Grace

*Deep breaths* 

So far, much of my posting has been lighthearted, or at least Optimistic so I must apologize in advance; this entry is not (my heart hurts even as I type these words) and it's also very long. As I have said before in my original blog, I have issues being vulnerable. It scares me, so just know that when I do posts like this, I often fear that you will say my emotions are silly or invalid or even unwarranted. But since this story of mine is so hard to tell, I know it needs to be told. I have contemplated telling it for a while, but have not had the courage to do so. It's a terribly painful subject for me, so much so that I haven't talked about it with anyone. I have written about it to one person only and I cried as I did. My mother even asked me about it and I could not tell her, so I'm not sure how long this post will sit in draft mode till I can finish it.....

Now that I have prefaced, I will begin.....

Early every morning in Africa, after we had all rubbed the evident fatigue out of our sleepy eyes, showered, and ate a hearty breakfast, we would walk happily (well, the morning people walked happily. In contrast, those like me looked like a jerk but truly were joyful inside) to our first God-Appointment of the day, Sanyu Baby Home. We would walk from our hotel, down the hill (avoiding the highly dangerous traffic.....they didn't have sidewalks), by a snack stand, over some trash, and up the uneven steps. Then we would sign in and proceed to go up more stairs to the home and sweep the children up into our tired, yet waiting arms.

As a rule, you're not really supposed to have a "favorite" child (whether in orphanages or in families), but from the first day, we all had at least one child who had a special place in our hearts and who we would pour our love into for the rest of the two weeks. I had several who I held dear but one of the babies could play songs on my heartstrings for hours with just one glance:

Grace. Also known as Gracie Pants, to me anyway.

Just a few months old, Grace was like a ray of sunshine with her brilliant smile, immensely joyful chocolate eyes, and her adorable little nose. Every day I would walk right to her red crib and the moment she saw me, she would light up (I know she probably did that with everyone, but leave me alone, ok?). I would pick her up, feed her, and then we would have our daily chats about her day, her nap, etc. That's how it began anyway. As I fell even more for Grace, I would sing over her and pray with everything in me that she would always live up to her name; that she would be full of grace and come to know well the grace of God. I would pray for her future family and that she would always keep her smile.

I am not a mother - though the children sometimes called me Mama Sarah in their adorable Ugandan accents - but I have never held a child close enough in my heart to feel that they were legitimately my child. She was a daughter to me. I hoped and was so tempted to beg God that she would never experience pain or see the horrors the world holds. I wanted to protect her forever, but the highest I could do was secure her mosquito net as best as I could over her crib and walk away. One night as I laid her down for bed, after giggling with her and praying with her, I stroked her face and just started sobbing. I didn't want to leave; I wanted to take her with me. But all I could do was kiss her forehead, tell her I loved her and walk away. I don't think we were even halfway through the trip yet.

Then the day I dreaded came; our last day at the baby home before we left the next day. I held my Grace, made sure she was bathed, changed her, and then began to feed her. I didn't care to talk to anyone, just to hold her. Before I knew what was happening, our team was leaving. I held her close and set her in her red crib, stroking her face one last time as tears filled my eyes. I tried to say goodbye but she wouldn't look at me. She looked everywhere but at me, which wasn't normal. I called for her over and over and over frantically but she wouldn't.....I picked her up for one more second, holding her close to my heart. Then I quickly set her down again, kissed her, told her I loved her, and walked out sobbing (like I am now as I write) as I heard her cries coming from the home. I spoke to no one, feeling as though I lost a child. I knew I would probably never see her again.

The next day, our schedule suddenly opened up to where those who wanted to go to the baby home were free to do so. I was elated to say the least. God had provided a chance for me to see Grace one last time! I couldn't stop smiling. Well people wanted to take a nap before some of us left. Ok, that's cool. I was anxious but I understood, knowing they would tell me when they were leaving. They didn't. I looked all over for them but couldn't find them. Once I found they were gone, I frantically searched for others to go (since it was too dangerous to walk alone, though I contemplated escaping), but no one could. I tried to hold it together, but found a remote room on the hotel grounds and sobbed till my head was pounding. When I thought I was ok, I read a book outside. But not really; I just stared at the pages through my tears as I listened to the sounds of the children coming from the baby home since it was so close. I spoke to no one as I imagined myself there. I was hurt, angry, and bitter at everyone in my heart, even a little at God. I would probably never see her again. Who would sing songs over her? Who would do the right thing to make her giggle? Who would love her like I did?

Even since I've returned home, I have never spoken of Grace. I can't even listen to songs that remind me of her. It's simply too painful. Even writing this is excruciating to me. I miss her so; I miss having her in my arms, I miss rubbing my nose against hers - which she loved, I miss her smile, I miss kissing her goodnight. I could probably recognize her cry even still. I know she is safe in His arms, but I would give anything at all to have her in mine

Alright now. I say none of this story to be dramatic or to gather sympathy. I wouldn't have even told anyone except I know the reason I had to tell this story is because I truly believe that God wanted me to tell you personally that His heart is the same for us when we're far off, only more so.

This dawned on me the other night as I prayed for her. Suddenly, I found myself asking, "Is this how you feel, God? The longing to hold us in your arms and sing over us? Or even me? Does your heart feel like bursting when we're far off? Is this how you love?" I know this is how He loves.

I'm telling you this story right now for one reason only: because I know that the love I felt and still feel in my heart for Grace is the same love God feels for you and I. The intense pain in my heart I feel over being away from her is the same pain God feels when you and I are far off. The same yearning in my heart to sing over her is the same yearning God feels in His heart. Only more so.

We were orphans just like Grace and the rest of the children there. We had no one. But miracle of miracles, God's heart burst with love for us and still does today. He's smitten with us! His arms ache to simply hold us....

Grace could not come home with me, but today, God wants you to come home.

(This is Grace and I. Stinky picture of me, but the only one we had)

Again, I apologize for the length. But I just want to say that this is the last regular post I will have on this blog for this season.

Hold back those tears!

I have long forsaken All Things Considered and she beckons. But I will still post here occasionally with stories or perhaps....updates on my next trip?? ;)

Thank you so much for joining me on my journey so far; we have laughed together, cried together, and I have appreciated such good company. But hey, it's not goodbye! Check out my firstborn blog and don't you worry, I'll be back ;)