.Henok.

His shivers racked his rail thin body, his teeth violently chattering against one another, causing his head to pound and his jaw to ache. Henok curled his small body tighter to the body of his best friend, Abal, who slept closest to him, feeling the trembling from his friend’s body as well. He pulled at his tattered clothing trying, without success, to make them cover more of him. If he could just get warm then maybe he could sleep. Bodies lined either side of the street, and the concentrated smell of urine was strong. Henok knew that one of the younger boys sleeping near him must have peed, not wanting to wander from the safety of sleeping in a group. Even at nine years old, Henok would do the same and allow the morning sun to dry his wet pants. The humiliation of wet pants was better than the horrible things he knew could happen to him away from the group of boys he slept with.

Men shouted in the streets, many were drunk or high on chat. Their voices were loud and frightening. Sometimes the men wandered near the group of his friends and loomed over top of them, kicking them and rummaging through their belongings. Henok had grown wise, and he would slit the collar of his shirt and stuff anything small and precious to him in the folds of the collar. He wasn’t so lucky with shoes, and he had had more than one pair stolen off of his feet at night. Whenever the men came, Henok would close his eyes tightly and pray or count until they would stumble away. He curled his aching, dry, mud crusted feet in closer to his body, rocking a bit, squeezing his eyes shut and wishing for the morning sun to hurry and make its arrival. He heard a child crying out in fear, or hunger, or both. Henok remembered how he used to cry himself to sleep every night when he was first forced to the streets by his mother’s new husband. He missed his mama, and her smile, and her shiro and injera......

To read the rest head on over here, to our Mercy Branch inc. blog, where I wrote today.

.The face of a Child.

I do believe it was the second day. It is hard to remember already. I should have written it down sooner. But that time was so raw and the words were not ready.

Jamesy was sleeping at that moment. I stared at his beautiful face and snapped photos, but it was hard to do much more than that with twenty other beautiful brown babies crawling all over me. It seemed as if all of the other babies were either sleeping or happily playing on the floor - except one. This particular little guy was kind of propped into a bumbo seat.

I asked a nanny his name. Tinsae. (Tin-say)

I called to him, and watched as those beautiful eyes landed on mine, and then to my delight he gave me a smile so huge I thought it might stretch right off of his little cheeks. I asked to hold him and was quickly given permission. I was startled to find how stiff and thin he felt, but he immediately melted into my arms. I knew immediately that he had some physical difficulties, but his smile betrayed that knowing. I spent the entire time that Jamesy slept with Tinsae, and I learned where to tickle him under his chin. He would grin and open his mouth wide, as if to belly laugh, but no sound came out. It is as though the sound would have been too big for his little body.

I remember kissing his cheeks over and over and watching him grin and grin and grin. I left the transition home feeling so blessed to have interacted with that sweet boy. He eased the sting of Jamesy's reluctance to us. Everyday of that trip I spent a bit of time with that sweet boy, and immediately began praying for his adoptive family.

Soon I learned that he did have one.

And I learned that Tinsae also had HIV.

When I read his mommy's email to me, my stomach flip-flopped for a moment, but then I remembered all that I had been learning about children with HIV and the amazing life that Tinsae could have despite the diagnosis. Ethiopia is rampant with these children. These children are passed over time and time again.

These children are passed over time and time again by believers - people who claim the name of Jesus and are supposed to be his hands and feet.

I passed these children over. There were children with HIV on the waiting child list, and I said no way. I used lame excuses that do not hold up to the truth.

I acted as though God was not big enough for HIV.

I was ignorant, foolish, and scared.

But then I met Tinsae, and I did not see HIV. Instead the only thing I saw was the face of a child. A child just like my child. A child hungry for love and needing a family.

And he has one today.

But there are so many others who lay their head down tonight and don't. They lay their head down as a statistic, but if you really look - it's not HIV that you will see. It's the face of a child created in the image of God.

And the only thing scary about it - is my response.

.Sometimes I Have to Pinch Myself.

Especially when I walk into a room and see this - all three of my children together.

It has been six weeks today that Jamesy has been in our home- safe and sound in our arms - surrounded by his family.

It seems as if this six weeks have flown by and at the same time as if he has been here forever.

The moment Jamesy was carried off of the plane, Scotty stepped into his brand new role as big brother. The shoes fit. He was created for that role.

I get it now. I get why families adopt over and over. It is because they have encountered a real, living, breathing miracle of redemption, as they are able to witness the change in a child, when love and family are finally given to one.

How a child goes from this

To this.

And I now see why I will never lay my head on my pillow again, or look into the eyes of my sweet brown-eyed boy, without thinking of the faces of the countless others whom we left behind. Starving and literally dieing for this thing called family.

The need is huge, even unthinkable and overwhelming. No, we cannot change the life for every orphan, but many of us can change the life of one or two or... And honestly you will be the one truly changed.

I certainly was.

I've heard it said that the need for families to adopt, and for the church to participate in orphan care, is not really that great. How this is just a passing fad. But I know the truth. Every night I hold that need in my arms and rock him to sleep.

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.What Matters Most.

What matters most, on this pivotal day in which my entire faith rests on the truths found therein, is not this



or this.



It's not this either.



Nor is it this



or this.



It's not even this.



What matters most is this.



The greatest story of all time being remembered - Christ, my Savior, has risen!

He has risen indeed.