Of the household of God

There are some experiences in life that you just don't quite know how to explain. The emotions are so deep and poignant that words don't quite capture them. The stirrings of the soul are sometimes far beyond the meager capacity of words to communicate.

I had one of those moments Wednesday afternoon. But despite the fact that words can't convey to any of you what I felt, I want to try. Because it was humbling. Because it put my life into better perspective. Because I think everybody needs to try to feel what I felt in that moment.

I sat next to Nikita (name has been changed) in the classroom of the orphanage. We'd spent the last little while practicing the alphabet and various English words. Now, with a globe on my lap, we were talking about his home and my home. I pointed to Russia.

"This is where we are. You are from Moscow."

He started spinning the globe. "Мои родители бросили меня." (I don't really know how to translate this. The essence is that his parents left him, that they gave him up to an orphanage, abandoned him. But the verb that Russian uses to indicate this is relatively harsh, literally meaning "to throw.")

Everything inside me stopped at that moment. I hadn't seen that coming. In all my weeks working with the orphans, I--of course--had never once inquired as to how they'd been orphaned. And they'd never brought it up, the cheerful sounds of their games and laughter covering the pain that must always be present somewhere in their souls. Of course the thought had crossed my mind that perhaps the parents couldn't take care of these children with such health challenges and so gave them up. Perhaps the parents had died. Perhaps a broken marriage couldn't support children. Perhaps the parents, in a moment of recognition of reality realized that their lifestyle could only harm a child in their home. And I knew that. I knew that somehow these little kids had been given up.

But with those four words of abandonment and desolation, little Nikita brought home to me what that meant--he told me the child's perspective on being given to an orphanage. And regardless of the fact that it may have been done for his greater good, he was forever going to live with the knowledge that he'd been "thrown," that he hadn't been wanted. And my heart broke for him in that moment--for all of them. Despite the fact that he now had loving adults taking care of him at a facility with wonderful educational and recreational resources--despite the fact that looking at him one sometimes forgets he is an orphan--that pain and reality was very much a part of his existence. He craved that security of knowing he is loved. Perhaps that explained his tendency to run off by himself sometimes. To turn inward and block out everything going on around him. To seem aloof from the others. He wasn't sure if he had that love from anyone. I suddenly understood these children better.

"Who would ever give him up?" I silently questioned, looking down at the little form nestled up against me. And my heart swelled even more with love for this child who had recently begun to cling to me constantly. Despite the numerous reasons why adoption would be impossible, in that moment I wanted nothing more than to take him home with me--to make him know he is loved. And worth loving. Because that is what every child of God needs.

In the split second of debating what to say to Nikita's tender disclosure to me, that little boy apparently thought little of his revelation to me. He continued spinning the globe and made up stories about different places he had traveled to. So he saved me from my complete loss of what to say. Over the course of the next few minutes, he told me stories about where he had traveled with his parents before they left him--but each of these subsequent times, he said it with little thought, as if it were now a clear fact that didn't need any further discussion. But even though he was prepared to move on from the weight of that revelation, those few words had penetrated me deeply. And I was not ready to move on. And even though we began discussing other things and playing other games, I could not help but think and feel about what he had said.

And I determined to do even more to bless the lives of these little orphans. To ease the pain and loneliness that has always been part of their lives. To help them feel the love that God has for them.

I'm reminded of Mosiah 18:8-9 where it talks about what followers of Christ promise to do. We promise to "bear one another's burdens that they may be light" and "mourn with those that mourn" and "comfort those who stand in need of comfort." And inasmuch as I have made promises to follow my Savior, rendering such comfort and support is something I feel a keen obligation to do. And the interesting thing is, that no matter how much love I extend, no matter how much service I render, healing will come to these orphans not through me, but through Christ. They can find peace through the Redeemer of their souls; through Him who gave His life to bring them peace and happiness.

Another scripture came to my mind. Ephesians 2:19 reads, "Now therefore ye are no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints and of the household of God." But in my mind, I heard the verse read, "Now ye are no more orphans . . . but of the household of God." And that is the miracle of the Atonement. Even though we sometimes in this world don't belong--whether that is because we were literally orphaned, or spiritually lost, or merely lonely--the Atonement of Christ transforms us from being strangers, foreigners, orphans into members of the household of God. We are God's family. In Him is our security and our hope. Because Christ came and gave His life for us, we can eternally find love and security in our Father's presence.

Even though the world is full of injustice, even though countless tears are shed and quiet hearts break behind a facade of laughter, there is hope in the world. There is hope through Christ. There is hope through the One who promised to make all things right. And I have faith that the Atonement can--and will--heal any pain or sorrow known to man. As it says in Preach my Gospel, "All that is unfair about life can be made right through the Atonement of Jesus Christ."

And I'm grateful for that. I'm grateful that my Savior loves little Nikita even more than I do. He will make everything all right in that little boy's life. He will heal his heart. He transforms Nikita from an orphan to a member of the household of God.

And that's what Christ does for all of us. I'm grateful for that. And I'm grateful that He has given us to be His hands in bringing God's love into the lives of those around us so that together we can return to our Father and be forever part of His household.