A Forsaken Tune

No one sends their child on a mission's trip without checking out the mission's project. 

 

 

No one sends their child to a foreign country unless they know where they are going and what they are doing and who they are going with.

 

 

 

We did.

 

It was completely and totally out of character for us. 

 

 

 

We sent Ben across the world with a group of people we did not know.  At. All.  We found out about the trip through someone on the internet.  Someone we had never met in person and only spoken on the phone to once.  And that person wasn't even going. 

 

 

Blind.  Crazy.  Faith.

 

It was not our style.

 

Yet for some crazy, odd reason - we were at peace.  We were at peace sending our 18 year old son across the globe with strangers. 

 

 

That isn't to say that we didn't wonder at times if we didn't need our heads examined. 

 

We probably did.

 

But we sent him anyway.

 

Trusting that God would protect him. 

 

Believing that his experience would be life changing.

 

Praying that he would find on his team someone he would be able to relate to.

 

 

Why do I share this when there is a Symphony to be played?

 

Because woven into the Creator's melody is a story that weaves our son's trip with one family's song.

 

About two years ago they heard a tiny note from a crib.

 

 

It was so tiny that it could barely be heard.

 

But God in His mercy gave them ears to hear.

 

We were part of that story all the way back then.  We heard her little bleating note and gave her voice on this blog.  Her picture forever stamped on our hearts.  The tiny little desperate babe in the crib.  She broke our hearts in two. 

 

They answered.  They not only answered but they spent time listening. Listening for another tiny note.  Just a note.  They heard that second little bleating note too.  They answered.

 

Two tiny little notes bleating from their cribs.  The rejoicing in our home was great.

 

 

 

Lovingly.  Tenderly.  They brought their tiny notes home.

 

But not before hearing the notes from two others.

 

These notes were older.  Not so tiny.  But lonely.  Lonely notes that needed to be part of a chorus to ever really be heard.

 

 

Those older notes called to them as they brought their tiny notes home.  They called to them and the family listened. 

 

Even when Cancer rose up, threatening to steal one of their tiny little notes. 

 

Even when the battle for his life meant days, weeks, months, years in the hospital.

 

 

 

They refused to close their ears. 

 

The lonely notes needed to come home.

 

They raised the ransom.

 

 

They went back and brought those notes home too.

 

But it doesn't end there.

 

There was still another forsaken tune waiting.

His tune heard not once but twice.  When the family went for the tiny ones they heard his tune.  Then again when they went for the lonely notes they heard it again.

 

It was sad.

 

 

It was desperate.

 

This tune was the tune of a child who would soon be homeless.  Out on his own.  Aged out.

 

Forsaken  by the world.

 

Younger than their oldest son.

 

Yet graduated.  Moved out.  Alone.

 

Desperately wanting a family. 

 

Wishing in the deepest part of his being that they would hear his forsaken tune.

 

 

 

They heard.

 

They could not leave him behind.

 

This child who is now living out in the world.

 

 

The ransom is great for him.

 

They are willing to pay the price.

 

Even though it is a great price.

 

I owe them a great debt.

 

My son crossed the ocean alone.

 

He came back with a friend for life.

 

Evan.  Their oldest son.

 

 

 

He came back encouraged deeply in his faith by this father who has already crossed the ocean multiple times and plans on going again...

 

 

 

...to rescue a child singing a forsaken tune.

 

The friendships Ben made with father and son are lifetime friendships. 

 

Two years ago they answered our pleas and rescued a tiny little note from a crib. 

 

This year they again were a huge answer to our prayers for protection and friendship for our son.

 

The songs of both of our families woven together. 

 

We owe them a debt.

 

 

 

 They need to raise the ransom to bring their son home.

 

 The forsaken tune of a lonely boy in a world where 15 year olds are expected to act like men is not going unheard.

 

 

They heard his sad song.

 

But they are also listening... listening... wondering if God isn't allowing them to hear another also...

 

Another tune.  Maybe a note. 

 

They are listening.  We are praying beside them in joyful anticipation of whose song might be added to their chorus.

 

I have no doubt that what they hear will be right and true.

 

---------------------------

 

God in His mercy is raising His baton.

 

 

Our Symphony begins tomorrow.