Its probably been a little over a month since he came home. It wasn’t supposed to be permanent, but he just showed up one day running from something. He knew he would find safety at the house. That we would protect him. Just the week before, he was so sick with malaria. He could hardly walk. We took him to the hospital, got him treatment, and he went to stay with a friend until he recovered. Being so sick and vulnerable, I think that was the day that my heart broke for him, and he stole it.
He’s getting older, but there is something still childlike inside of him. Maybe a piece of innocence left. Maybe it is just because he so desperately wants to be loved, to have a mom, that in front of me he becomes a child, not a young man ready to start life on his own.
He stayed at the house for a few days and said he wanted to go home. We were so happy. It is a great day when a boy decides to go back to his village. We believe in family and that children should have families. When it becomes possible for them to go back, we rejoice. So we made the plans and said our goodbyes. My heart was torn that day, like it is so many days. Happy to know he was returning to where he belonged, but sad for the ache that would be left behind by missing him. Just in those few days, I loved that kid more than anything. He completely stole my heart.
I had a busy day that day and just figured that he was happy and at home, his family over the moon excited to have him back. I guessed if I felt so much sadness over missing him and it had only been a week, surely after 6 years they would feel equally as much joy over having him home. I got home that evening to find him back at the house. He was curled up in bed. Heartbroken.
I could tell you the excuses as to why he couldn’t stay. Why they didn’t want him. But do they really matter? Are any of them justified? In one week, this boy added so much joy to my life, I couldn’t imagine sending him away or telling him I didn’t want him.
My heart broke for him that day. We just sat together. There weren’t words to make anything better, or heal the wounds that were cut deeper that day. So we just sat. Eventually he fell asleep. Hopefully knowing that he was wanted by me.
These boys’ wounds are deep. They have a million visible scars that each tell a story of the harsh life they live. But they have a million more, that no one can see. I hope that you will join with us in prayer for the ones that no one can see. That they would heal. That they would know they are deeply loved and cherished. That they are worth more than this world has told them they are. That they would know they are wanted.