I’m sitting at my desk, the lump in my throat rising, the pain in my chest growing. It feels so real to me, the discomfort over the loss of all comfort.

The safe haven in Jinan China touted for it’s bright pink and green and cartoon images on the windows to give privacy that opened on June 1st has “exceeded expectations.”

44 children.

44 children in 6 days.

44 children, all ill.

I am one who rises to the defense of parents in China in general who make the decision to walk away from their child. When someone shakes their head or mutters a “How could…?” style question, I am the first to interject, to attempt to explain with compassion about a place where adoption plans are not legal and expectations and family and life are all riddled with things we cannot understand. I believe the words I share with all of my heart.

from www.womenofchina.cn

Yet, there are times when I read an article like this and see the picture of a child believed to be drugged before being thrown from a car outside the “safe” haven that I feel like I have seen and heard enough, that the brokenness in this world is too much to bear.

There are 25 safe havens throughout China. I’m glad they’re there. But, oh, how my heart breaks to offer something more, something to make the lack of “deliveries” exceed expectations. How I wish I could serve right there at the door and offer counsel…something…something to make things different. I’m not sure it would matter in the long run when I would leave and they have everyday in front of them.

I feel the lump in my throat again. And, feel glad for once that I can’t speak Mandarin because I know that watching and actually understanding the language in this news clip would likely incite me more and make this lump something else entirely.

I met her in March, a shy little girl with beautiful braids someone painstakingly created each morning.

Find her a family. She’s very clever.

She sang me a song, recited a poem, and did math problems aloud at her ayi’s command. Her presentation ended in a stream of tears, her sweet spirit anxious at having to perform and prove her cleverness for a foreigner. I took noted and promised I’d try. But, by the end of the week, a scurry and buzz among the working staff at my mention of her name revealed that they had just learned that day she had a family afterall.

Four months later, I got a message in my inbox:

When you were serving at the orphanage, did you happen to meet this little girl?

Instead of me finding a family for HY, her family had found me. We spoke on the phone, and I talked until my throat was sore, sharing all I could about their sweet little sparrow and the place that was her home. They thanked me over and over and said I was blessing them. I went to bed happy that night feeling like all was well with the world.

When I returned a few months later, last month, I brought something with me, a special delivery made out of photos and paper that I carried like it was precious treasure. This time, instead of HY giving me a presentation, I had a presentation of my own for her.

On Tuesday afternoon, I pulled that treasure out of my bag and with trembling hands and voice handed it to my dear friend.

Mama. Baba. Jie Jie. Jie Jie. Ge Ge. Di Di.

Her eyes got big as she pulled the photos close. Her first reaction of quiet turned into words, and she echoed me.

Mama. Baba. Jie Jie. Jie Jie. Ge Ge. Di Di.

and again.

Mama. Baba. Jie Jie. Jie Jie. Ge Ge. Di Di.

She smile a smile like none I had ever seen before and looked up at her ayi and said:

I miss my Mama.

She owned the moment and breathed in the joy herself at the realization that her family was coming for her.

Lucy Joy. Your name is Lucy.

The same buzz and scurrying I had seen in March ensued and I could her her name repeated over and over as if in an angelic chorus. Lucy. Lucy. Lucy. 

And, then she said it herself.

Lucy.

Her spirit sighed as her very breath formed the word of her name—Lucy. 

It was now her turn to scurry and flutter around, showing giggling staff and admiring friends her new family and telling them her name—Lucy! Lucy! Lucy! 

They shared her celebration with thumbs up and pats on the back. Children still waiting jumped up and down for her. Children who would never have that moment themselves hugged her and told her how beautiful her mother was.

It was a highlight of my last trip, an experience I will never forget, one I have told my children about and one I’ll tell my children’s children about. It was the day I got to stand in the gap in the sacred place of transition for a little girl who was moving from an orphan with little hope of a future to a beloved daughter. It was the day God showed me a glimpse of what selfless love looks like as orphans celebrated their friend’s story with genuine joy that she was no longer alone even they will remain.

Lucy Joy. 

You’re almost home, precious girl. They’re coming for you.

note:

story and photos all shared with permission

from Lucy’s mama

who now has her home!