How the West was Won

Two days before Thanksgiving, I hopped in a bus bound for an African orphanage. We were only there for one hour, but it was one of the more fulfilling hours of my life. I didn’t even do very much, but the little I did do felt more meaningful than some of my biggest and boldest moves.

After stopping by a local grocery window to buy all the bread, sugar, flour, and cooking oil several thousand shillings could buy (to give to the nuns and children upon our arrival), we walked into the orphanage – specifically, the baby room – and I fell in love. I plopped down on the floor, pulled a baby (and sometimes two) into my lap, and barely moved for the next sixty minutes. You see, the only thing (aside from food and comfortable sleep) that these beautiful babies want is Love. Cuddles and tickles. Human touch. That’s it. Something we all take for granted, and I’ve never been happier to provide.

It reminded me of the hour I spent at the infirmary in Jamaica, visiting the sick and disabled that the world had dropped off and left behind… people who want little more than someone to talk to, someone who will acknowledge them, read to them, hug them, look at them. And it happens so little.

Both of these separate experiences, in very different parts of the world, remind me of how lucky I am to have people in my life who care about me, love me, hug me; it’s so very humbling. And so, in case I’ve forgotten to say so recently, let me take this chance to tell you how much I appreciate and care about each of you – my friends, family, and mentors following along as I try to share the love you gave me and the compassion that you taught me in other countries and communities and homes. I cannot thank you enough. My cup runneth over.

And with one tiny, innocent, genuine smile from the beautiful baby orphan in my arms, my Western heart was wholly won over that day. I cannot wait to go back.