Who Are They?

Why?

 

Why is this child there?

In Aaron's institute??  For severely physically and mentally disabled boys?

Seriously??

 

Pearson




 

 Go read his description: Moderate mental delays. 

He's in a Level 4 mental institute with moderate mental delays?

I just can't wrap my brain around that!

Please please read what Kat Marr wrote about him.  They met him.  They watched him.  Please read and SEE this child. 

He was shy, as the nurse walked him to the front of the grounds. 

He looked at us as we played with our drug withdrawing son....tossing the ball back and forth, back and forth.  His head was bowed...he looked to the ground just glancing up.  Those sweet eyes. 

"What is his name?" We asked.

"His nickname is Maxim." the nurse smile, trying to communicate.

"Hi Maxim" we said as he glanced up and back at the ground.

He was unprepared for this attention.

We held out a ball to him, an extra we had bought just the day before.  He delicately took it, afraid yet with a glimmer of hope.  We tried to show him how to throw it, but as with Ben...he didn't know how to play.  It took time with Ben, we had but a few moments with Maxim. 

Shy, reserved, alone....real...

Oh please someone SEE Pearson....

 

And Grady....

 

Do you know that the Hartmans met him?  A little over two years ago?  He had just arrived at the institute.  He talked to them.  He sang for them.  He quoted a poem. 

 

Melanie has prayed for 2 years for him to be listed and NOW he is, but our hearts fear that it is too late for him.  He's older.  He's been there for so long.  His diagnosis reads severe now.  Just like Aaron's.

 He too is wearing the same sweater Aaron wore.  He is shorn with the same razors.  Marked with the same haunting words that cause people to flee - severe mental delay.

This was Grady two years ago.  Newly arrived.  




Then last year. 

 

Now this year.

 

 

Growing. Changing.  Desperate. Desperate.  He sang to the Hartmans.  He quoted a poem. 

 

Oh dear Grady.

 

I know he would blossom in a family!

 

 

And Porter.

 

Poor sweet Porter.

 

Where is his family?  Who will take a chance and rescue him?

 

 

 

He too has to suffer the labels.  The stigma.  The shaved head. 

 

He has lost so much.  Someone go snatch that babe up and carry him through the gates.  Please!

 

And Dagmar.  What a sweet sweet soul behind those eyes. 

 

 

Moderately delayed. 

 

Look and see.  The black and white plaid shirt he is wearing under that sweater.  Aaron wore that shirt. 

 

He has Cerebral Palsy.  That's it.  He's going to rot in those sheds.  His mind will waste away. 

 

All of their minds.

 

Wasting.

 

I can't bear to look at these boys.  I can't stand to see them knowing what they are doing every single day of their lives.  Staring at each other.  Staring at the walls.  Rocking.  Banging.  Lonely.  Desperately lonely.

 

As I write this, my little son is sitting in the family room pouring through the newest Lego Magazine.  He is dreaming big dreams as he drools over every single picture.  He calls out to me the prices of the ones he wants.  He shows me his favorites.  I stop writing so I can see. He has to look at the calendar to see when Christmas is coming.  It is too long.  Too long.

 

My little son sits and reads his homework to me.  He writes his spelling words.  He says his Bible verse.  He gets to learn.  He gets to learn.

 

My little son looks at the computer.  Sees the boys on the screen.  Who are they?  Do I know them?  What are they doing?  I kiss his cheeks and tell him they live where he used to live.  Across the ocean.  They need Mamas and Papas.  He stares at the screen.  He drops his head against me for a minute and stares at the screen.  Then he walks back into the family room. 

 

 

Why?  Why are they there? 

 

Pearson, Grady, Porter, Dagmar

 

All four of them have over 5,000 each in their grant accounts. 

 

One fifth of what it would take to bring them home.  We had one fifth of that when we committed to Aaron.  A little over $1,000.00.  But God provided.  He provided.

 

God provided.

 

Please don't let labels chase you away.

 

Severe. Moderate. Mild.

 

They mean nothing.

 

Once you really SEE these kids.  See them with God's eyes and God's heart - the labels mean nothing. 

 

In a few months Heath's family and Samuel's family will be marching through those gates to carry out their sons. 

 

I cannot wait.  I will be watching and praying and crying. 

 

The day Heath is carried out of those gates... I will be here in Virginia shouting Victory to the heavens!

 

 

The day Samuel goes I will be weeping in Rob's arms. 

 

 

But I cannot and will not rest as long as there is hope for four other boys to make it out of those sheds.   If we don't shout for them... who will?  If we don't share about them... who will?  If we don't give to their grant accounts so that the financial burden is lifted... who will?

 

 

They are Lost Boys without us. 

 

Is there room at your table?