Remembering how we felt on our first day was refreshing, like a clear pool of cool water. When I remember Day 2 in China, it feels a little more like the feelings I've had since. That's when we saw YoYo's ostomies for the first time. Watching his care routine, all the thoughts about one child's worth, about adopting a baby nobody else would want, and any place where I was tempted to think we were nice people for "doing this" (whatever that means) were entirely flushed from my head and replaced with, "What the HELL were we thinking?!? We can't do this! Who did we think we are to try to care for this little boy?"
It reminds me of places in the Tanakh where a person emerges for just a second from the obscurity of time and their really great moment of faith or stupidity is noted forever. A fellow teacher used to always remind me of a moment he thought I spoke in faith without fear, and the way he recounted it brought to mind that Biblical manner of storytelling. It's probably more accurate (honest?) to assume that if I had one of those Tanakh stories, it would be the moment when the enormity of YoYo and his "stuff" loomed so large it cut the legs out from under any intentions of faith or love or noble deed that I might have cherished. Chelsea Gour has been such an encourager in that respect, reminding me of the good and the room for hope-redemptive feelings.
I can't find how to write this next bit. We're still afraid. I'm still afraid, especially when I think about grade school and boys' bathrooms and locker rooms and all my stereotypes about boys and meanness. Love of friends helps ease the way. I hope I can get outside of my own head and be that friend to another.
The photo? It shows YoYo's response to our fear-and maybe it's prophetic.
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