The Steps Between Two Chairs by Adrienn V

Please know that this is only part of the story. We have adventures, we hang out with people, we have joy, we play, we laugh, we learn, and we have so much hope. We feel challenged but not at all defeated.

These next couple of weeks, would you especially pray for Leila and Benicio?

It’s the 15^th  of August, Independence Day in India. We are sitting in the courtyard of our society, the space between the block houses that make up our apartment complex. A committee of residents is putting on a show with kids dancing, reciting rhymes, showing their talents. Later, there will be singing, men and women standing together in two different groups, answering back and forth to each other in Hindi songs. Anthony and I are talking to neighbors, and eating some spicy snacks. Our kids are sitting on the edge of the stage, watching other children dance, trying to snag some orange-white-green balloons, playing with mini-flags. I see Leila look at the girls chatting, laughing in small groups, watching others as they wait for their turn to dance in beautiful Indian dresses while lots of make-up. The girls Leila likes are a bit older, probably seven or eight. She calls them her friends, even though they don’t care much about her. I see her face, longing to belong, longing to find her place, missing the ease of making friends back home.

Last year, when we were preparing for our move to India, a friend told me a line she heard at a conference. I’ve thought of it countless of times since then. When you’re diving into obedience as a family, the enemy's favorite areas to attack are in finances, health, and one’s children. As anxious as I sometimes am about money and living on support, and as scared as I am of one of us getting dengue fever or malaria or some kind of nasty parasite, we have been doing relatively well on both fronts. It’s my children that my heart is breaking for time after time.

Leila is sitting on my lap as we listen to the songs, noticing two girls a couple seats over. There’s an empty chair next to them, and I nudge her to go take it. She gets down, takes a step, wants to pull me with her, and I give her my most encouraging look: Go on, honey, be courageous, I know how hard it is, I know what it feels like. I’m right here watching you and you can come back to me any minute. She goes, slow as a turtle, staring at the girls. I want to laugh and cry at the same time. She sits down, stiff, not saying a word. The girls don’t even notice her at all. But who cares? You took those steps, my love.

Later, she follows these girls around the yard. There are now eight of them together, speaking a mixture of Hindi, English, and little girl slang. She lags behind, not saying a word, not really part of the group, just around, hoping no one will notice that she is there, hoping that someone will.

I’m standing next to the wall, watching, tears streaming down my face. Praying one, just one, of the girls would be kind enough to talk to her, hold her hand, smile at her, invite her in. Later, I will go and ask them to explain to Leila what they are playing, and they do. It’s too many rules for her to remember, but she joins in the running—and I’m so proud of her strength.

Leila and Benicio, my little loves. We know that life is challenging here and you feel so out of control. We know you miss your friends and want to belong. We know that this experience will shape you in countless ways. We pray for comfort and peace and security, we pray for friends and joy, we pray that as you grow, our Father would make your hearts sensitive to those on the outside, those who hurt, those who are lonely, those who want to belong. May you become people who notice, who smile, who invite others in. You are loved more than you know.