“Do I have parents?”
“Is my family coming?”
The children of Eban Home did not know what “home” meant, but they all knew they wanted to go there.
When I went to adopt my children from Eban Home, the other children called me “mommy” too. Younger children tried to climb on my lap. The older ones stared from a distance while my new daughter flaunted her new position and held on tight. I distributed photos and little gifts and cards from adoptive parents waiting to travel.
“Your parents are coming soon.” I could give that assurance to some of the children. They beamed to hear that.
To others, I could only say, “We’ll find your parents soon.” And they’d nod and look away. They don’t have homes to look forward to yet.
Hard as it was for the children to wait, they waited for something they did not know. For the parents waiting to pick them up, the wait was different: they had seen the faces of their children. They had caught a glimpse of something in a tiny photograph and their hearts knew: these are our children. Before the children had an inkling about families, these families had been filling out paperwork, paying fees, praying for their children, and meeting with social workers. They had lovingly prepared photo albums and gifts to introduce themselves to their children. And as the adoption court date approached, they hoped for a favorable result and hoped that it would soon be time to buy plane tickets. And in the moments when nothing seemed to be happening and the day to pick up their children seemed impossibly far away, the wait felt excruciating. Their hearts yearned for their children and all they could think was, “It’s time for them to come home.”
When Jesus said to his disciples, “Let not your hearts be troubled,” (John 14:1) He was not just comforting them. This was not a mere, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back.” No, He pointed to His own yearning for them. He was working, planning, preparing, building a home: “And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.” (John 14:3)
We think about heaven. Sometimes. When things get tough, we long to fly away. We say we’d rather be home with Jesus. But most days, if we’re honest, we forget. We’re busy playing in the playground or fighting over toys. But Jesus is not like that. Every moment, His thoughts are for His children. Every day, He acts on our behalf. He never forgets us. Though we do not know what home means, He does. He looks around the rooms that He has prepared and imagines our faces. He whispers our names. One day, we will look up and see Him, our faces tear-stained and our shoes full of sand. He’ll pick us up and carry us home.
The Christian Journal, December 2019