The Lost Children

I have a very bad habit of buying Christmas cards and never sending them out. It is so bad that even though I haven’t even bought cards the past few years because they won’t be sent out, I have a big box of “Christmas cards past” – this after donating some to some great causes.

This morning I wrote 22 – for the resident staff at our local homeless shelter (resident staff are people who live at the shelter or who have lived there and are now on staff). Our church has put on a dinner for them every year that acts as a sort of a party for them. It’s a great time of good food, making new friends, and learning more about how we can help our community – from their perspective. I love that time and don’t mind writing those cards a bit. I try to make each one a bit unique, so they feel a bit special. We slip in a small Walmart gift card in the card for each of them.

This year I tried to organize my supply of cards a bit. I put together cards and envelopes. The bottom box contain cards and envelopes I didn’t match up. There may be a few that match up still, but I matched up most.

In that box, though, I found a card and an envelope that are related, but not together.

My first year out of college I worked as a houseparent at Grandfather Children’s Home, in Banner Elk, NC. I was what was known as a “relief” houseparent – I worked three days in one cottage, three days in another, and then was off three days. I started working with girls there, which made sense since they were teenagers and I was about 22. But the girls drove me crazy – they were excellent liars. T

hey reminded me of myself, before I decided that while I have the skill of lying I did not choose to be a liar. Those skills lie dormant, though they sometimes get used for good – like when I talk to my mom with Alzheimer’s and speak of things she wants to hear, instead of how things really are.

The boys had a tendency to violence, their trauma came out as anger. Since I was only a few years older than them, they saw me more like the big sister who was in charge and quite unpredictable. They knew I was a believer in consequences.

But the card and the envelope came from girls I worked with at the children’s home. They were sent before internet came of age and people sent cards and letters. I lost track of both girls over the years, as well as all of the other children. I’ve tried to locate some. I think I found the obituary for one of my favorite kids. That was disheartening. A few more of the boys I believe I found in prison. That was worse.

I go long periods of time not thinking about these “kids” and then something happens and I am reminded of them again. A little over a year was spent with them and they are imprinted on my heart.

It’s the time of year for memories and prayers of goodwill. Let’s pray for the kids – and the adults – that carry the scars of trauma.

Let’s celebrate the birth of “God is with us.” May that be our comfort and our truth.