Among the children to make their way into (or through) The Fat Beggars Home for Widows, Orphans, and Sojourners, our most recent addition is a five month old little girl I will call Special Agent Sassafras.
Since she is a foster child (not to mention a secret agent in the secret-agent-for-Jesus network) I cannot reveal her identity, in fact I can barely even describe her. However, I will say that she has lived in this home for all her short life, and she doesn’t know any other parents besides us.
She really can’t DO anything for me. She cannot sit herself up, feed herself, take herself to the bathroom. She depends on me (us) for every little thing. EVERY LITTLE THING. After all, she is only five months old. You can’t expect a five month old to do anything for themselves or others. She needs help with everything, and she cannot even ask for it.
But that’s not to say she can’t communicate.
I spend hours with her every day. I feed her, hold her, bathe her, play with her, sing to her, change her, and all the little things that make up her day.
And she tells me that she loves me, I think.
I mean… when I walk in the room and she hears my voice, she squawks or giggles and wiggles. She cranes her neck to see me. She smiles, and her eyes follow all my moves.
Yeah. I think she loves me.
I feel valued and celebrated every time I encounter her.
She does nothing for me. Nothing. Except, I think, she loves me. And for her, I will do anything.
This humble, little, homeless person comes into my life, and she is like Jesus to me – showing me love and calling out the best in me from depths I didn’t know was even there. I am loved with the purest, most innocent love I ever knew, and I return it to her for all I am worth.
I think she loves me.