Orphan.

Imagine.

You are a child, small and unnoticed, who wakes every morning to the bustling sounds, chuckles, and shrieks of other orphaned children. It’s the only kind of waking world you’ve ever known. Every morning, the lingering smell of ammonia from the night cleaning crew. Every morning, a nurse wiping up accidents in the hall outside your door. Every morning, alone in a room crowded with other children. You have no parents, no mist of memory, no whisper of a past, no foggy recollections. Only a small, strange mark on your chest. There was no paperwork, just a name tag tucked into a whimpering bundle on the back stoop of an orphanage waiting to be found, to be heard, to be loved. You are a child, small and unnoticed. And today is no different.

You open your sleepy, crust-sealed eyes, waking from a dream–a hope–of some better life “out there.” You hop down from your bunked cot, and stepping toward the door pull your bare foot up from the floor; you stepped on something. Rubbing your still-sleepy eyes, you discover an envelope: very small, hardly noticeable. You crouch down to pick it up, glancing over your shoulders to see if anyone else has made note of this envelope slipped so mysteriously under your door. Today is different.

You turn it over in your hands. The edges are clearly worn, the bottom right corner slightly water-stained, and there in the center is your name, handwritten. You would have torn open the envelope just then, but you can’t read–your name is the only written word you can recognize–and in your curious, cautious excitement, bring the envelope to a orphanage worker you’ve befriended. You sit down on a bench and explain. As he opens the envelope, inside is a paper, creased and folded over many times. Slowly, he unfolds the sheet, his eyes widening as he reads ahead before relaying the contents to you.

After listening to the contents relayed, he hands back to you the paper, as stunned as you are. There, on the unfolded sheet, is your picture. Next to it, the photograph of a famous billionaire. And as you stare in bewilderment, you try to make sense of what you can.

“Years ago, you were kidnapped in the middle of the night, along with the rest of his family, and held for ransom. He has sent out search parties for each one of you, and has not stopped looking day or night since your kidnapping. He’s on his way to where you are, and has asked that you look and ask and search fervently for any of your other brothers and sisters who may also be here. They have the same mark you do–that is your proof.”

You are not an orphan. You never have been.

“For the creation waits in eager expectation
for the children of God to be revealed.”
- Romans 8:19

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