When I was nine years old, my parents had the opportunity to run the very orphanage from which I was adopted. We spent two and a half to three years in Haiti as missionaries, a period that impacted me then and continues to influence me now.
At the time, I didn’t fully grasp the significance of what I was witnessing—the deep and painful experience of waiting.
Every June, July, and August, the orphanage would welcome an influx of church groups and medical teams on mission trips to Haiti. These months were filled with excitement and anticipation, not just for me but for all the children in the orphanage.
The little girls would spend hours sitting on the steps, having their hair washed and meticulously braided by the older girls, ensuring that not a single hair was out of place. Even the boys, who were often less concerned with being clean, would take showers in preparation. The house parents would fuss and yell, urging all of the children to be on their best behavior.
Then, the big day would arrive. The enormous red gates of the orphanage would swing open, and a sea of missionaries would ride in on trucks and “tap taps” (Haitian shared taxis). The excitement was overwhelming and electrifying, as if celebrities had arrived. Imagine the thrill of seeing figures like Taylor Swift, Elton John, or Anita Baker rolling in on chariots—that’s what it felt like for the children.
The week would be filled with gifts, crafts, Vacation Bible School (VBS) activities, basketball, and football games. They allowed us to stay up a little later than usual, where we would sing and dance under the stars.
By the end of the week, some of the children had found their “person”—a missionary they felt a special connection with. They would cling to them, their smiles bright, earnest, hopeful… but fleeting. When the week concluded and the large red gate opened again, the missionaries would depart. As they left, the children’s smiles would fade, replaced by an eerie silence that hung in the air. The children were left waiting, hoping that their “person” would come back for them. But sadly, that return rarely came.
Some experiences in life never fade away. They linger in the corners of our minds, ready to resurface when a familiar scent or sound awakens the memory. These kinds of experiences are profound and impactful.
This month at Abiding Love Charities, we’re addressing an often overlooked but crucial topic: competition within the adoption community. While it’s not a popular subject, it’s an important conversation to have. On the Abiding Love Charities website, you can find other thought-provoking blogs and newsletters written by different members of the adoption triad. I chose to share this particular story because it offers a unique perspective on a challenging issue: competing for love. I firmly believe that no one should ever have to compete for love or emotional safety. Although this story comes from the context of international adoption, the core of it is universal. Humanity is the same everywhere. Adoption can be many things, but it should never be a competition—especially not a competition for love.