The "other side" of the orphan

I was cuddling a small baby the other day.  Most of the kids in this particular nursery were taking their afternoon nap, so the room was quiet except for the hushed chatter of the nannies and the precious sound of little ones dreaming.  The little guy I was holding is about three months old.  He has the tiniest, most perfectly formed face.  His features are dainty and distinct.  Every breath he takes is a miracle.

As I sat staring at this beautiful creation, I began feeling overwhelming "mothering" instincts.  That may sound silly, but I began to feel a great sense of love and a need to protect this innocent life lying helplessly in my arms.  But in that moment, I couldn't help but think about the mother who is sitting somewhere without a baby in her arms.

I wonder if she's old or young.  I wonder if she has other children.  I wonder, is she thinking about him?  Are her arms aching to hold him?  Does she wonder where he's at or if he's even alive? Does she miss him so badly that her body literally aches?  Does she think of him every time she sees a small child?  Does she hear his cry during the night, only to wake up and remember he's not there?  I wonder what kind of pain and heartache this woman has endured during her lifetime that made her decide that leaving her child was the only means of survival? Will she ever feel whole again? How could she?

I don't know the answers to these questions.  But what I did realize is that this child sleeping in my arms represents two hurting people.  One hurting because he was abandoned, one hurting because she was forced to abandon.  One who is too young to remember, one who will never forget.  This little guy will not remember his birth mother, and prayerfully one day he will know the love of a mother and a father this side of heaven.  Prayerfully, he will not remember what it feels like to be without a family.

But she will never forget.  There will never be a day that she does not think about her baby and her choice.  There will never be a day that she doesn't wonder. 

May I never forget that behind every child is a story.  And every story is evidence that we live in a sad and broken world.  Hurting people are everywhere.  But even in this sad and broken world, there is hope.

And this hope is why we keep singing.  And this hope is why we keep moving forward.  And this hope is why we do what we do.

May our hearts be broken when His is broken... but may we never lose hope...and may we never stop running towards the Giver of hope.