I am back home, but continuing to pray about and reflect on my time in India. As I do this, one little girl is constantly on my heart. The image of her rare, yet stunning smile is imprinted on my mind. The joy she brought me is infused with regret for the time I missed with her.
My first day working in this orphanage of handicapped children I heard her before I saw her. She screamed and wailed from her crib. When I went to console her, she attacked me. As the helpers carried her off of me kicking and screaming, they told me to leave her alone when she cries. Unable to ignore her sadness, I later asked one of the nuns if there was something we could do. As the nun tried to help, she also was attacked. The helpers sternly told me to leave her be.
So I did. For almost two weeks I tried my best to ignore her screams and focus on the other children.
But eventually it became too much, I couldn't stand by while she wept anymore. So I slowly approached her. I methodically spent a few minutes only standing near her crib, praying under my breath. Then I spent a few minutes with my hand on the bed, then a few minutes with my hand gently on her back. Suddenly she jumped up and grabbed me, pulling me into her crib. Before I knew it she was sobbing into my lap with her arms wrapped around my waist. We sat there until her tears finally stopped flowing.
Then she looked up at me with her bright eyes, hugged me and then dug her face into my lap once again.
We were nearly inseparable for the next week and a half. The nuns told me it was difficult to get her out of the crib, so her and I began to go for walks around the room. When she was well enough to handle it, we would play. When she was too overwhelmed to play, she would again lay in my lap and cry until she was ready.
That last week with her was amazing. Each moment felt like a second and an eternity. As our time came to a close, I mourned all of the time we had lost. I thought about how much more we could have done if I would have come to her sooner.
My fear kept me from connecting. My fear stole the moments that could have been.
While this was an extreme example, I realize I do this all of the time. I keep relationships at arms length because I am afraid of being a disappointment, I silence my dreams because I am afraid they will not come to fruition, I stay too long because I am afraid of who I will be when I leave. How often do I let fear win? How often do I wait far too long to follow a calling because it seems out of reach?
Fear has stolen too much from me. So now I will protect these moments. With a padlock of bravery and openness, I will keep fear out of these decisions of the heart.
