Rain, Rain Go The #$@% Away

A grey, uneasy damp mist hangs over the house and people here in Brazil. An uninspiring brown has smothered all other color.The rain has not stopped for three days now. Everything green is sadly drooping with the weight of bloated leaves. The once white VW Vans are splattered brown like a monochromatic Jackson Pollock painting. Even the dogs are burdened with the weight of water and mud. Their shiny fur coats drip,drip,drip thick drops of water into puddles under their muddy paws. They meekly beg outside the glass doors to the house struggling to lift their longing, heavy eyes to meet mine.

The mud seems to be creeping into and onto everything. Every step I take feels heavier than the last... My shoes and my jeans are plastered with layers, layers, and layers of mud....It is as if this damp supernatural ooze plans to continue to creep up my legs until I can no longer move. Another day of this and we will be forced to strain our necks up towards the sky because the mud will have climbed over our shoulders on its relentless mission to encase us in earth. As, I sink deeper and deeper and deeper, I will desperately shout to the heavens "Please, save me!" What will I see as I lift my longing, heavy eyes towards God... Will the clouds part, allowing glowing photons of sunlight to fall on my face or will the tap...tap...tap of the rain and the roar of the gray/black clouds muffle my cries for help?

The day before yesterday, Altair and Billy played volleyball in the dinning room using a stuffed elephant as the ball and the table as the net. It was a hilarious and intense game. The boys laughed mischievously every time the elephant/ball crashed into the table...sending cups, forks, and plates flying and smiles spreading across everyone's faces.  

The day before yesterday, it rained and Altair played. 

Yesterday, it rained, and Altair ran away. 

Today, it rained, and Altair is missed. 

Altair ran away...even as i write that sentence, I am numb with disbelief. The idea of him walking the streets of the city alone under these gray, wet skies is making me physically tense. The rain imagery above is nothing but a cheap distraction...a way for me to slowly wade into the reality of Altair's absence. 

When I heard the news yesterday morning.... I closed my eyes to pray and a picture of Altair sitting in a dark corner with his knees pulled tightly to his chest hung behind my eye lids. So I prayed in images of angles standing over him using their massive, white wings as umbrellas. I prayed that he would think about us thinking about him. I prayed for the clouds to part in this soul and his mind so the glow of God's love would be able to fall on him.  Perhaps all this imagery is over dramatic and sentimental...but my mind was (and is) heavy with it. My every thought is saturated with helplessness and dread. The worst part is... I realize how inadequate my words are in this moment...During the SHIT moments of life, only actions matter. And prayer is the only action i can have to delivery my love and protection to Altair.  

He was scheduled to have surgery in the city and ran away from Edit when he used the bathroom. Apparently, his brother pulled the exact disappearing act on Edit last year. Edit is feeling this loss most of all...You can literally see her dragging her guilt with her. I pray... that Edit can lay her burdens down...emotionally, intellectually, spiritually. I pray that when she throws her false-guilt down into the bloody mud at the foot of the cross, she will see something green courageously reaching out of the dirt so it can feel the life-giving photons of light on it blooming face. I pray that Edit will feel the sun on her face, on her soul...that she will free herself of her guilt, her doubt, her questioning...that she will realize her only fault was caring too damn much and for that (and for everything else) she has already been forgiven.

Where are you, my friend. Where ever you've been...please, come home.

We know Altair's brother ended up back at home with their mother....unofficially of coarse. So perhaps he is home or perhaps he is on the street...? Altair is only 11 years old (i think). He is a moody, lethargic, goofy kid. He can be difficult, but he can also be bust-a-gut funny. He is an entertainer at heart. Before yesterday, Altair is the last of our kids I would have envisioned making a jail break. But that was yesterday...Now, I can't shake these questions out of my mind:

Did Altair premeditate running away - back to his mother? Or did he run in moment of nervousness because of the surgery? Where did he sleep last night? Did he make it home - was he welcomed by this mother if he did? 

Runaways are not uncommon at CLM. Yesterday, Victoria recounted tales of kids running away in the past...some returned, some were found, some were not found. Even some of the happiest kids sitting with me right now (playing computer racing games) tried to run away less than a year ago. Short-terms like myself had to be one-on-one prison guards to them everyday so they would not runaway again. Why -  despite, the powerful, tangible love here do our kids run (to what?, i wonder). This must be an example of how deep seeded and overwhelming their pasts, pains, and emotions run.  They do not have the coping abilities to deal with their inner-demons in a healthy way... so these demons fester under the surface...manifesting as depression, anger, rage, fighting...,running away. 

I have thought about Altair's behavior over the past few days, and I cannot remember one warning sign that he was planning to run.  Moreover, he even refused Edit's offer to get him a jacket before they left... which means he ran in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans. These facts make me believe he ran in a moment of panic or false-hope to find his family. I am torn between the hope that he found his mother and shelter last night and the hope that he stayed on the street. If he made it home... at least he is safe (or is he?), but if he stayed on the street maybe he realized that Family isn't defined by biology...it's defined by the Act of Love. I feel like the father in the parable of the lost son (Luke 15:11) and I have only been here a month and half. 

"But while  he was a still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him: he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him." 

I long and dream to see Altair walking down the drive way... I want with every cell of my body to be able to pull up my figurative jewish rob...and run to him. 

 

At lunch, I sit between Billy and Altair. They were my first buddies on my first day during that first lunch. During prayers and devotions, Altair often leaned back into the gap between my left shoulder and my chest. I was his human Lazy Boy. For the past two days, Altair's place at the table has been set and his plate filled with food but his seat has been empty. The first day the emptiness at the table could be felt from end to end. Some of the kid's eyes would occasionally glance at the hole in the wall of people...and then their eyes would fall away and they would just stare at their plates for a moment - frozen.

The second day, I noticed a change in the glances towards Altair's place at the table. The glances were filled with less confusion and longing - and more with hunger. His plate (and pieces of corn bread) are now up for grabs. Our kids have developed massive, trash compactor like emotional defense mechanisms that allow them to shut down emotionally, to crush feelings, and to hide pain. Their lack of noticeably empathy and emotion is bewildering to witness. But I know it is necessary. They cannot seriously deal with another person exiting their lives... they have been left too many times before and to think about Altair's absence I think would break the emotional dam - flooding their minds with the absence of their parents, of their siblings, of missionaries come and gone, of past run-aways, and of the kids who have been adapted.  

Even the missionaries are not allowing themselves to lament Altair's absence...I can hear the veiled helplessness, hurt, and pain in both Mary and Victoria's voices when we have talked about Altair, but the words they spoke were words of strength...they are matter-of-fact about the chances of Altair returning, the reality of where he might be, and the lack of priority Altair has in the eyes of the police. They are also seeking the silver lining (in a cold logical sorta way)...if Altair is not returned, the twin girls (his sisters) will have a far better chance of being adapted (the shopping-mentality and psychology of parents looking to adapt is whole other blog). If the missionaries are hurting because of Altair's decision to runaway they aren't showing it. Instead, the carry on in acts of love... smiles, chores, food, games, and hugs. 

It is now the third day, it's still raining and Altair is gone. The rain is not only a fitting setting (and metaphor) for this painful time here at CLM, but the mud, the rain, the gray, the pain, the confusion, and the absence have actually combined into a tangible, swirling vortex of hopelessness. There is a bleak nothingness in the eyes of everyone I pass around the house. There is still laughter and grins, but there is also a uneasy damp feeling hanging over CLM.  

Still despite the clouds inside and outside,  Edit, Mary, and Victoria (all the others and myself) have no other option but to carry on living and loving because there are 32 other kids still here, who need life and love. I pray that this rain will go the #$@% away. I don't care if its a literal or figurative break in the clouds, we just need to see the light again. 

grace.peace.gerbs