As she turned to go to bed, I heard her whisper under her breath.
I hate my mother, she said. I hate her.
I called her back and we stared eye to eye for a full minute.
Child, I said. What did your mother do to make you hate her?
We don’t even know who your mother is.
And the tears fell. The labelling of abandonment and the questions of the unknown.
The profound impact on her little heart understood only by those who have felt the same.
In that one minute, fear, torment, grief, loss, and pain collide in unspeakable ways.
We cried together.
And we talked again about the few details we knew.
She was only two years old. No one knows how she ended up on the street alone.
With no name. And no idea who she was.
And no one really knows how she ended up being placed in a government institution.
But she stayed there until she was transferred to us, just last year.
So, we prayed for her mother and for her unknown family.
We spoke forgiveness over her mother for losing her.
We spoke blessing over her unknown history and prayed for a new family to adopt her.
And then we hugged and had a few giggles and she went to bed.
And I was left sitting, once again, with the monsters that haunt my children.
Every child in my care has come from a dark place
So dark, that many are unwilling to even talk about the shadows.
But these precious children need mommies and daddies.
Ones who are willing to sit in those shadows and face those monsters
Head on, if necessary.
Many are afraid to face the horrors in the past of the child.
Because in doing so, they may come face to face with their own demons.
And that is sometimes more terrifying than anything.
But allowing a child to find beauty in healing,
And joy in the morning, free from torment and fear
Is a calling above all else.
Do you dare?
