the lost girls.

Some days I am sure this is all worth it. I am confident that we are supposed to be here; that God is for us; that good is coming. I wonder how I get to live here and do this and live my best life.

This is not one of those days. Or months.

——————

When we moved into our neighborhood over seven years ago, there was a host of little girls between the ages of five and eight. {We currently have a host of little boys at this age. Isn’t it funny how that comes in waves?}

That group of little girls is now between thirteen and sixteen, because time does that. It flies. And the little girls grow into little ladies. And even if they aren’t officially yours, if you spend enough time with them, if you stay up late enough times with them, if you cry enough tears for them; they start to feel like they are a little bit yours. You are wearing them just a little bit on your sleeve.

Spoiler alert: This doesn’t end well. I’ve lost them, as you might have guessed from the title. These little girls spent all their time on our floor and in our arms and in our kitchen–one by one, it feels like we’ve lost them.

Neh Wey was the first to go. Over three years ago now, and she still comes across our minds and our prayers.

And then Musana. I remember the night like it was yesterday, but it’s now been almost two years. She told us at Playhouse that she’d be going to Bangkok the next morning. We had plans for a friend’s birthday that evening, and I promised we’d come by the next morning to say goodbye. I didn’t really believe it would happen, as we’d be told so many times before; but we went around 6am the next day. She’d already left.

There are a million things sad things about this story: how she was pulled away from some family, placed back into others. She can’t go to school where she is now; there aren’t any kids around her. And as of last month, she started working as a nanny for a little boy that lives next to her, while the mother works full time.

There are also a million miracles about this story: we’ve found her in Bangkok–more times that I could count, because she kept moving! We get to visit her and bring her gifts and love on her family. We send her messages back and forth over Facebook.

The ups and downs keep coming; and sometimes I can’t wrap my head around how good it is that we are able to keep up with her and yet how heavy her stories are for me to hold.

They They left next. She’s still in the neighborhood, but she’s now a nanny for a little toddler down the block. She’s done with school at 14; she no longer lives at the home she’s always known, with her grandparents and cousins. The cousins are adjusting. And just like that at 14, she’s working. Just like Musana; not unlike Mwei Mwei.

Sandar Soe joined her within a few months. They nanny for families next door to each other.

Yaminoo left for the summer, and now we’ve learned she’s not coming back. Her challenging childhood became challenging teenage years. Her mom isn’t stable; we don’t know how her dad is anymore.

Honest? I don’t see a happy ending for her. I can’t write one with the pieces I can see. We’re praying, we’re waiting.

I look back on her baptism a year ago, and I’m reminded that we serve a God who is able. He can write a happy ending of any pieces set before him.

But he’s the same God that has just carried us through our third American Mother’s Day in this adoption process. (It’s significant that it’s the American Mother’s Day, because you have to re-live it all again in June for American Father’s Day, then August for Thai Mother’s Day; and then December for Thai Father’s Day.)

So being able isn’t the whole story. Sometimes I still don’t understand.

Then there is Yedi, who has watched all of her friends go off to work and is the only 14-year-old girl still in school that I know of. There is Yin Myo Thoo, who holds us at a distance. And I keep reaching, because I don’t want to lose her.

And Ei Full Tone and Bit Mu and Nyedi Ton Shwe. All looking for work; all vulnerable.

There is Mwei Mwei, who we helped get out of Bangkok and into a safe job in our home. And while I love her and I see the hope in her story, sometimes I’m not even sure why He whispered to us about her. Sometimes I’m not even sure what to do next.

These girls; it feels like I’ve lost them all. It feels like I’ve failed them; like I couldn’t really change their trajectory or their story. We didn’t.

A friend told me this week, But a boulder in a river still changes it. 

So we’re still hoping.