and by all means, be gentle.

Just about the time I think that things are starting to feel normal, something happens to disrupt my good mojo.

The first several days here, my heart was wide open, alert and alive to all the first things, new beginnings, and the uncertainty of whether this whole thing would fly or not.  But it feels like we are now over the big initial hump and trying to establish a rhythm, schedule and a return to normalcy.  And crazily enough, it seems to be working.  The last two days have felt like a long exhale.  I've been able to put in a couple solid hours of work each day, Molly has been wrangling the boy and fitting in time to make a few meals and now we are beginning to execute the plan to get ourselves home.   What I didn't realize was that in this new emerging normalcy, things were happening to me on the inside.

This morning we got up, ate breakfast and loaded up in Hamza's dusty white Toyota with Alicia, Belinda and Gideon to go visit the orphanage that cared for and nursed Gideon back to health.  (When Gideon was abandoned, he weighed only 2 kilograms and was 2 months old.  Now he is 10 months old and a bruiser - breaking scales and ladies' hearts wherever he goes.  The kid is amazing and if I may say so, a miracle.)  So this trip to the orphanage would be no big deal, just a quick visit to drop off supplies and say thank you to some amazing people.   I mean, this is nothing new for me.  I've visited gravely impoverished children and families in the slums of the Dominican Republic, made house visits to poor children in Rwanda, you know - I've pretty much seen it all.  And I was right, this visit really wasn't anything new.

As we walked in the orphanage, I was greeted by a toddler fracas and the faint smell of vomit.  The TV was blaring a Mickey Mouse cartoon and the kids were a swirling dervish of sweat, drool and cast off broken plastic toys (Happy Meal toys, broken Pokemon globes, and other unidentifiable things) but the children were happy to have visitors and seemed in good health and spirits.  For whatever reason, I tend to be a kid magnet and within a few minutes I had a crowd at my feet thrusting their 'toys' at me and wanting to play.  And play I did.  As I was mobbed by these little people, the obvious thought loomed large in my mind.  None of these 25 kids have parents, a real home or anything to call their own.  And if no one steps up and into their lives, who knows what will happen to them.  The other thing that struck me is that a number of these kids looked like they virtually could belong (biologically) to some dear friends of mine (just with a difference in skin tone). One girl looked like a Brickell, while another could've been the little sister of Sarah T and yet another boy named Mark looked a whole lot like my friend PJ.  These kids were familiar in multiple senses of the word.  There was another girl - the newest addition to the home - named Blessing and she attached herself to me like super glue and wouldn't let me go.  She and I made up a poor-man's version of patty-cake and when other kids tried to butt in on the action, she would fight them off with flailing hands and crocodile tears.  And I loved it - I loved her.  In that moment I realized that I had let another kid into my heart and it started to hurt.  It hurt for Blessing and it hurt for myself as I realized that in the past few days I had already started to close off my heart and to wrap it up tightly.  After all, we got what we came here to Uganda for  - our little boy is ours, the judge said so and all we have to do now is jump through the hoops to get home and our life can return to normal.  But can it?  But should it?  Hell no, it shouldn't.  There is a house full of little people only a few miles from where I sit who, though being cared for by some mighty brave folks, very well might live a painful, sad and short life because people like me just want to bandage up our hearts and act as though we and our comfort take priority over all else.

As we drove to the orphanage this morning, my intentions were simply to get home to the US, get back to work and establish our new life with a son - possibly never setting foot in Uganda again.  Now, I'm not so sure.  Maybe I will be back, maybe this boy isn't the last Ugandan (or American or Haitian or..) child that I will call my son or daughter.  I don't know.  But my new goal is to keep my heart open and see where God takes us.

 ***

...and in other news.  We forced a nap today - it wasn't pretty but it sure felt great!!   Molly and I got some much needed email and bill paying time outside on the porch.  It was awesome - kind of like a second honeymoon, minus the hand holding, kissing and such.  We let him sleep for 1 hr 15 mins and he could've gone much longer.  He is a deep sleeper and a mighty fine bed wetter.  Tomorrow I will see if I can get him into a pull-up before his nap.

His English is really coming along as well and his favorite phrase is "be gentle".  He is a rambunctious boy and early on when we would be playing and wrestling, I would try to calm him down by saying over and over, be gentle.  Now he's taken to saying it over and over whenever he closes a door, throws a ball or gets wound up.  "Be gentle"...followed by hysterical laughter.