My son has nightmares just about every night. On a normal night, I get out of my bed, walk across the hallway and into his bedroom 1-3 times. On Monday night because the power was out and he’s also afraid of the dark, I went into his room nearly a dozen times. Ever since the adoption, my nights of good rest have been few and far between.
In our dreams, our subconscious works out the emotions, thoughts and fears that we aren’t aware of in our waking hours. With that in mind, it concerns me that every time I ask Moses what his bad dream was about, he tells me the same thing over and over. “I had a dream where I was running and crocodiles were chasing me and one bit my arm off.” Translation: “I don’t feel safe. I’m insecure. I’ve been trying to avoid serious danger my entire life.”
I know that this is residue in his spirit from spending the majority of his life as an orphan.
When a child grows up fatherless, the most immediate and constant issue is the lack of a felt-safety. The most natural instinct between a father and his child is the innate understanding that he will protect them at all costs. I see this with my own children, when they feel scared or unsure about a situation, they cling to me. It’s natural. I, for most intents and purposes, am a pacifist. I’ve never been in a fight and I am morally opposed to it it. But when I feel that someone is a threat to my family, all my philosophies go out the window and I’m ready to throw down. It’s also natural and in many ways is one of the key traits and responsibilities of a father. I protect my children.
But what about an orphan?
They become afraid and turn to a parent that isn’t there. It pains me to think of my son sleeping in a bedroom at the orphanage, having a bad dream and calling out to thin air, because I wasn’t there and Melissa wasn’t there to go in and comfort him, secure him and help him go back to sleep.
Children, by God’s design, are smaller and more vulnerable. In an ideal family situation, this is a good thing. It’s a good thing that my one year old son, Shepherd, isn’t as big as me. If he were, I wouldn’t be able to carry him away from dangerous situations or pick him up after he hurt himself learning to walk. It’s also a good thing that my daughter, Promise, is vulnerable to me and my wife. It’s with that soft heart that we’re able to mold her, guide her and disciple her into the wonderful, loving and kind woman that she’ll be.
However, given these truths about children, when they are detached from family and don’t have a parent looking out for them, fear and insecurity are the natural inclination. It’s a survival mechanism. Orphans are always in survival mode. What a stressful state to live in. I wish that I could say it were just a feeling too, the feeling of insecurity. I wish that I could say that they aren’t actually susceptible to such dangers, but they are.
Orphans are most likely to be abused sexually, physically, verbally and socially because there’s no one to protect them. Are we okay with this? >tweet this<
I know that there’s no shortage of reasons that people give to not adopt, to not foster, to not become a protector of orphans. “We haven’t been called to that.” “We don’t have enough money.” “My heart wouldn’t be in it.” “I’m not ready, I’ll do it when I (fill in the blank) first.” Meanwhile, orphans remain at-risk of serious danger on every front. Meanwhile, orphans are dying. Dying physically, dying emotionally, dying spiritually. This is real life, people.
At what point do we allow their drastic needs to outweigh our own? When do we decide that we are the ones that can make them secure?