hey beautiful child, Daddy loves you...

I spent this morning with the beautiful children at Home of Hope, the orphanage where Isaiah lived for almost 2 years. It is only 10 minutes from our house and I’ve arranged my schedule to go twice a week in the mornings while the big kids are at school and Lilian and Micah play together. 

I still remember what it was like driving up for the first time, now 3 ½ years ago. Our driver carefully drove down the windy, bumpy, steep road to the blue gate. I sat near the front of the bus. Others chattered in their excitement and joy. Me, I sat speechless, eyes closed, head pressed against the window. Sometimes there are only groans and wails for sorrows and sometimes for joy there is only silence, a held breath, awe, wonder, and still an ache for the story that brought us there. This was one of those times. I silently let mixed tears of joy and sorrow fall down my cheeks as we pulled up.

Driving the now familiar route to Home of Hope I notice that what it feels like when I arrive hasn’t changed much. I still can’t quite catch my breath. I’m still on holy ground. Ground where babies are made in His image but no longer live with the earthy ones whose image they resemble, ground where there are too many beds and not enough snuggles, ground where there are too many bowls but not enough attention, too many beautiful faces and not enough tender caresses, too many kids and not enough mommys.

I usually spend my time one on one with kids, seeking to offer a quiet 10 minute respite with no competition for care. It isn’t easy to sneak away, as oftentimes 3 seconds upon arrival three or four of the ones who are mobile quickly wrap themselves around your body begging to be the one who gets the snuggle. Who gets the song. Who gets the peek-a-boo.

Lilian and I spent yesterday morning together with Micah. Both of us playfully competing who got to give the peek-a-boo to just him. Who got to chase him and make him giggle. Who got to lay with him until he fell asleep. Two of us willing and able to provide that to one of him.

That’s what happens most times when I go. I gaze into these beautiful eyes of a mommy-less one and think about what I’m able to offer my kids (even imperfectly) and what I long for the kids of Home of Hope to have.

Micah's birthday party collection

Today that moment came while singing a favorite Thompson lullaby (we've probably sung it to each kid at least 100 times. Lucy maybe 300 times) from Andrew Peterson’s Slugs and Bugs cd. “Hey beautiful girl.” The lyrics go:

“I’ve got your bottle and I’ve got you swaddled and you’re too loud to ignore.

Your mama is sleeping the angels are keeping, so cry no more.

Hey beautiful girl! Daddy loves you, LOVES you, most beautiful girl in the whole wide world.

The stars are all shining

The birds are reclining the squirrels are all nestled down

And the trees in the forest all join in the chorus and sway into the sound

Hey beautiful girl! Daddy loves you, he LOVES you, most beautiful girl in the whole wide world.

I know that moons rise and time flies and sweet little girls get older.

But then when your tooth aches or your heart breaks, will you still cry on my shoulder?

Hey beautiful girl! Daddy loves you, he LOVES you. most beautiful girl in the whole wide world.”

Today I camped out on the floor next to the crib of one of the little ones who has significant special needs. She can’t move any limbs or even her head to stop her drool from spilling all over her now wet and uncomfortable pillow. Not to mention the flies that she can’t swat away that cover her.

So I camped out next to her and I swatted the flies.

And I sang.

And I cried.

And I cried out.  

“Hey beautiful girl. Your daddy loves you, he LOVES you.”

Oh LORD, she IS beautiful. I want their mommy or daddy to sing this to them.

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world.”

Oh LORD I want her to have parents who tell her she is the most beautiful one in the whole world.

…

“I know that moons rise and time flies and sweet little girls get older. But then when your tooth aches or your heart breaks, will you still cry on my shoulder”

I want someone to be achy all over about how she’s getting older the way I ache all over about my 5/5/2 year olds. They’re growing.  oh Jesus.  JESUS!!! PLEASE!! They’re all growing fast and they don’t have parents to feel happy and achy about that all at once.

(the ache and compassion and love borrowed and imparted from Him starting to more deeply sink in).

Shit, shit, shit. Oh Jesus. How LONG?!  

Jesus. Give them a mommy who sees them and delights in them. Who listens to their whole story when they feel rejected, hurt, lonely. My Lucy, what if it was my Lucy? What if it was still my Isaiah? 

(singing through tears)

Yes, beautiful child, Daddy loves you. (The Father loves you. sees you. hears you.) you're the most beautiful child in the whole wide world.

(puddle)

(time to leave)

I tried to sing her all the way to sleep, wondering if anyone had ever done that for her.

But there were too many other beautiful ones screaming over and over again, waking her up. Too many crying for so many things. Too many cries and not enough lullaby-ers. Too many (all so important) kids not enough mommys.

I know adoption isn’t perfect. But being raised in an orphanage isn’t enough.

(And, YES, as I consider my own week, my own frailty, my own brokenness, my own need of remembering and hearing my worth and the Father’s love… As I remember all of that, I see my twin sister next to me who bears the same broken body as me and who bears the same beautiful image as me. and I begin to cry out for more than a mommy for both of us. still a mommy for her, but more than that for both of us.  

I cry out for a Savior from heaven who came. Who wept. Who healed. Who died for us and received God's wrath for us. And was raised. 

Who will return. Who will wipe away all her tears. And mine.)