Meet the Kids

It has been almost one month since I became a foster mama and two weeks since I became a foster mama to nine kids. Life has been a whirlwind for sure and it has perhaps been the most challenging months of my life (lots more to say about that, but that is for a different blog). But, this post is solely reserved for officially introducing you all to children I am lucky enough to be a foster parent to. I can’t wait to share them all with you.

I’ll start with my oldest...

Gemma 

I remember the first time I saw Gemma in the orphanage. There was something about her that I immediately felt connected to and something so graceful and beautiful I saw when I just sat and stared at her. She carries this profound strength with her that both amazes me and breaks my heart. She is 10 years old, although she has lived through more life than most people on this earth ever will. I didn’t have to read through her paperwork of how she became an orphan to know that about her. You can see that the world has done a number on her when you really look into her eyes. There is a strength about her that is forced. She’s had to be strong in order to survive. And then there is the other side of her strength that just completely puts me in awe. She possesses true joy and she has this smile that takes over her whole face-the kind where her eyes get really squinty and every muscle in her face is flexed. She is so determined, so brilliant and comes alive by the things in life that really matter. Just writing about her here makes me teary… she is so special. I get really excited thinking about Gemma and her future. The other day, we were looking at the pictures hanging on my wall and she pointed to the picture of me wearing my cap and gown from my college graduation. I told her that I completed college and she gasped out loud saying, “Natty Mummy, college finished!?” I looked at her and said, “Yes, and one day that will be you too. Do you want to go to college, Gemma?” She looked back at me with the surest look on her face and said, “Yes.”

Then you will go to college, sweetheart.

Violet

Violet is my little creative mastermind. One of the first things that impressed me so much about her is the way she experiences the world. I will often find her sketching in her notebooks, coloring elaborate patterns, creating Indian designed murals on the sidewalk with chalk, drumming on the plastic shed on our rooftop, or making anything ordinary into something extraordinary. She is introverted and likes doing things in her own space at her own pace and in her own time. She is the mother to the little ones, as many of them looked to her in the orphanage before coming home with me. One of my favorite things about Violet is her childlike spirit. She is 10 years old and she too, like Gemma, has been exposed to the worst of the world. She may not be innocent, but she still has such a childlike beauty about her. She will snuggle up in my lap like a little baby sometimes and she will still squeal with the most joyful delight when I kiss her every night for bed. I love that about her because it’s a sign of hope- hope that there is still so much childhood she has left and yet to live.

Stella

The first day I met Stella in the orphanage, I knew she was going to add so much to our home and family. I remember looking over at her and seeing her doing a little Indian dance and singing to herself. When she caught me looking at her, she got so embarrassed and put her hands over her mouth in laughter. Stella is my girly girl, my diva and my sassy 8 year old. She loves all things pink and purple and insists on wearing lipstick, eyeliner (its an Indian thing for kids to wear eyeliner here, I know I know I’m a horrible mom for letting my 8 year old wear makeup) clips, necklaces, bracelets and her best outfit to school everyday. Stella is very sensitive and it doesn’t take much for her to be offended or upset or easily hurt. In some ways, I feel like I know her really well and other times, I feel like she is a giant mystery to me. When she gets really upset or is crying because one of her sisters said something mean to her, she shuts down completely. And that is when I know there is so much more behind those tears than a hurtful word her sister said. I sense a lot of lies that have been spoken over her that have really done a damaging thing to her self-esteem. There are a lot of good things in store for this one, I am sure of it. I am excited to get to know those mysterious parts of her, to watch her experience more of the world and to watch the truth spoken over who she really is wash her clean.

Livy 

Oh goodness, do I have something to say about this child. Livy is my goofy, silly, hilarious little comedian. I laugh just thinking about her and all the funny things she does. Part of her hilariousness is that she thinks almost anything and everything is funny in its own way. She is always laughing at something and when you really get her going, she will drop to the floor and roll around in the best belly laugh…she laughs with her whole body which is a sight to see! I love Livy because she brings out the weird, goofy side of me that often doesn’t really come out in India. We recently just made up this game where I’ll look at her wherever she is in the room and say “Hey Livy! Bust a move!” and then she will do a dance move. Then she will say, “Hey Natty Mummy! Bust a move!” and then I will do a dance move. We will go back and forth busting our moves for each other. She thinks its hilarious and I think its hilarious watching her do her funny little dance moves and hear her tell me to bust a move in her broken English, Indian accent. I have a special love for my Livy girl- the way she makes me laugh, the way she will snuggle her head into my shoulder while we sit on the couch, the kisses she smothers me with every night at bedtime…she makes me feel so loved as her mama. In so many ways, I feel like she could very well be my biological child with the way her personality reminds me so much of myself when I was her age. I adore her spunk, her quirkiness and even her mischief that somehow is one of her most endearing qualities.

Jayla

She was another one I just felt a natural connection to the first day I met her in the orphanage. I remember she was all over the place, running in and out of the room all of the time and I could never really get a moment with her. She would come in and tease me with her smile and then run away again. When I went to go pick up the first round of girls, I was told I could take the oldest four. Somehow, I managed to sneak in little Jayla with the group because I wanted her home so badly. For our first week, she was my baby. Jayla is always into something new, always exploring, can’t ever sit still and her curiosity and urgency to run for something new is constant. Snuggle sessions with her usually last a minute but oh my, do they warm this mama’s heart. The other day, my nurse (aka my translator) was talking to her about how she was liking school, as it’s the first time she has ever gone. I loved watching the way her eyes lit up when she talked about it and hearing from my nurse that she is making so many new friends, is loving her teachers and all of the fun activities they do everyday. My other little ones who have never been to school are still warming up to this new daily routine in their lives and they aren’t so sure about it. I love the way Jayla has walked into the newness of this life with such confidence and boldness just because it’s in her nature to be that way. She is fearless and there is such a remarkable strength about her, even as a 4 year old. I love hearing that she is making so many friends at school because I know she is easily making her way into being the girl everyone wants to be friends with. Such a bright future in store for this little one!

Rosie

My shy and quiet little one. There’s a lot going on in that little head of hers and I can tell already that she is an internal processor, taking everything in to herself. She is slow to warm up but I know there is a kid in there I have yet to discover. I love watching her play and rough house with her sisters because she is so comfortable with them and in so many ways, it just gives me a glimpse of more of the fun, playful little girl she is. I can see a lot of fear in Rosie- often times she will just wake up in the middle of the night crying and I will have to put her back to sleep. She is learning how to trust and has a lot of walls built up. But everyday I see a little more of those walls come down. In the hug I receive from her when I walk through the door or the grin on her face when I kiss her goodnight, Rosie is learning how to let love in, slowly but surely in her own time. I’m excited to continue unraveling more and more of the beautifully complex little person she is.

Luz

Luz is our newest addition to the family! I named her online name Luz (pronounced "Luce"), which means light in Spanish because she has brought just that to our clan. She is a peacemaker in our home. Her gentleness and delicate demeanor stop my rowdy girls in their tracks and brings such sweetness out in them. She is our baby, as she is the youngest in age and is cognitively delayed. It’s been really special watching the way my girls have cared for her as big sisters and really taken her under their wing. Luz was relinquished by her mother not even two weeks ago out of a lack of resources to continue caring for her. Although she seems to be doing just fine with us, her emotional outbursts of crying are very telling of the confusing change she is going through. Despite the pain she is enduring, she is an absolute joy to our family. She keeps us all laughing with her funny quirks and silly facial expressions and we are so happy to have her!

A lot of change has happened in our home this past month as we have attempted to settle into a routine and learn the rhythms of our family dynamic. Nothing about this month has been predictable and it definitely has not gone the way I envisioned it would, but we have finally arrived and I am happy to report that this new season of life for all of us is in full swing. I have this feeling that our family will always be changing for the better this year, as we have kids getting ready to go home to their adoptive parents or moving to different SCH foster homes that better fit their needs. I am comforted by the fact that God will continually be surprising me this year and using that to stretch my vision for this home and these kids. Change is good and I’m excited for all that is to come!

Beauty for Ashes

I've been a foster mom of five for officially one week now. After two months of house and logistical preparation, many lessons in patience, visits to the orphanage and a very tiring and often agonizing fight, I was finally able to bring my five oldest kids home. The way it all happened was quite miraculous actually. I went to bed on Wednesday night crying tears of defeat and honestly feeling hopeless about the situation, asking those close to me to pray that God would give me a will to keep fighting in faith for the homecoming of these kids. I woke up the next morning, went to go visit my kids that afternoon, heard for the 1,000 time that "no you cannot take the children today". Went back to SCH, had a small emotional breakdown at Sarah's desk, prayed together, and almost five minutes after we prayed, we got a text message saying I could take the five oldest. Two hours later, the six of us were driving home together.

When I went to pick them up from the orphanage, they all came out to the lobby with their backpacks on and excitement on their faces. One of the hidden blessings in waiting so long to take them home was that we built a relationship in the orphanage when I came to visit. When they saw me standing there ready to take them home, they knew who I was and they were happy to see me. But when it was time to actually leave? They froze for a moment. They looked at my hand extended to them for a second and contemplated taking it. I could see fear of the unknown in their eyes. But they took my hand. They stepped outside those doors, this time with no plan of return. They were leaving for good now and they knew it. My oldest three cried as they said goodbye to the only life they had known for so long. And then they did the bravest thing of all- they got into the car, they waved goodbye to one of the only things they knew to be a constant in their life, and they followed me with nothing but trust into the unknown. I can only imagine the way the must have felt in that moment. My girls are so strong.

The girls have adjusted surprisingly well and have completely soaked in this new life. Our first week at home together has been nothing short of beautiful. We have played with toys, snuggled and watched movies all together on the couch, colored, listened to music and danced, hung out in our hammock, taken a walk to the park, eaten ice cream, taken auto rides to visit schools, run around on the rooftop at dusk and hung out with new SCH friends downstairs. The kids have adjusted in a way that is almost too good to be true and they have already made themselves comfortable in this new home of theirs. I can't complain about a single thing and I know that life together will only get more beautiful as we share more days together as a family. 

Every night, after the girls are done washing their faces and brushing their teeth, I tuck them all into bed and give each of them a hug and kiss. The first few nights, they all hid their faces away from me in uncontrollable laughter. I think it’s such a foreign thing for them- to have someone actually put them to sleep every night, kiss them on the cheek and remind them that they are loved. Each night as I do the same bedtime routine I see how they become more accustomed to this thing. One week later, I get more hugs and kisses on my cheeks than I can count handed back to me. Those are the moments I have dreamt about. Those are the moments that will keep me here, waking up to the sound of yelling kids playing with toys and going to sleep more exhausted than I've ever felt at the end of the day.

I’ve been surprised at my natural response after I walk out of my girls’ room every night after tucking them all into bed. It’s usually the only time of the day I have a moment to myself…where I can finally be alone with my thoughts. And when I am alone at the end of a long day of mothering 5 orphaned girls who have been rejected by their society, have endured trauma that I have yet to discover, and have managed to survive years without love or nurture… let me tell you, its not pretty. I try really hard not to compare my childhood experience to theirs because it just makes me feel too sad. One of the greatest pieces of wisdom I’ve ever heard is that “comparison is the thief of joy”. It’s so true because when I think about what my life looked like up until I was 10 compared to my 10 year olds, it takes my joy away. It robs me of it like a thief. It comes at me like a gust of wind and makes me weep. It makes me mad. It angers me that my kids are just now feeling the warmth of a mother. It pains me to think that I missed so many years of their life, the years where they suffered the most. If I really love these kids like they’re my own then I am outraged with the way this world has treated them. And I will grieve over the moments I couldn’t be there when they needed someone the most. 

I pray that I will never stop looking at my children and being broken for them. Because without brokenness there can never be any redemption. And one day, my kids will be redeemed. On this side of heaven or not, they will be whole. Their past will be wiped clean. And their tears will be no more. 

Visiting Hours

Excited, I hop into the auto rickshaw waiting outside. I am going to visit my kids. I am starting to become more familiar with the road to their house from mine. The rickshaw driver speeds and swerves through bustling traffic, the constant honking of horns and zooming motorcycles trying to cut ahead. I sit in the center of the seat, peacefully amidst it all, while still taking it all in. I steadily watch the sidelines of the busy road I am on- women bartering for their fruits and vegetables, men crowded around the food stand for a snack or an afternoon cup of chai, children giggling as they walk home from school. This sight has become familiar to me. “This is the world my kids live in. How different it is from the one I’ve lived in for 23 years”, I think to myself. My vibrant ride to the orphanage causes me to fall in love with India a little bit more. I fall more in love with the country where my kids were born, the country they’ve grown up in, the only country they’ve ever known, their home. 

I arrive. I walk towards the doorway, a little nervous to enter as I usually am. I slip my shoes off, step inside, and look for the secretary so I can ask for permission to go back and visit with the children. I remind her that I am with Sarah’s Covenant Homes and I will be taking the group with HIV soon. She smiles and gives me the “ok” to go back and see them.

I walk down the long, dark, narrow hallway. I look over at room after room I pass by on my way, each filled with small seas of children. Unlike walking through a school and seeing small groups of children in many different rooms, I cannot help but think that this is much different. This is not a sweet orphanage you read about in your church bulletin with butterflies and bible verses painted on the walls. This is an institution, operated by a government. This is where India holds their abandoned children. This is where I see the stark difference between SCH and a government institution.

I get to my kids room. There they are- all huddled up together on the floor sleeping. I am told it’s their nap time. Slowly, they begin to wake up, rubbing their sleepy eyes awake. I reach for a few of the toys tucked away on top of one of the cabinets. The kids perk up and scuffle their feet quickly across the floor to eagerly receive the toys that rarely get taken down from the shelves by someone tall enough. All of a sudden, I look around the room and they are happily playing. Content. Simple. Innocent. 

We spend the next hour on the floor. We read books. We play pretend with the tea cup and pot. We giggle about the monkey that makes funny noises when you push a button on his belly. They play with my hair. We smile at each other when we can’t find the words to say in each other’s language. I escape. And for a moment, I pretend that this is us together in our own living room, in our own home.

Then I hear the shuffling of more little feet around me. I look up and see a line of children from another room at the doorway. They’re all holding onto the shoulders of the one in front of them as they walk down the hallway. I stare as the line continues to pass from one end of the doorway to the other, one child after the next.

After the line finishes passing, I look around the room, amidst all that is going on around me, my kids grabbing my face for my attention and showing me the pictures in the books they are reading. Their need for my attention becomes greater as I get distracted with the sudden realization of my surroundings. The grey walls, the tiny window in the corner that is fogged over with bars on it, the humble straw matt on the floor where they all curl up together and sleep every night look back at me. 

“My kids live here”, the voice inside of my head speaks bluntly

“This is their life”, it continues

“This is all they’ve ever known”, and on it goes

“How have they possibly gone on this way?”, the words pounding in my head

I understand. Some kids have slept on the streets their whole lives. Some kids have been forced under much worse conditions. Some people suffer greater. It’s always worse for another isn’t it?

But those are my kids in there.

A shift happens when something becomes yours. When all of a sudden, you have a responsibility to care for something with everything inside of you because you know that’s what they deserve. And no matter what it is, or how many of them there are, when they’re yours, you’ll stake your life on protecting it.  

My babies.

And while they do not know what they are missing out on in a childhood and they do not know another life outside of the four walls of that small, windowless room in a hallway full of rooms just like it… I do. I do know the richness and fullness of life. I know the beauty of childhood because I experienced it growing up. I know what it is to run outside in green grass and climb trees and play hopscotch in the driveway with my friends. I know what it was to have tea parties with my mommy and have my daddy tuck me into bed at night. I know what it feels like to be woken up late at night by my mom kissing me on the forehead and I know the sweet embarrassment of hearing her yell in front of all my friends at school, “I love you Natalie Grace!” I knew security. I knew nurture. I knew a family.

Why me?

Why not them instead?

Beauty and gloom.

The spirit of a child and something tainted.

Joy and despair.

All represented before me as I watch my children naively and happily play with their toys in what seems to me to be one of the darkest, most depressing places I’ve ever been.

This is the not the way it was supposed to be.

All of a sudden, they are lining up at the door. Time for dinner. Which means time for me to go. I wave goodbye. I blow a kiss. I say, “I’ll be back soon.”

I get back in the rickshaw to go home. I sit square in the center of that seat again with the busyness of the streets still at play in full. This time, I feel numb to it all. The enthusiasm in my face is gone. I’m discouraged. Beaten down by the pain of this world. Angry at the inequality of their lives and mine. Burdened in a whole new way. With no flinch in my face and no evidence of emotion besides the tears on my cheeks, I cry the way back home.

Right before I left Seattle to come to India my sister wrote me a card of farewell and encouragement. I will never forget the words she wrote because they repeated themselves back to me in my moment of defeat in the rickshaw today.

“Don’t ever stop fighting for beauty- because you know what it is, you see it, and it matters to you. Even if (and especially when) its weight feels like it’s crushing you, don’t forget that it’s the only battle worth having”.

And so I’ll get back up, dust myself off and continue to fight. 

A Letter From Mom

Dear darling daughters,

            They say love can either come slowly or it can come fast. When it does comes fast, the chances of falling hard are high. Seeing you for the first time today, I fell fast and hard. It didn’t take long for you to wrap me around your fingers and let your sweet faces make my heart so giddy I felt like it could burst. Like a mother waits in anticipation for her unborn baby or the adoption of her child, so I have waited in anticipation for you. I have dreamed about you, had my thoughts consumed with you and eagerly prepared my heart for you up until this day. Technically, I should have walked into a room full of strangers today. But I walked into a room full of my daughters. You are my girls. And I love you all with a deep, deep love. I think I knew that long before meeting you. 

There are a few things I want you to hear from your foster mama.

I want you to know that my love for you is not a reflection of the goodness and charity in my human heart. You are not a charity case. You are not a good volunteer opportunity. You are not “a year abroad to serve the less fortunate”. You are so much more than that. And you are loved by something much bigger than the mere passion in my heart. You are loved by me because I am loved by God. I desire to give you no other love than that of what God has already graciously lavished onto me. Because that kind of love pierces through darkness, tears down the strongest of walls and heals the most painful, deep, broken parts of your heart- something that my sheer humanness cannot even come close to giving you.

I want you to know that I am not naïve to your pain. When I look into each of your eyes, I see so much more than a sweet, silly, beautiful little girl. I see a forced maturity, a robbed childhood, the injustice and cruelty of this world. I want you to know that I will fight to see that you get innocence, justice, and carefree pieces of childhood handed back to you. I can’t promise you a lot of things, but I can promise you that when you come to live with me, we will start a journey together towards your healing and restoration. I promise to lighten your load, to carry your burdens with you and to invite your pain to be mine, too.

I am not perfect. I will not be a perfect foster mother to you. I will fail you and it will be more than once. But in my both my failure and my victory as your foster mom, I hope to point you towards the only true perfection, the only flawless parent, your healing place and strong tower where you will never be shaken. His name is Jesus. And He will never, ever fail you. 

I pray that our home is a sanctuary of safety, security and peace for you.  I pray that when you experience the love of a mother, you experience the love of your Father in heaven. I pray that when I make mistakes and need your forgiveness, you see my humility. I pray that when you see me, you really just see Jesus. He is the best thing I will ever give you. 

Darling daughters, I wait in great hope for you to come home. You are loved by so many already. 

Love, 

Natalie Akka

On Saying, "Goodbye For Now"

When I said yes to a year in India back in January, I don’t think I was quite aware of the weight of that “Yes”. Now, days away from moving to India for a year, I feel the weight of that “Yes” with every day that approaches closer to September 19.

If I’m honest, it’s been a startling realization for me to see what I am leaving behind when I board that plane with a one-way ticket in my hand. My entire life has been in the Seattle area, in the northwest, miles away from the ocean in one direction, miles away from the mountains in the other, with family and friends always a short drive away. The longest move I’ve ever made was across the 5-20 bridge from Seattle’s suburbia into the city. In many ways, this life I live in Seattle is the only life I’ve ever really known.

But more importantly than that are the relationships that live in Seattle. I’ve known rich relationship here. I am surrounded by people that know me, love me, accept me, and even laugh at me because they know I’m a weirdo. It feels really good to know that you are surrounded by people who are in it with you for the long haul.

If I were to freeze my life right now, I would say I’ve got it made with the friends I have, the city I live in, a college degree I’ve worked hard for, a number of job opportunities in my field, and the freedom of being young and independent. I’m pretty comfortable with where my life is at here in Seattle. And deep down, I think that really scares me.

I’m learning a lot as I prepare to leave. So often these past few weeks, I’ve had moments where the sudden rush of tears, the kind that come from so very deep inside of you, well up and almost take the very breath out of me. I'm starting to see that saying goodbye, no matter what or who it is you are saying goodbye to, is a season of grief. I think the mixture of graduating from 4 years of college and moving across the world 3 months later has been new, uncharted territory for me. The crash of so many different feelings-of real fear, anxiety, nostalgia, sentiment, reflection, joy, gratitude, hope, and peace have become apart of my daily life. It’s overwhelmed me in ways I can’t even really describe.

I’m scared for what lies ahead, but I fear with hope. I wait in the unknown with sacred peace. I cry tears that hurt, not out of despair but out of gratitude for all that is to be left behind. I grieve because my life here is truly beautiful and overflowing with good things, something that won't be easy to turn around and walk away from. I feel the pain of leaving not because I never want to leave but because I'm pulling out my roots so I can plant them somewhere else for a while. I will board that plane with a feeling of loss but not without knowing that there is much waiting for me to gain when that plane lands.  I’m learning that a grief like this doesn’t lead me to a place where I’m drowning in sadness. No, a grief like this leads me to a place of utter thanks to God, in borderline disbelief at the ways He has given me gift after gift when I definitely didn’t deserve it. Surely, I know now more than I ever have that “every good and perfect thing comes from above.”

I think God has been very gently undoing me and reminding me so tenderly, “See how much I have given you already? Just watch me give you more”

For all that has already been, I look forward to all that is to come with great hope.

This Indian Heart

I would say I’ve always been a dreamer, in every sense of the word. When I was a little girl, I played with my baby dolls and dreamt about the day I would have real babies to call my own. When I was in college, I dreamt of traveling the world and a life without the responsibility of school. I have a tendency to always look ahead for what life has next, which can be both good and bad as it often deters me from living fully in the present. Consistently though, I’ve dreamed of living a life that doesn’t look normal or routine for most people. I’ve put a lot of hope in the fact that my life can look different, if I choose to play my cards wisely.

As most of you know, this fall quarter I got to live and learn in one of the most amazing corners of the world for my last quarter of college. Every day in Guatemala, I was given the space to explore, run free with my thoughts and dreams, and soak in the world around me. The experience gave me the chance to learn the complexity of textbook matter first-hand, and to ask the hard questions while they stared me in the face. It was four months of sheer refreshment and “Pura Vida” (Pure Life in Spanish), as if I were dunking my head for the first time in a natural spring. Those months felt like an undeserving gift handed to me to enjoy for my last moments of college. I finished college in Guatemala and I had the world at my fingertips. In Guatemala I had space to dream, so I did. I dreamed so big that at the end of the day, I felt overwhelmed with all of the passion I found in myself for so many different things and the varying routes they could take me on. I was brimming with hope for the things God could do if I just decided to say “yes”.

One night in Guatemala, I had a dream in my sleep that woke me with a veracity that I knew I wouldn’t be able to run from. In this dream, someone was asking me bluntly “What do you want? Don’t think, just answer. What do you honestly want?” I responded, “I just want to be a mother to the motherless.” In the first moments of that early morning in Antigua, those words repeating themselves in my head, I knew then what my purpose was. I know children who need mothers. I know they are at Sarah’s Covenant Homes in India and I know my time there isn’t finished—it’s actually just beginning.

3 years ago, I went to India for the first time to work with Sarah’s Covenant Homes, a non-profit organization that rescues abandoned children with special needs. I was totally captured by India and the children of SCH, to say the least. By the end of my summer in India, I went home changed like I’ve never been before. I returned the next summer after a seemingly long year apart from the children who won my heart over. And my heart has remained discontented apart from this country and these children ever since. 

So this September, I will be moving to Hyderabad, India to become a foster mother for Sarah’s Covenant Homes. I will be caring for somewhere around 10 children who have recently been rescued from government orphanages where they have been very severely neglected. Because of the unfortunate caste system that still remains alive in Indian society, being born with a disability inescapably throws them in a category of very little to no worth. The children of SCH come to us malnourished, abandoned, and uncared for. The mission and heart of SCH is to claim these unseen children suffering in the margins of society, nurse them back to health and wellness, provide love and care in a family style setting, and place invaluable worth on every life that comes through their doors.

When I was 13, I was captivated by Jesus. I fell in love with Him because of the heart of who He is. I read story after story in the Bible about Jesus touching the untouchable, making clean the dirtiest of sinners and stopping entire crowds of people to bend down and look at the unworthy woman on the ground at his feet. It’s without question that God’s heart is where the unloved, the invisible and the dehumanized are.

I want to be where His heart is.

I want His story to be mine, too.

            I can think of no greater honor than to love these children as if they were my own, and I am humbled that God would allow me to return to the country that first showed me the power of such a love three years ago.

God has been faithful to my wandering, restless, back-and-forth spirit. Through all of that, He’s protected what He’s placed in me before I was even born. And God will protect what He knows will bring Him all of the glory.

“Being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ.” Philippians 1:6

So here’s to life taking a new turn! I’ll see you on the road.