the new guy.

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He crawled into my lap and I pulled him in close and kissed the top of his head, just like I would have with anyone else. But for him, the floodgates opened.
“My mum is gone, my mum has left, she forgot to come back.”
Tears flooded his eyes and poured down his cheeks as he continued to repeat these phrases.
Forgotten. Abandoned. Left behind.
That’s how he feels, that’s what he thinks. And he’s only two years old.
He was picked up late one night on the corner of a street. Brought to a strange house far from where he knows, and without the siblings he cries for.
“We’ll pick him up again in the morning.”
But they never came back.
Dropped off without a name, without an age. Only the clothes he was wearing.
He’s smart, potty-trained, talkative. And you wonder is that because he had no other choice.
Three days later and they come back, not to pick him up, but to drop off his life story. 4 pages that would break the heart of even the most callous. And finally he has a name.
And that causes more problems than it solves, to hear his sobs every time it’s uttered.
His life is so uncertain. He cries out for a mother that it’s so easy to judge, but at the end of the day she’s all he knows. And there’s no comfort to give him, because so little is known. So little decided. His siblings names, his most repeated words. We know where they are now, but no clue when they’ll be together again.
Please pray for him.

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