Night has descended, still, dark and bleak. All across the city, while most families
slumber peacefully in their beds, countless invisible children wage a battle with
the fear and loneliness that have become their steadfast companions. Children without fathers to protect them and
pray for them, without mothers to tuck them in and press tender lips to their
expectant cheeks. For as long as they
can remember, night-time feels like drowning in an ocean of despair.
The less-than-perfect baby lies in the same hospital
crib he has occupied since he was born.
He has never experienced the brisk breeze ruffling his hair, or a fleecy
blanket swaddling his legs, or the familiar face of a mother who whispers “Sh,
there, there,” when he wails his distress in the middle of the night. He cannot be discharged from the hospital,
because where would he go? Is there no
one who will love him? Who will see
beyond the deformities and envision the young man he could become?
The adolescent has not been so protected. She knows what pain feels like, inflicted on
her in anger by one of her mom’s boyfriends.
A man who sees her as nothing more than an irritating, bothersome
inconvenience. After the third, or maybe
the fourth foster home, she finally understands that acceptance evaporates like
dew. Rejection has become
commonplace. She lies awake at night
wondering, What is wrong with me? Will I
ever find a place to belong?
For the teenager, nighttime means something
else altogether. It means danger and
self-reliance and the rush of adrenaline when the red and blue flashing lights
give chase. There is no bed, no bedroom,
no home. She has run away from every
facility and group home that has tried to contain her, but the rage refuses to
be contained. The hurt and
disappointment of a stolen childhood are distant memories, having long since melted
away and been replaced by the ice of anger.
She is troubled and confused and dejected. She barely remembers to ask, What does
“family” mean?
Their silent cries pierce the blackness:
HOPE, WHERE ARE YOU? Please don’t abandon me when I most desperately
need you! I am depending on you to give
me a reason to live, a reason to face another day. Without you, how can I continue? I cannot image what tomorrow will look like,
much less conceive that I might have a future full of endless possibilities. That maybe, just maybe there is someone out
there who will love me. This storm I
could endure, this darkness I may be able to face, if only I could find just a
glimmer, just the tiniest spark of you.
Oh, Hope, where are you?
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Insomnia is her worst enemy. It’s a ruthless, unmerciful thief that
steals, not only her precious sleep, but also her mind’s respite and the
rejuvenation that her body craves. From
sunrise until well past sunset, day after day, she selflessly cares for “the
least of these”, the children that society has discarded, the ones that no one
else is able or willing to love. Is it
too much to ask for a good night’s sleep, so that she can have enough energy to
face tomorrow’s challenges?
Instead, as she stares at the moon’s shadow
dancing across the ceiling, her thoughts are racing so fast that they
practically leave skid marks on her brain.
Her heart is beating so loudly that she is surprised that the other
sleeping members of the household aren’t awakened by the commotion.
Why is she doing this? Is there really any value in expending her
time and energy into a child who is only going to leave, if not this week,
possibly next month or next year? Does
feeding someone else’s baby or potty-training someone else’s toddler really
have any eternal significance?
And what about this child’s parents? How can she show them the love of Jesus,
when, in their opinion, she is the adversary, the one who is responsible for
their unfathomable situation? How can
she honor God in the midst of anger, and accusations, and animosity?
Her silent prayers permeate the dark hours:
FAITH, WHERE ARE YOU? How can I diligently carry out all of these
daily, ordinary tasks without you? How
can I face another interaction with these parents if you do not accompany
me? I need you to remind me of the
purpose and meaning of this role to which I have been called. Please give me the assurance of what I hope
for, the certainty of those things that I cannot see. Help me to remember that my labor is not in
vain. The days filled with incessant
demands, the sleepless nights that plague me . . . I will gladly persevere if
only my heart could be filled with your presence. Oh, Faith, where are you?
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She replaces the phone in its charger on the wall,
and slowly releases her breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. No, she had said. No, we are not able to take another foster
placement today. The social worker’s
plea that there was no one else to call hadn’t persuaded her. She might as well have said, I am choosing to
close my door in the face of a child who needs me.
This was the sixth call in the past two weeks
with similar requests. Please, would you
consider taking the teenage girl with an eating disorder, since I know you have
experience and can help her? What about
the 10-year old autistic boy who could benefit from your individualized
care? There are two children sitting in
my office right now with nowhere else to go; they have already been separated from
their other siblings and would really like to be placed together.
No, I’m so sorry, she had responded to the
appeals, but I really can’t. Within
minutes of hanging up the phone, the grief at these children’s plight, along
with the guilt at having turned them away descended and landed on her
shoulders.
But what other choice did she have? Her spirit was willing, but her home and
hands and hours were already full.
Filled with troubled teens, medically fragile babies, school-age kids
with learning disabilities, not to mention the dishes, laundry, appointments,
tutoring, and busyness of raising children that automatically accompany large
families. She had made what she felt was
the wisest choice for her family, but in doing so, she had turned away a child
in need. Her heart cried out:
LOVE, WHERE ARE YOU? Is there nowhere else for these children to
go? Are there not other families who are
willing to open their hearts to you? The
needs of these children are so great, so unrelenting and overwhelming! Please, won’t you pour down like torrential
rain. So flood the hearts and lives of God’s
people, that they cannot help but overflow and drench the parched souls of these
little ones, these children who have never seen you. They are so precious in His sight, but how
will they know Him without you? Oh,
love, where are you?
And now these three remain: faith, hope and
love. But the greatest of these is love.
(1 Corinthians 13:13)
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