Where are their mamas?

It wasn't the first time our family was invited to a birthday party at the orphanage. Hanna and Sophia think birthday parties are amazing, and cake may be one of the most exciting things their 3-year old bodies get to experience. We sat around the plastic tables under the stale light that marks my memory for parties such as these. I was asked to pray for the young man turning 18 that day and as I gave a short talk and later prayed, one of my girls quietly leaned into my wife and whispered "Where are these kids' mamas?" We had sat in these same plastic chairs in similar situations dozens of times but it was not until this moment on a particular Saturday night, that the dots finally connected in her young mind and a journey of realizing that something is wrong in this world took a new turn. These kids did not live with a mama like she did.

One of my favourite things about living in Guatemala is that we live down the road from the orphanage where I worked for more than 13 years and that the kids and staff continue to be a part of our lives. Hanna and Sophia consistently ask to go visit and play, most likely assuming that all kids grow up with this kind of exposure and significant relationships with kids that don't have mamas. As a parent, I realize that my own prejudices, preferences and habits slowly pour like wet cement into the minds and hearts of my children that form tough and solid belief systems that will serve as a foundation for their entire lives. What makes me feel uncomfortable, will be avoided in my family and implicitly taught to my curious little babies as what is ultimately wrong and right. What I prefer today becomes what they believe about the world tomorrow. My instinct is to run from pain and hard situations, and I confess that sometimes, being around kids that don't have parents makes me sad like nothing else. I am able to play and joke, smile and laugh but my mind does not leave me alone for too long before reminding me of the deep sadness that veils all the fun and laughter. The hard thing is that I do not go to visit and build relationships with these kids because it is the right thing to do or because it makes me feel awesome, but because I have come to love them. Even if it becomes uncomfortable for me because of my own feelings of impotence, my emotions cannot be an obstacle for not doing what we are called to do. So, the goal that lies ahead is well worth the pain and discomfort. My girls will grow up with a worldview that took me decades to develop where the poor, orphan and voiceless are not faceless groups of people we should remember to pray for, but their best friends, comrades and equals. But there is a cost to pay. It will cost me my time, my pride, my comfort and my security.

I am so grateful that my babies are realizing today that so many kids don't have mamas and that their response to their peers' social status should be of compassion, moving closer and loving them like they naturally love themselves. So let's continue to set ourselves up to be uncomfortable; to corner our flesh in the sanctifying ring of suffering and discomfort armed only with weakness and vulnerability under the bright spotlight of grace that Jesus so freely offers. Think about the most important components of your current worldview and how we can expose our kids to those formative experiences. And if our worldview has been illuminated by the revelation of Jesus, this journey will most certainly lead us not only to tolerate and intercede, but to sacrificially open up our lives, hearts, minds and wallets to the plight of our neighbours. It's the part of the Gospel that our kids need not only hear about, but to see, touch, invest in, love and wholeheartedly live out.