You Are Mine (China Part 8)

Friday was the most horrible day of my life. I felt the dread the moment I woke up. I love these kids. I wasn't ready to part with them.

I was prepared for the day to be difficult. But I couldn't have been prepared for what happened.

We started out reading the letters the kids wrote us and the letters we wrote to our kids. Tears flowed. Cries let out. Anger and hurt unleashed.

We got ourselves together (as much as could be expected) and went to lunch. Treasuring the last moments together, I couldn't eat. I just watched my girls.

Then we began what seemed like the longest walk of my life: getting their belongings and putting them on the bus.

One last potty break. One last impromptu photo shoot. One last snuggle. One last hug. One last kiss.

Then the bus pulled up. 

It was time.

I put Winnie on first because she was easier to get on there since I carried her.

I picked a window seat for her and sat her down. My tears were flowing, but I was trying not to scare her. I couldn't let go. Over and over I kept telling her "Wo Ai Ni," "I love you" in Chinese as I hugged her frail little body. She looked up at me with a big grin and then I saw the expression change on her face. She knew I wasn't sitting down beside her. She started crying. I let loose sobbing. I'm talking full body crying. I stood over her for what seemed like an eternity and still too short of a time trying to get a grip on myself.

I had to keep going. I had another child to get on the bus.

Juju cooperated surprisingly well and got on the bus without putting up a big fight. As I sat her down, I whispered the same thing to her, "Wo Ai Ni, Wo Ai Ni." I squeezed her tight and as I felt her start crying, I knew I would end up riding back to the orphanage to stay forever if I didn't get off that bus immediately.

At this point I'm crying harder than I've ever cried in my entire life. And let me just say it wasn't a pretty sight.

I finally took in what was happening around us.

And it was worse than I could have ever imagined.

Even the happiest children were wailing and yelling out, "Please don't leave me" in Chinese.

Brothers and sisters literally holding each other up so they didn't hit the concrete ground sobbing.

There was not a dry eye. No child. No volunteer. No staff. No translator. Age didn't matter. Gender didn't matter. Nationality didn't matter. No one was immune to what was happening here.

If I had eaten anything that day, I would have thrown up. I was literally sick to my stomach about this.

What a humbling experience to be so vulnerable before each other and so broken before the Father.

I knew what fate I was sending them to.

Was anyone going to give them hope anymore? Would they ever be adopted? Would they accept the Good News?

And how much clearer is the picture of the pain and hurt of the Father sending His only Son for us.

I know they come from a good orphanage. I know they have so many more opportunities for them than most orphans. I know this week was good for them.

I also know that most of them feel like they have no hope.

I know they feel the hurt of abandonment.

I know they feel rejected.

I know I loved them the best I could. And you know what?  It still doesn't feel like enough.

You know why? Because it wasn't.

Only One can fulfill them and make them whole. Only One can heal them from the pain those precious little ones are much too young to feel. Only One has their names written on the palm of His hand and knows how many hairs are on those sweet heads of theirs.

And that's not me.

 Parting gifts. How excited these sweet girls were!

 We would have been lost without our translators!

 Hamming it up one last time.

This is what it means to held.

"...Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are Mine." Isaiah 43:1