I got my first REAL taste of what having your own children’s home is all about this week…
Last Wednesday, Deidrah received a call from the social worker, Mr. Opio. He had two little boys who were in desperate need of a place to live. One is six years old and the other three. Deidrah knew the three year old would fit perfectly in the home, but she said she simply didn’t have room. I came into the office just a few minutes later and she told me what Mr. Opio had wanted. “Are you kidding?!? Of course we have room!” I assured her that because Daphine left just a few months ago, there was an extra bed and room in the babies' room for another little one. I quickly brought the bed from upstairs on the girls side to downstairs in the babies room. I sorted through all of 5 year-old Mark’s clothes to see if there was anything just a little too small for him in his closet. Within an hour I had set up everything for another one of God’s beautiful creations. I was beyond excited.
Little Paul came the next morning with one of the men who works with Mr. Opio. You could tell by the expression on his face that he was very scared. His mother had died just a short time back and now his father was in his last days of life, suffering from AIDS. Paul and his brothers and sisters had to be separated and taken to places where they could stay because there were no relatives who could care for the children. He sat on the couch, watching in amazement, the children from Nursery School running around. I took him in my arms and wanted to cry for him. He was fighting tears, but they never showed. Who knows what this three year-old has been through in his short life? I quickly learned that he spoke no English at all.
I’m not sure why, but for some reason Paul is attached to me. I can’t even talk to him! Maybe because I was the first one to show him any kind of affection or love since he was torn away from his family. Maybe because I’m the first white person he’s ever seen. Either way, he’s in love. He learned my name in the first day and follows me around wherever I go. He keeps a tight grip on my hand at all times. Jehiah, my “shadow,” has become very jealous. He loves to sing and dance. Sometimes he says things in Lugandan, the language he speaks, and I ask the older kids to translate it for me. He has the greatest sense of humor for a three year-old!
I took Paul to the doctors just a few days after he came. We just wanted to make sure he was ok and most importantly if he too was HIV+. At first, when trying to draw blood, the doctor couldn’t find a vein. He searched and poked and pricked for what seemed like eternity until he finally found one. Needless to say, Paul was not happy at this point. Since he had to sit on my lap, it took all my strength to hold him down and try to comfort him. I too was almost in tears.
We sat back in the reception area with little Peter and Junior, both seven years-old, who also had to come. Peter has a nasty wound on his ankle, that has become infected, and Junior has a nice case of ringworm the size of oranges on the back of his head. Paul quickly fell asleep in my arms while we waited for the results. That’s when it all really hit me; what if this child I had fallen in love with has the disease that is the number one killer of people in this nation? What if the cotton ball I had pressed against the pricks on his wrist was filled with the poison that can’t be cured? But then I realized, that really, I didn’t care. This was a child, a baby, that more than anything needs love. No matter what is wrong with him and what has happened, this child has no one else in this world to turn to. He’s God’s child not matter his circumstances. As I looked around the waiting room at the frail little babies and worried mothers, and heard the cries of yet another tiny baby getting tested for AIDS, I held little Paul a little closer, and just prayed.
The doctor eventually called me and led me to the very back room of the office. Uh oh. I looked down at sleeping Paul as I waited for the doctor to sit down. I couldn’t take my eyes off of Paul as his medical card was read aloud to me; “He doesn’t have malaria. He does have an iron deficiency, and will need supplements. His blood type is O+, and he is HIV NEGATIVE.” I smiled. Praise the LORD!
I called for a ride and waited outside with the two older boys. I said a prayer of thanksgiving for the blessing that had just occurred. I also prayed for all the mothers who have had to sit in that waiting room for so long, only to hear that their child wouldn’t live to see their 5th birthday. The stories I have read and seen on TV all became so real to me, too real, and they weren’t just statistics any more.
Please pray for little Paul. He’s quickly getting adjusted to his new home and his 25 new brothers and sisters, his new bed, three meals a day, and people that love and care about him. He’s getting comfortable, but you can tell on his face, that there is still something missing. Every child that ends up in this home is here for a reason. I can’t wait to see what plans God has for this little boy in the years to come.
Last Wednesday, Deidrah received a call from the social worker, Mr. Opio. He had two little boys who were in desperate need of a place to live. One is six years old and the other three. Deidrah knew the three year old would fit perfectly in the home, but she said she simply didn’t have room. I came into the office just a few minutes later and she told me what Mr. Opio had wanted. “Are you kidding?!? Of course we have room!” I assured her that because Daphine left just a few months ago, there was an extra bed and room in the babies' room for another little one. I quickly brought the bed from upstairs on the girls side to downstairs in the babies room. I sorted through all of 5 year-old Mark’s clothes to see if there was anything just a little too small for him in his closet. Within an hour I had set up everything for another one of God’s beautiful creations. I was beyond excited.
Little Paul came the next morning with one of the men who works with Mr. Opio. You could tell by the expression on his face that he was very scared. His mother had died just a short time back and now his father was in his last days of life, suffering from AIDS. Paul and his brothers and sisters had to be separated and taken to places where they could stay because there were no relatives who could care for the children. He sat on the couch, watching in amazement, the children from Nursery School running around. I took him in my arms and wanted to cry for him. He was fighting tears, but they never showed. Who knows what this three year-old has been through in his short life? I quickly learned that he spoke no English at all.
I’m not sure why, but for some reason Paul is attached to me. I can’t even talk to him! Maybe because I was the first one to show him any kind of affection or love since he was torn away from his family. Maybe because I’m the first white person he’s ever seen. Either way, he’s in love. He learned my name in the first day and follows me around wherever I go. He keeps a tight grip on my hand at all times. Jehiah, my “shadow,” has become very jealous. He loves to sing and dance. Sometimes he says things in Lugandan, the language he speaks, and I ask the older kids to translate it for me. He has the greatest sense of humor for a three year-old!
I took Paul to the doctors just a few days after he came. We just wanted to make sure he was ok and most importantly if he too was HIV+. At first, when trying to draw blood, the doctor couldn’t find a vein. He searched and poked and pricked for what seemed like eternity until he finally found one. Needless to say, Paul was not happy at this point. Since he had to sit on my lap, it took all my strength to hold him down and try to comfort him. I too was almost in tears.
We sat back in the reception area with little Peter and Junior, both seven years-old, who also had to come. Peter has a nasty wound on his ankle, that has become infected, and Junior has a nice case of ringworm the size of oranges on the back of his head. Paul quickly fell asleep in my arms while we waited for the results. That’s when it all really hit me; what if this child I had fallen in love with has the disease that is the number one killer of people in this nation? What if the cotton ball I had pressed against the pricks on his wrist was filled with the poison that can’t be cured? But then I realized, that really, I didn’t care. This was a child, a baby, that more than anything needs love. No matter what is wrong with him and what has happened, this child has no one else in this world to turn to. He’s God’s child not matter his circumstances. As I looked around the waiting room at the frail little babies and worried mothers, and heard the cries of yet another tiny baby getting tested for AIDS, I held little Paul a little closer, and just prayed.
The doctor eventually called me and led me to the very back room of the office. Uh oh. I looked down at sleeping Paul as I waited for the doctor to sit down. I couldn’t take my eyes off of Paul as his medical card was read aloud to me; “He doesn’t have malaria. He does have an iron deficiency, and will need supplements. His blood type is O+, and he is HIV NEGATIVE.” I smiled. Praise the LORD!
I called for a ride and waited outside with the two older boys. I said a prayer of thanksgiving for the blessing that had just occurred. I also prayed for all the mothers who have had to sit in that waiting room for so long, only to hear that their child wouldn’t live to see their 5th birthday. The stories I have read and seen on TV all became so real to me, too real, and they weren’t just statistics any more.
Please pray for little Paul. He’s quickly getting adjusted to his new home and his 25 new brothers and sisters, his new bed, three meals a day, and people that love and care about him. He’s getting comfortable, but you can tell on his face, that there is still something missing. Every child that ends up in this home is here for a reason. I can’t wait to see what plans God has for this little boy in the years to come.
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