I've written here so many times about missing home and the change and transitions I am constantly going through as I live my life apart from the many that I love back in the States.
But, I often forget that this place is often nothing like home for our kids either. Our kids were brought here as orphans or abandoned or trafficked children, taken from villages that they know and understand, to a place that is almost a third culture. It is different. It's not "home" in many ways. They miss their homes and what is left of their families (no matter how they were treated) and they mourn the moments they miss, too.
This afternoon, our girl Evelyn came to me in tears. Her teacher had said that she'd been crying all day and he couldn't console her.
At first, she started talking and I couldn't understand her through her sobs. I thought maybe she was talking about someone taking something from her and she was mad about it.
But eventually, I heard the words "brother" and later "I just miss home".
And so I held her. 15 years old. Missing home.
I can't imagine.
I'm twice her age. And I miss home. I have a hard time controlling my emotions and figuring things out. I can't imagine how hard it must be for her.
When Evelyn was brought here, she left behind her brothers, though she didn't live with them for much of her life.
The past few nights, she's been experiencing dreams where her brothers are killed. She keeps waking up afraid. And she mourns the relationship that isn't there.
And I mourn too.
I hugged her and assured her that we would get in contact with her family so she could talk with them.
That stopped the tears, but I know her heart is hurting.
And I know the enemy will continue to plague her with nasty nightmares to scare her away from relationship.
Oh, my dear girl, I treasure her. And I will be praying for her heart...
When I'm missing home, maybe I can go to her for a hug.
She certainly understands.
But, I often forget that this place is often nothing like home for our kids either. Our kids were brought here as orphans or abandoned or trafficked children, taken from villages that they know and understand, to a place that is almost a third culture. It is different. It's not "home" in many ways. They miss their homes and what is left of their families (no matter how they were treated) and they mourn the moments they miss, too.
This afternoon, our girl Evelyn came to me in tears. Her teacher had said that she'd been crying all day and he couldn't console her.
At first, she started talking and I couldn't understand her through her sobs. I thought maybe she was talking about someone taking something from her and she was mad about it.
But eventually, I heard the words "brother" and later "I just miss home".
And so I held her. 15 years old. Missing home.
I can't imagine.
I'm twice her age. And I miss home. I have a hard time controlling my emotions and figuring things out. I can't imagine how hard it must be for her.
When Evelyn was brought here, she left behind her brothers, though she didn't live with them for much of her life.
The past few nights, she's been experiencing dreams where her brothers are killed. She keeps waking up afraid. And she mourns the relationship that isn't there.
And I mourn too.
I hugged her and assured her that we would get in contact with her family so she could talk with them.
That stopped the tears, but I know her heart is hurting.
And I know the enemy will continue to plague her with nasty nightmares to scare her away from relationship.
Oh, my dear girl, I treasure her. And I will be praying for her heart...
When I'm missing home, maybe I can go to her for a hug.
She certainly understands.
What a sweet and sad story. I also, in my core, know this feeling. I will be praying for her as well (and you!). I am so glad Jesus is our comforter!
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