My dining room table holds packages of different colors, some fun little pieces of China laying there looking slightly out of place, some things still wrapped in paper covered in a language I do not understand. A few empty bags and trash still sit on a chair. My open suitcase lays on the floor, some laundry still in it, some already in the washer, and some in a basket waiting in the basement. A quiet stack of unopened mail that has been growing taller over the last two weeks sits in there too, losing the competition for my attention.

Home less than 24 hours and my dining room looks more like my heart than my home tonight. Some experiences are clearly communicated, out there for others to see. Some get it; some don’t. They don’t really fit in with daily life here, I know. But, I can’t get myself to put them away. Other experiences are wrapped up carefully still. Maybe they’ll be unwrapped and shared in the days to follow; maybe I’ll tuck them away for a while since I carried these fragile things all over China, carefully securing them to protect them. Either way, they’re wrapped up in paper covered in a language I don’t understand and am struggling to make sense of. My heart is opened wide with pieces strewn about, and I’m home.

Home with a 5 year old girl laying on a floor near me now who is sick tonight. Her head is burning hot and she’s thrown up more than I thought her tiny tummy could hold. She is sick, but she has a mommy and daddy by her makeshift bedside, moved to a new place simply to be closer to the us so we will wake at the sound of any rustling or whimpers tonight. Perhaps I’m unwrapping some of those fragile treasures in my heart already as I remember. While I touch Lydia’s cheeks and pray over her, I am picturing touching other cheeks and placing my hand on other dark haired heads who likely were cribmates with my daughter and praying.

I am home tonight. My daughter is home, needing me and I’m happy to oblige and give her all I can. Praying for more homes, more sons and daughters and for His help as I unpack my heart.

I’m munching on a granola bar on my lunch break, listening to the bustling sounds of the city outside and the conversation of car horns. I should be resting after another morning at the orphanage this morning. But, all I can think about as I eat my snack are the little ones gathered around me this morning like ducks as I handed out little pieces of cracker. I hear their sweet voices still. Sitting on the cold floor I tried to teach them to say please. Seemed like the natural thing to do though it seems sort of funny when I picture them in their very Chinese puffy pants with bare bottoms peeking out.

Say please!

Peez. Peez. Peez.

Little hands all over me wanting those little seasoned crackers.
Then, one little guy looked me right in the eye and gave me a very clear response from the little lesson I had given an hour earlier over cups of powdered milk.

Tank you!

He got it! So simple really and seemingly nothing all that special. But, he got it. It wasn’t at all about teaching him English. He has no need for that right now. But, it meant that I had broken through, that despite the language barrier, my exaggerated animation that leaves me exhausted by 7:30pm had worked. He understood me and engaged with me. That little response that led me to look around at the ayis as I searched for someone to applaud with me, that little response alone would make this trip worthwhile for me.

I’ve got a feeling I’m going to have a lot more worthwhile moments before the end of this trip.