Missing Hannah's Hope

We're home and we're settling in very well, but I'm missing Ethiopia. I never thought that I'd be saying that - I thought that I would be so glad to get home, to get away from heart-wrenching poverty and back to my clean home, comfortable bed and a water supply that I can trust.

Instead, I find myself longing in a way for the warm smiles of all of the people who adored my son for four months at Hannah's Hope. I want to see their eyes light up when they see him, and I want to watch him throw his arms open wide and run full-tilt down the path to the house where he slept, while 10 or so little boys run toward him yelling, "Yikealo! Yikealo!!"

I want to listen to Tomea, the guard at the gate whisper, "I love you, Yikealo" in broken English into my little guy's ear.

I want to see Almaz, Johannes, or Welde stop in the middle of whatever important task they are doing to hug any child who calls their names as they walk by. After all, what could be more important than the momentary happiness of one of the beautiful little ones that they spend their lives serving? That's not just a demanding child - that's a gift from God, a blessing that He has created for a purpose - everything else can wait for just this moment.

I want to see all of the little clothes hanging out on the line and the row of yellow potty chairs - reminders of just how many precious children are living in this transition home - this temporary refuge between great poverty and the great unknown of America.

I want to see the tears well up again in Almaz's eyes as she tells our travel group, "Because of you, there are fifteen children today who are no longer orphans," and to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that even though she does this all the time, her job never becomes routine to her. It can't - in just one afternoon last week, there were four more orphans admitted to Hannah's Hope. In just this one country of Ethiopia, there are 4.6 million orphans waiting for someone to claim them. Almaz can't rest on the joy of seeing 15 children claimed - there are so many more filling those places, waiting for her to intercede on their behalf. Yet in spite of the fact that children move in and out of Hannah's Hope all the time, this remarkable woman knows every one of them by name, knows their likes and dislikes, knows their stories, and finds ways to reach out to them. This incredibly busy woman allowed an ornery, three-year old, curly-topped streak of lightning named Yikealo to interrupt her over and over every day, by popping continually into her office and taking over, as only he can do. She told him on his last day there, that she didn't know what she was going to do without him - that she would have to hire someone to be her boss, now that he was leaving.


I want to see the primitive chalk drawings of little girls holding flags - one American and one Ethiopian. I want to see the words, "Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world!" painted around the walls of one of the bedrooms. I want to walk the crumbling cement paths of that little haven where absolutely everything shouts, "God is love!" like the door to the schoolroom/lunchroom says.

I guess that what I want most of all, is for everyone I know to be able to see the things that I saw, to hear the things that I heard, and to know that it is possible to make a difference in this world - one life at a time. My photos and my words can't do it justice...but I know that I saw Jesus everywhere around me last week. I also know that when you've seen Him, your life can never be the same.