They walk toward the house, single file along the thin and muddy path. Susan in front, then my friend Ann, then her niece, then her sister. The sister carries a broom. Ann carries the girl’s few belongings. I walk out to greet and welcome them. I want to throw them a parade, want to freeze time, want to call everyone I know, want to lay down and cry, jump up and dance.
It’s so anticlimactic and sudden, and perfect. We welcomed her into our home, and she stayed.
Trisa is five, and she belongs to us now. Her favourite food is rice and she likes to play house and she’s afraid of the toilet. Her mother died when she was two. After years of dreaming, praying, hoping, working, begging, crying, waiting, waiting and hoping, we have finally become a children’s home: We are now responsible for the life of a vulnerable little girl who, through God’s grace and infinite mercies, was entrusted to us. (And yes, we will get more kids. Hopefully this week.)
I can barely speak.
I spent the weekend painting bottle caps, digging up children’s books, scrambling eggs in the morning, making popcorn at night, taking countless photos and praying without ceasing.
This is really happening.
I know you all have a million questions. I am grateful for all of you, for your support, your donations and time and prayers and input and encouragement. This wouldn’t happen if it was up to me. It’s you, and God. And we thank you.