creature of isolation amidst a world
of cohabitation. He didn’t seem to
notice our arrival or our departure. The
orphanage director informed us that before Sopath came to the orphanage a couple
months ago he was adopted by a man and a woman several hours away near the
Thailand border. They would leave Sopath
and his brother and sister for weeks at a time without enough food or
provisions. Out of hunger the children
would wander over to the neighbor’s house and wait for leftovers or eat
weeds. Anything for nourishment.
At
the orphanage, Sopath would wander about seemingly oblivious to the energy being
exerted and love being demonstrated all around him. The first time we met, I innocently tried to
squeeze a smile out of him but to no avail.
While he slept on my lap, an older student told me the sad fact that
Sopath never smiles. He would only speak
to his sister, and even then words were sparse.
As I watched dozens of children scream in delight around me I peered
down at Sopath and my vision became hazy.
His apparent apathy toward life at such a young age stirred in me one
strong desire for the month: to see
Sopath smile.
One
evening Sopath awoke from a nap while the rest of the children were
participating in English and Bible lessons that my teammates were
teaching. I spent that hour walking
around the orphanage with Sopath who was unmindful of my presence even though
he was simultaneously holding onto my hand.
At one point he just stopped, hugged a bedpost, and looked away. His posture had the appearance of staring intently
into a sliver of space, yet his eyes spoke nothing but emptiness. In this moment of void I prayed like I’ve
never prayed for a child before.
Authoritative pleas for restoration, redemption, jubilance, and life
echoed in the room and in my soul. Hope
and love propelled me to desire for him a grace-filled life I’ve never known.
Then, I didn’t see him for days. During my time away from the orphanage, my
teammate Will Mcrae intentionally poured into our little man of God. He held Sopath in the arms of a brother yet with
the compassion of our Father.
When
we arrived at the orphanage yesterday, the children threw open the gate and
rushed us with an enthusiasm even we didn’t anticipate. It didn’t cross my mind to look for Sopath
because he never had been part of the welcoming committee before, but a pair of
blue shorts and a red shirt caught my eye and then both my thighs. Even though Sopath re-entered his own little
world after hugging the rest of the team, his steps were faster, his movements
more lively, and his frown was missing. Today,
January 25, 2010, the boy who would not smile, smiled. All day his mouth full of baby teeth
reflected and competed with the sun’s brilliance.
As
we said our goodbyes I looked for Sopath.
He wasn’t freely giving multiple hugs to the same person like all the
other children. Instead he was about
four yards away fighting an imaginary ninja with the moves of a confident
warrior. He made me put life into
perspective. He made me smile.
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*Special thanks for the pictures from Jamie
Neumann.
