Anne-Marie

 I first met Anne Marie a year ago, one of thirty-something orphans residing in a small house not far from where we live. As I scanned the crowd of children, I couldn't help but notice how emaciated and malnourished their fragile bodies appeared and how sullen and pathetic their facial expressions revealed. This was somewhat ironic as the orphanage was named "Tree of Life," but any sign of life seemed to have abandoned these children in need. But regardless of their demeanor, they immediately greeted us with a song as we filed through the door, and the smell of Pine Sol pierced my nose at the entrance. As they sang, their expressions were vacant and the soft melody seemed to be missing meaning. The room was dimly lit as the light of the sun filtered through the small windows. And as I examined these children, whose bodies hardly held the weight of their oversized clothes, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the older girls were. Of course, all Haitian children are beautiful, but these girls, about eight of nine years old, possessed something the other children did not seem to have. They were stunning. Their faces radiated beauty amidst the lifeless crowd. As they concluded their song, we slowly approached them with open arms, the younger ones less hesitant than the older ones. I hugged their meager bodies and bent to kiss their cheeks, as is custom to the Haitian culture. And as I made my way down the line, there was one who stood out to me. Her stance was protective, her body closed, and her eyebrows tense and distrustful above her piercing eyes. "Koman ou ye?" I asked her before I invited her for a hug. And in that moment, a smile cracked across her face, revealing her beaming white teeth, and her laugh broke the air. Immediately, words ran from her mouth and she struggled to speak through her giggles. And just as I thought, the other kids responded with laughter, and I knew they were laughing at me. This came to no surprise to me as they usually laughed at my butchered attempt to speak to them in their native tongue. But regardless of my ridiculous pronunciation, she laughed, and her stern and serious manner relaxed into that of one that was playful. She embraced me with a hug and took my hands in hers, as her beautiful smile illuminated life. Her name was Anne-Marie.

I am seated on the wooden church pew, Peterson's head resting against my side and his hand clasped in mine. As the children recite back what their Sunday School teacher tells them, I study Anne-Marie's face, just two rows ahead of me. Her eyebrows are buried in her forehead and a look of anger has settled onto her face. A simple pink dress drapes her body, and I realize that this may be the first time I have seen her in something other than a t-shirt and athletic shorts as she tends to sport a tomboy appearance.  But, as I search the ground, I see her tired and worn tennis shoes on her feet, and this is Anne Marie. She has not noticed me yet, but I am thanking God that she is here, and that I may see her one more time.

As of recent, Martine, the woman who takes care of the children at the Tree of Life, cannot support the orphanage anymore with her less than minimum wage. And slowly, one by the, the children are having other arrangements made. There are six left of the thirty something I first met. And every day, I never know whom I will find on the other side of the gate.

As our visitors make their way to the front of the church, Anne Marie's fierce expression fades into gentility, and she grabs my hand, pleading for me to sit with her. With Peterson dozing at my side, I tell her I am coming and they file into their allotted seats. I examine these six little ones that are left, and happiness floods their faces. They are healthy unlike the children I met just a year ago. And for a moment, I think it just might be okay for these orphans.

I make my way to the front and my eyes catch the edge of the bench that is unoccupied next to Anne Marie. Her face lights up and she frantically waves me over, making a little more room for me. She wraps her arms around me for a hug and takes me hand in hers, intertwining our fingers. She dances to the beat of the music and pulls my body in rhythm with her own, moving side to the side. And the words of the song danced from her mouth as she rejoices in the glory of the Lord. She does not let go of my hand, and occasionally her eyes rise to meet mine, smiling back at me, and all this time, she continues to lead us in dancing, however ridiculous I may have looked in my attempt to copy her. She closes her eyes and lifts her other hand in the air as both the chorus and her voice harmoniously meet one another. I am mesmerized by the beauty of this moment and by the faith of this little girl - a girl who is truly orphaned, a girl who has no one to call family as the only one she knew is slipping away, a girl who tries to be tough, who tries to maintain strength, but all she really desires is love. Anne Marie is one of the 163 million orphans that reside across the globe. She is a name, she is a face, and she is a child. She has found joy in anguish and she has found light in darkness. As we take our seats, Anne Marie to my right, she leans against my side and wraps her left arm through mine. She places her other hand on my forearm, holding me, like for the first time in a long time, she feels protected, she feels safe. For the first time, she doesn't have to be the brave one, but that someone can be brave for her.

At the end of the service, as the congregation slowly makes their way toward the rode as a few linger under the building, Anne Marie remains attached to me. I drape my arms over her shoulders and she wraps her tiny arms around them, squeezing them tightly. Even when I slightly move them, she holds on ever tighter, not letting me go. And right now, I realize this may be the last time I will ever see her. I don't know what tomorrow will bring, but I know her time at the Tree of Life is drawing to the end. Tears begin to fill my eyes and I fight them for I dare not allow her to see my weakness. Thankfully her back is to mine, as I look away, desperate for any strength that remains in me. How do you say goodbye to someone who has forever touched your heart? How do you leave this abandoned child unsure of where she will be next? I want so badly to keep her. I want so badly to give her what she needs and what she deserves. But I can't. And only now can I love her. And only now can I assure her that she is not alone. And only now can I put my faith in her heavenly Father that He will prepare a place for her, on earth and in heaven. I will never forget Anne Marie and what she has taught me. All along, I had the intentions of blessing her life, but I am proven wrong again and again. Because she is blessing mine.