He was a natural leader. He loved getting little prizes and always made sure every kid in the room got one too. His foster mother took him out to the public park in the evening for fresh air and evening dancing with the neighborhood ladies…who taught him some sweet moves which he had no qualms showing off to whoever requested a performance. If you didn’t play the music loud enough, he’d point to his little ear and motion for you to turn it up louder. And, then he’d dance.

He was an orphan then. Now, he’s a son.

Every so often, his mom and dad will send me some pictures of him and his sister, adopted together from the orphanage we love. I ooo and ahhh and admire how much they’ve grown and how big they’re smiling like I imagine kindergarten teachers do when their students grow up. But, this last message they sent made me swoon. That sweet boy stood up on Easter morning and read Psalm 117 in the first language he learned. Others from the church did the same, reading the same passage in all different first languages, demonstrating in action the very purpose of the words themselves.

Exactly what I needed to hear. It didn’t even matter that I couldn’t understand a single word. They were His words and his words. Spoken with his father right behind him.

{sigh}

I can press on.

Praise the Eternal God, all nations.
Raise your voices, all people.
For His unfailing love is great, and it is intended for us,
and His faithfulness to His promises knows no end.
Praise the Lord!

Psalm 117

We knew this was good.

We handed tools to children living in an orphanage in the middle of China and told them You are uniquely made. You are capable. Live it out and let us celebrate the beauty you create and you are. 

We knew this was good.

We handed tools to children living in an orphanage in South China in a public park, before a crowd of passerby, and told them You are uniquely made. You are capable. Live it out and let us celebrate the beauty you create and you are. 

We admired their choices of color and willingness to try something new and something kind of hard. We praised the ayis who teach them to make and pointed out how good they are at what they do. We collectively marveled over how God made us to be beauty-makers like Him.

We trusted the good wasn’t finished when those weeks in the orphanages were over. We left with great expectation of good things growing, of beauty compounded.

An art exhibit isn’t the end goal to do that; but it one tangible way we get to see it happen. A few of their pieces were displayed as masterpieces along with their sweet faces, and the team of people marveling grew from 15 to literally hundreds. And, I took pictures of their pictures and sent them back to those same ayis and said, “Look at what your children can do because of what you do!”

So, so good.