All Dressed Up With Nowhere To Go

I went to the orphanage again on Monday.  Things were in a bit of disarray when our group arrived, with cribs moved away from the walls and caregivers running back and forth between rooms... because they were wallpapering. 

Wallpapering.  That's what was happening.  There were several men working to apply the wallpaper, and a crew of people taking photos and filming the process.  Publicity, make it look good. 

The wallpaper was cute, bright blue with white polka dots on one wall, and a lighter blue with animal shapes on the other wall.  The kind I might have chosen to decorate my own children's rooms.

They were wallpapering.

I am still struggling with this.  While toddlers sat, tied to their chairs, the room was adorned with cute wallpaper.  I sat with some of these children, singing in their ear, pressing my face against theirs, trying to bring some small comfort. We've been told now not to get the children out of their chairs or beds to cuddle them or let them walk around, because then they want it all the time.  The care givers simply cannot give it.  Two caregivers, two dozen special needs children.  Overwhelming.

We still do clandestinely cuddle, we hug and sing and tickle.  I started to wonder if maybe we shouldn't, maybe the care givers are right.  Are we just setting the kids expectations on something that cannot be given on a daily basis?  Will it ultimately make them sadder, less content?  In my heart, I cannot think that it is wrong to give an orphan- or any child-  love and attention.  That's what we are all made to crave, isn't it? 

We heard a sermon on justice last weekend.  I have been mulling over Isaiah 58 since then.  It talks about loosing the chains of injustice, setting the oppressed free, breaking every yoke.

There is one little boy at the orphanage that always draws my attention.  I cannot determine what his special need is, he seems well and healthy. Maybe two years old.  During my visit this week both his legs and one of his wrists were tied to his chair, a chair with a bar across the front to hold him in.  He was moaning, so sad.  I sang to him and was able to feed him his lunch, talking with him and praying for him as I did.  And then I decided to untie his other wrist.  Really, isn't both legs enough?  He couldn't get out anyway, with his legs both tied to the chair.  I untied the wrist and rubbed his little hand.  Slowly he clapped his two hands together. 

I can't loose the chains for the children at that facility, nor the chains that hold those care givers captive to the way they must run the place.  I can't set them free.  I can only do my little bit for the one hour each week we are allowed to be in that place.

Only Jesus can set anyone of us free, ultimately.  I am praying, praying that God would show me what He has for me to do, what little yokes I can help break, here in Shanghai and just a few months, in Chicago.