Why didn't he come for me?

Little Max has had little to say about his life before he joined our family. When we adopted a seven year old, I expected to have an inside story as to what life in a Russian orphanage was really like, but so far he hasn't been able to tell me much about his former life at all. Which is a little sad, but mostly just because I'm a nosy nellie.

So the other day when he asked if he could tell me about Russia I was all ears. He took me back to the last time he saw his father. He was five and a half, and his dad was still his hero. Despite the obvious signs of neglect and abuse his biological care givers doled out on him, he can only tell me good things about his dad. Although I'm suspicious of his memories, I can only be grateful that he does have a few happy memories of his father to cling to.

So on this last visit with his father there was all sorts of treats brought into the orphanage by his papa, and paper airplanes made by both. I can only imagine the joy that could have fill that orpahange room as father and son attempted to reconnect, and turn the page towards a brighter future together. At the end of the visit, his father must have whispered to him, "I'll come back and take you home soon".

We all know the crushing weight such words must have left when they obviously weren't fulfilled. But to hear my baby ask me why his dad didn't come back for him broke my heart.

I can't tell him that his father was a jerk and didn't take care of him. I can't remind him of the neglect and abuse that he obviously has burried deep inside his soul. I can only tell him the truth that I know for sure. His dad did want him, and fought to get him back. The fact that his dad was drunk at each court hearing he attended is irrelevent.

And I can tell him that God wanted him to be in my family so we could teach him to love Jesus, and because Alex needed a little brother to play with, and because God needed to use him to teach me how to be a better person.

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