Archives for August 2011
Heartbreaking
“thriving, underground child trafficking market in China.” Heartbreaking.
About 3 weeks ago in southern China, 369 people were arrested for their involvement in child trafficking. When the arrests were made, 89 infants were rescued, some only a few days old, many of them drugged with sleeping pills to keep them quiet maybe while they moved them to the next location, maybe to make them more “marketable” (you know, buyers might want sweetly sleeping babies). I don’t know. I wonder how they got those 89 babies. 89. If it had been just 1 child, it would be sad. But, 89? 89 very tragic stories that represent too many more. Like more than 20,000 more every year, some say that more like 70,000 a year. Regardless, the total current number is into the millions. Millions. Heartbreaking.
There’s a website a Chinese parent started–Baobeihuijia.com–it literally means “Baby Come Home.” It’s dedicated to finding lost children. 3,000 families are registered there–such a small number in comparison to so many missing. Every post there is given an id number, and the parent enters information about the children they are looking for, what they were wearing, where they were lost. It’s not a regular stop of mine. But, it’s sobering when I do visit. A boy who was taken in 1990 at 2 years old. His mother says “still the tears flow.” A girl who went out to play and never came back. The parents haven’t stopped looking for her in 20 years. Some went missing more recently. Some have pictures. Some, instead, have a little cartoon illustration so typical of so many you see in China. I wonder if those families don’t want their child’s picture posted online, if they don’t know how to post the picture, or if they don’t even have a picture.
One ad in particular someone posted elsewhere online caught my attention. A family looking for their daughter. She was born July 2, 2005. And, 6 weeks later, on August 12th, she didn’t go missing; she was left by her parents. Google translate wasn’t cutting it for me. So, I had Helen translate the post for me.
The baby had heart disease. We had spent all our savings and wanted the society to take care of her. We felt so bad in our hearts. We went to several hospitals, and the doctors couldn’t help with it and asked us to change to other hospitals. So, we left her at the gate of a bar and called 110 [China’s 911]. After we saw the emergency medical staff take her to the hospital, we went back. We left her a note and bottle supplies. We felt so regretful and haven’t sleep well since then.
Her name is Mei Jun, meaning “an ordinary beauty.” She should be just over 6 years old now. I’m sure she was taken to the local orphanage in Yunnan province. After some time there, she may have been adopted. Today, she might be jumping into some pool somewhere with a big scar on her chest from lifesaving heart surgery. Or, not. She simply may not have lived long enough to be adopted. Or, the orphanage staff may not have seen her as healthy enough to even make her paper ready to be adopted. Her birth family may never know. I wonder how their hearts can be healed. Heartbreaking.
Part of me wishes I could go find them and listen to their heartache first hand. Maybe I could tell them about Lydia, show them a picture of her big smile–the one when her nose scrunches up and her eyes disappear. Maybe her story would bring them hope. And, maybe I could talk to them a little about grace, forgiveness, healing, and peace and how Someone I know who is in the business of healing broken hearts.
Wondering
I read an article–no, not an article, just a short announcement really–on a Chinese website that showed this precious bundle.
Look at the feet of the people looking around at her. I count at least 5 people there when someone snapped this picture using their cell phone no doubt. She was found during what we’d call “rush hour,” though I’m tempted to say that nearly every hour in a busy Chinese city seems like “rush hour.” So, these are the 5 who lingered long enough to be captured in this photo. I wonder if they saw someone carrying this box to this place and gently setting it down to then turn and walk away, but they didn’t even realize it. Maybe someone saw someone holding the bundle and a bag full of what the birth family clearly carefully considered they’d leave with her–it clearly took some careful consideration just by the sight of it and what you don’t see is that there was a fairly large amount of money left with her as well. I wonder if any passerby smiled at the person as they set out for this particular spot, giving that silent gesture of, “awww, what a sweet child.” If so, I wonder if the person bringing the little girl there even saw the smiles or if he or she was simply on a mission to complete what they felt must be done and never noticed even a glance. I wonder if when she was silently sleeping and everything was placed just right, if the person bringing her there paused. I wonder if he or she paused, simply paused to admire her again before turning away, walking away…maybe running away. I wonder if he or she watched from a safe distance. I wonder if he or she saw when she was first found, when someone snapped a picture.
It wasn’t long ago that I read the announcement and took pause when I saw the picture of an unidentified child whose identity someone tried to protect by hiding her eyes. But, I guess it’s long enough ago now that the announcement is no longer posted. The original link doesn’t even work. Just sort of fits with the rest of the story. Even her finding can no longer be found.
Quite Possibly My Least Favorite Day of the Year
Remember that old commercial with the father pushing the cart down the shopping aisles as he smiled and nearly danced, loading up his cart with lined paper, highlighters, glue sticks, and the like with “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” playing?
I’m all for office supplies. In fact, I pretty much love office supplies. Who doesn’t get a little giddy about pocket folders and binders? The smell of freshly sharpened pencils. Opening up a new box of crayons with all the tips in tact. Opening up all the packages and organizing them in plastic cases and sliding them into little pencil holder pockets in backpacks. Now, that’s a good time.
But, today, I wasn’t singing. Because we weren’t shopping for school supplies today. We were shopping for school shoes. And, I hate shopping for school shoes.
This is pretty much how it has always gone down – me with 3 or 4 (now) children who think the kids’ shoe store and their nifty train set up is their playground. It takes 15 minutes just to measure them all. I’m already sweating at this point. “Evan, find a pair you want to try on. No, Ashlyn, you need sneakers, everyday shoes, not pink glitter sparkle shoes. Yes, they’re pretty, but no. Drew, put the gummy dinosaur back, and please choose some shoes to try on.” Evan finds a pair he likes. They cost more than my bridesmaids dresses did. I coach him towards another pair. He doesn’t like them. They don’t have Ashlyn’s size. They have to order them. Drew can’t decide between 3 pairs. Every shoe is either too tight, too heavy, too stiff, too “I don’t know” for Evan. And, now, add in the complexity that Lydia’s teeny toes are so teeny that real shoes are not easy to find. I call Mark to have him look at shoes online and try to engage him in these very significant decisions. He humors me and acts like he cares (for a few minutes at least), simply choosing the cheapest and trying to convince me that they are the best. I come home needing either a caffeinated coffee or a nap…but hopefully with some shoes in tow…or “toe.”
So, today was the day. Shoe shopping. Ugh. Mark took a day off to study and work on some messages he’s giving over Labor Day weekend. Perfect opportunity (if there is such a thing) to head out shopping sans Lydia while she napped.
Having snagged a pair of silver Geox sneakers last week at about 60% off (sweet!) for Ashlyn which she loves, I was already ahead of the game. One pair down and one kid less put me at an advantage. Mr. Easy-to-Please Drew found 4 pairs right away that he wanted to try on. His favorites were not my favorites – a little bit more shiny silver than I was hoping for. But, my coaching towards the more dull pair still left him feeling like they were, well, dull. Fine. Whatever. I’m letting him get the ones he wants. The price was fine. And, the style name is “Pre Galaxy 4” which got a high pitched “AWESOME” out of Drew. That’s two pairs down.
Now, Evan. With now a size 3.5 shoe, I did not realize that we had an added handicap this year. He wanted shoes with aliens, futuristic shoes, something that glowed, something that lit up, and definitely no laces to tie. Not. Happening. We looked. We tried on. Everything he liked stopped at a 3. Everything I suggested got a blank stare from him. Finally, a pair that he thinks looks futuristic enough, and I think is actually quite nice. They don’t have 3.5, but they can get it. But, when they go to order it, they are completely out of stock as are all their stores in the whole stinkin’ country. Back to the shoe display with a very frustrated 9 year old complaining that this is taking too long and two other kids who are now tunneling under chairs and pretending shoe horns are guns. I’m now sweating. I convince Evan to try on a couple more pairs but he doesn’t like them or they are too tight or “they rub me wrong right here.” One more pair to try on. And, they are obnoxious a bit bold for my taste. And, he likes them. He is prancing around in them saying, “Yeah, I like these. These are good. They look futuristic. They look like fire. And, the bottoms are so cool.” And, of course, they are the most expensive sneakers there. And, I said, “Great! They are super cool. I love them, and Daddy is going to totally love them!” And, I bought them. So, Evan is now the proud new wearer of these shoes named Speed that he has renamed Galaxy 9.