We began our Saturday morning, July 12th, by visiting the Mother Teresa Orphanage in Kigali, Rwanda. We were under the impression this was a very hard place to receive an invitation from so only 2 or 3 of us were going to “tour” and the rest would wait outside. As I prepared to wait outside, I decided to capture some of these great images around us:
Since I felt I had no personal ties to Rwanda, I declined the opportunity to give others a chance that had deep desires to experience this orphanage. As we arrived at the entrance of the Mother Teresa Home to our complete surprise the Sister invited us ALL to come in. Here was a divine appointment unfolding before my eyes and I didn’t have any clue at that moment, when I stepped inside their steel door that this single experience would be THE ONE that would totally annihilate my tiny world, devastate my naive heart and completely break me. Mostly because I wouldn’t know this until I had to leave Rwanda and even-more-so when I returned home.
We were informed we would not be visiting the tiny babies in the nursery for fear of germs, so we marched down the cold, dark, cement hall following our ‘tour guide’. The first room we were ushered into was the infant room where all the babies from about 6 months – 12 months slept. My eyes instantly wanted to shrink back into my skull, my lids wanted to slam shut and not look, it hurt to see so many indescribable sullen expressions, desolate eyes, heartache and pain plastered across their dirty little faces, these were babies with no smiles. The room was overloaded with tiny iron cribs shoved in as tightly as possible reminiscent of a child’s prison, up to 4 sweet babies crowded into each 2’ x 3’ rusty, iron crib. It took all the power I had inside not to lose my composure and just weep from heartache so profound it stung my heart with each beat like a hornet’s piercing stinger. I was overwhelmed and unprepared to witness what devastation was staring back at me, so I did the only thing I could do. I started at the first crib and began to pick up every lifeless baby body and hold each one trying to pour out this love from my heart so they could at least for a moment be cuddled, nurtured, treasured, cherished and loved like God had intended when He created their beautiful lives. When I reached the 4th crib or so, I immediately connected with an amazing face. A sparkling glimmer in his infinite brown eyes reached right out and grabbed my undivided attention. He reached up to me (as every child did ~ desperate to be chosen for a moment of love, desperate to be held) and I picked his chubby little body up and I was greeted with a warm magnetic SMILE. I have no clue what his actual age is but he was comparable to the size of my own sweet baby Boston, around 6-8 months old would be my guess for American standards (so he was probably over a year old). He had the brightest smile that could drown you in happiness just from a shared grin. He had the most indescribably captivating dimples that pierced his chubby cheeks with perfection and lured my heart in like a baited fishing line. Beyond his physical beauty that was mesmerizing me, was his unspeakable charisma that truly did me in. I gave my naïve heart to Mr. Dimples and I spent every remaining second I had basking in my love affair with this sweet little man. I could not bare to break away from him. All I have of my sweet child is the memories he gave me of his gorgeous smile and raspy giggle. Images of him mimicking my movements as I shook my head in a ridiculous fashion making silly noises ~ he instantly copied my head shake back & forth as if we were saying “no no” to each other. I blew raspberries on his cheek and he wiggled with delight in my arms. He carefully inspected my lips as they were puckered up ready for another raspberry attack. His tiny fingers would run across my lips so softly then he’s burst out in anxious giggles flashing those to-die-for dimples again, yanking on my heartstrings with all his might. He caressed my cheek with tenderness. He held my finger tightly as if to assure me never to let him go as we interacted with one another. He would gracefully shift from a pondering gaze inspecting every ounce of me to a spontaneous smile stretching from ear to ear in which his eyes would just radiate with joy. He embraced me with the same love my own sweet baby would. I barely had the strength to let him go and I didn’t know I’d give my heart away to a sweet chubby devilishly handsome dimpled little man at the Mother Teresa home in Kigali, Rwanda ~ that was never in my ‘plan’. Still, in this moment, I didn’t know I had completely abandoned my heart and left it behind in his cramped little crib for him to keep, I didn’t realize this in its entirety until it was too late. I fought to hold back my tears and a few slipped by me as our time together came to an end. We were quickly ushered out of the baby room as it was time for naps. I ache from a place so deep I can’t find words to describe it nor the physical ability to stop it when I remember the only moments I had with Dimples.
The Sister hosting our tour wanted us to ‘move on’ to spend some time with the older toddlers that were just outside the doors enjoying some play time on the cement slab. These children were all of “walking age”, I’d guess from 2-5 years old. The moment we stepped foot out the doors a stampede of desperately abandoned children erupted. I have never experienced anything similar to this physical of an encounter with the heartache of an emotionally neglected life. The children clung onto us as if their grasp was for dear life and they refused to let go at any cost. I was holding a child in each arm, while I had one clinging to each leg crying out to me to be held too. I can tell you the heart of any human sinks into depression in the face of such a massive tragedy, but the heart of a mother is trampled beneath the feet of these desperate souls as they stampede upon you aching for attention. I lost my mind when trying to fathom how I could truly love each one of these children as they needed to be loved in the mere minutes I had to do this. The kind of love and affection, attention, compassion and relationship they were grasping for at any cost, was beyond my capability and it broke my heart. I tried to be as equal as possible reaching to hold every single dirty, clingy, crying, urine soaked little body I could possibly pick up. Two little boys caught my attention as they desperately gripped each other shrieking in terror. I sought out Nyanja for help thinking these poor boys must have been scared to death of white people. I asked Nyanja to try to sooth them, as she approached them they screamed with fright and cried even louder from utter terror. They held onto one another so tightly, it was the absolute most heart wrenching sight to see two innocent babes ranging from 2-3 years old absolutely frozen from fear and knowing there was no way to ease their painful terror. Nyanja asked the Sister about the two boys and she shared that they had just been “found” a week or two prior to our visit and they spent all their time clutching one another and crying EVERY SINGLE DAY since their arrival. My heart just sank, falling onto the cement floor and breaking in agony. Before long it was time for us to move beyond this section of our “tour” and we were forced to part ways with the children. This was not an easy task. The children instantly knew we were leaving and they all flocked to us, I had about 5-6 trying to climb onto me all of them frantically crying, gripping my arms, legs, clothes whatever they could hold and refusing to let go. I pried them off of me best I could while trying not to lose my composure. It was my deepest heart ache in this moment to push these children away, peel them off me, pry their fingers away from my clothes and leave them behind physically denying them of their pleas for love and affection. I was not strong enough emotionally or physically to accomplish this and I ended up asking for help from the Sisters to take the children off me. It was simply too hard.
Next we were led down some cement stairs into an area where the mentally ill, physically handicapped and elderly were all grouped together eating lunch. It was an indescribably hard sight for me to articulate with words. I’m choosing not to indulge any further on this portion as it mostly just made me uncomfortable to see human lives treated with less dignity than our pets. It was nearly the breaking point for me inside the walls of this Mother Teresa home to take in all of this at once.
As our visit was coming to an end I had the chance to engage in a conversation with the Sister and Nyanja and for the first time I learned that the children here WERE adoptable. I presumed they were not and just thought that to be a fact of all Mother Teresa Orphanages. Instantly my heart skipped a beat as my lil Dimples raced through my mind like a spinning record. I wanted so badly to find out more about him, realizing I never EVEN ASKED HIS NAME, so I had no way to inquire about whether he was adoptable or not. I wrestled with my mind and my heart thinking I should demand to know more about my baby and yet I told myself not to let my heart get ahead of me. I had not spoken to Donny about the possibility of adoption, I thought for certain my next child would be a little girl, I thought I never had an interest in adopting from Rwanda and I surely didn’t want to give false hope of future adoption interest to this Sister when in fact I had no clue what was going on inside this tornado in my brain. YET, it bothered me deeply that I didn’t know anything about Mr. Dimples and he was just feet away from me inside the building napping!! If only I could TURN BACK TIME! I told Nyanja I wanted to ask about the baby I held when we first arrived, I asked if I could go back and show the sister which baby I was speaking of to learn more about him ~ at the very least I need his name. I don’t know if Nyanja didn’t translate my URGENCY or what happened but the conversation was blown off, we were escorted out the door and I just sat back passively and let that be the end of it. As if that was my “no” and I could go about my way content in the fact that “I tried” and it just “wasn’t possible”.
When I came home and held my baby Boston in my arms is when it truly hit me with full force as to what I had done ~ or “not” done for that matter. While in Rwanda I rationalized in my mind that I fell for Mr. Dimples because the way he looked at me reminded me of my own baby at home. Whereas I told you many weeks ago when I posted the video of the song about Rwanda; the line from that song splashes my pain all over the floor like spilt milk:
“I saw my son in a little boy's eyes”
What you don’t understand though is that those words ring true for me in all possible context. When I came home and looked into Boston’s eyes I seen Mr. Dimples staring back at me. Within days of being home Boston began to learn the same mimicking trick of shaking his head “no” and I immediately lost my composure as I cried in pain over Mr. Dimples. As I rock Boston to sleep at night and he touches my lips with the same tenderness of Mr. Dimples, I silently weep, my heart aches at the realization of the fact that was MY baby in Rwanda. Just as God led me to Zachary and Boston, my two sons ~ He led me to Mr. Dimples. It explains why my baby’s remind me of one another, for they are both meant to be my children ~ a mother always recognizes her own child’s eyes. God was calling to me and I was ignoring him, my brain was fighting my heart and my heart lost. So now I’m faced with another lesson that God has graciously helped me embrace. The grief of a mother who had to leave her child behind. In essence I have come to terms with this grief as best I can and realize I have been given a rare opportunity to see through the eyes of a birthmother. Which in all honesty is how God took my disobedience and turned it into a gift. I have learned to love my two sons at a different depth and honor their birthparents much higher than I already was because I see and share their pain to some degree. I grieve the loss of Mr. Dimples every day, not one day goes by he doesn’t find his way into my memory. It’s a loss that I chose to have and so I wrestle with the emotions that come as a consequence of a hard decision. A choice I felt I had no other option in making. Now I can love my two children knowing and feeling the sacrifice that was made for me to be gifted the role of motherhood. I no longer have to imagine their birthmother’s pain, for a moment in time I shared the shoes of a mother who had to say goodbye to her child even though her heart cried out in love to keep him close. Don’t think for one second I don’t fantasize about returning to Rwanda to find my dimply man as I know without doubt I will recognize his eyes if ever I’m gifted the opportunity to see him again. This wish upon a star dream is what keeps my hope alive and prevents my grief from consuming me. I find solace in praying to our Lord for a second chance and I await for God to open the doors and let this miracle unfold. In reality I know it would take an all out miracle by the hand of God for us to find Mr. Dimples. Yet, I reminisce about the miracles that have already unfolded in my life leading me to my sons Zachary and Boston and I have faith that anything is possible. So I’m left with my pain, grief and heartache over the child I lost, but I’m also left with my gratitude, humility and honor for the children I have been gifted. I don’t truly know how to end this post because I sincerely hope this story doesn’t end here, I hope one day to finish this memory with the miracle that Mr. Dimples deserves to have ~ a family, our family. So until God speaks, this story is “to be continued”.
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