A tiny boy named James, a baby stuffed with Animal Crackers, and a miracle at the dump.

          A family trip to Ecuador changed everything. And now nothing looks the same as it did before.
          A couple from our home church in California quit their jobs, sold their home, and moved with their 2 children to Ecuador to start an orphanage and save babies. We joined the church after they were already gone, but we heard all about them and their home for children in Ecuador,  called "Fathers heart."  Their very first baby died in Melinda's arms, but now the orphanage flourishes and a new home is being built on the property for special needs children. 
      A couple years later, and after things too many to share for the sake of this story, Paul took our family of five on a mission trip with our church to Father's Heart orphanage in Quito Ecuador.
     During our 10 day trip, my oldest daughter worked with a team of young adults. The men and boys made concrete and did construction on a therapy pool for their handicapped children. My youngest daughter and I worked in the Orphanage.  The babies precious care givers loved it when extra hearts and hands showed up to help. Their jobs were long and often hard, and most of these women had families and little ones at home, so they loved when church teams came to assist them. 

     And so, we loved on the babies. We fed them, changed them, rocked them, and took them in front packs whenever we went into town to shop. The baby I bonded with was named James. He was four months old and had trouble keeping formula down. He had to be fed slow or he would throw it all up. He was finally growing though, he was thriving, and waiting for his forever family. He was beautiful. His smile made me melt, and within a few days, I loved him. 

     One day, my daughter and two of her friends from our church asked if we could all take our babies to an outing at the mall. The next day we did. 

     The Mom of one of the other girls from our church loaded the four of us into a van with 2 strollers and 2 front packs and off we went. 

     After arriving at the mall, we settled the babies into the packs and strollers, and waved goodbye. "I'll pick you back up in about an hour or so," Heidi told us, "There's a place where you can sit not to far from these doors. I'll look for you there." So with smiles and diaper bags and babies, we headed inside.  

      After walking around and window shopping, the girls all got treats. Then two of the girls babies needed changing, and another needed to be fed. Then one began to cry. It was about this time that the 11 and 12 year old Mommies realized this thing they were doing was harder than it looked. When all the babies settled down again, the girls asked if they could pop into a store we saw and try on some clothes. "Please?" They begged with folded hands and the sweetest smiles. "We'll hurry. We promise." 

     "You can't leave me here with four babies." I told them. "I'll take Marinella, Mom," my daughter told me, patting her baby girl through the pack on her chest. "And Heidi will be here soon. We'll hurry, Okay." Then they blew kisses, waved as they hurried off. 

     Things were fine for awhile, then two of the three babies in my care began crying. One wailed so loud, that I had to take her from the stroller and hold her. I bounced her snuggled up beside James in my front pack, while I pushed the stroller back and forth with my foot hoping to sooth the baby girl inside that. 

     When Heidi arrived and spied me with all the babies she picked up her pace, and I couldn't help but laugh by the time she reached me. She took the crying babe from my arms. "The girls just went to try on some clothes,"  I told her. "They changed them and fed one. The babies were happy as clams when they left."

     Heidi was laughing now too. "Of course they were." 

     When the girls returned with packages, and one baby fussy in my daughters pack, the other babies had stopped crying. I told them about the state I'd been in when Heidi found me. "I probably looked like a cartoon," I said, and the girls apologized through their giggles. 

     The girls learned a lot that day about living real life while also caring for an infant. It was quite an adventure. 

     As the week went on, Paul could tell that something was happening in my heart concerning James. "Can we take him home?" I asked Paul one night after tucking James in for the night. "You mean adopt him?" Paul asked. "Yes." I replied. "Could we?"  So we both prayed about it and the next day Paul said he was willing to ask some questions concerning the possibility, but it was all very overwhelming, and I was pretty emotional about it.  

     A few days later, we all piled into Vans to go to the dump and feed the people who lived there.  The babies did not go with us this day.  I knew that we were doing this thing, this feeding the people who lived at the dump thing. People from our church had done it before, and we had been talking about it since before we even left the states. What I did not know, however, was what it would be, what I would see, and what God would do.  

     Everybody had been assigned jobs. We had several drawstring bags of soccer balls for the kids to give away and play with. The kids who didn't want to play soccer, were given large bags of animals cookies to pass out. Another group, mostly adults and young adults, were equipped with jugs of water and shampoo to wash hair. 

     I had not been assigned a job that day. I said I didn't want one. I was overwhelmed with feelings and possibilities and wasn't even sure I would go. I really just wanted to stay with James. But my husband and children wanted me to join them, and so I went. 

     We had been prepared or so I thought. The people at the dump knew we were coming. We had been told that when they saw the vans pull in, the people would appear and line up with cups or jugs or whatever they had to put soup in, and we would feed them.  

     Then right before we left, the biggest pot I'd ever seen was loaded in to the back of a Van filled with chicken soup, and beside it, a very large box of bakery buns. My oldest daughter was part of the crew that would serve them, and she road in the back holding onto the hot soup pot. 

     When we arrived, everyone climbed out of the Vans carrying things ready for their duties, but when the people of the dump began climbing out of cardboard boxes, and broken lean-tos, and walking toward us, I couldn't move.

      I thought my heart, already swollen tight with love for a baby I'd met just days before, might break. I definitely was not prepared for what stood in front of me. 

     There was no running water at the dump so these people couldn't bath. There clothes were filthy. Their hair matted. Their teeth rotting. Their hands and fingernails... 

    I felt in a dream state watching the movement around me. Our kids were playing soccer with the children who lived in the dump. I watched our group mingle with people in the line waiting for food. There were so many people. They just kept coming. We couldn't feed them all.  I saw our kids passing out animal cookies. But I...I couldn't move. I was so overwhelmed with all my feelings, and a little scared how everything in my life seem to have changed so quickly, and now... what was I supposed to do with all of this?  Oh Lord," I cried, "This is too much for me. I can't handle it."

      A friend saw me standing there, and took the time to come give me a hug. "I can't do this." I told her. "This is so horrible. No one should have to live like this."  "I know, " she said sweetly. "But there getting hot soup and bread. Some are getting there hair washed. Their children are laughing and playing." She paused. "There are parents that need help carrying soup back to their children. You can help do that?"

      I took a deep breath. I knew she was right. I could help do that. So I took a step toward the line of people. I said hello to a few and pasted on a smile. "Ask that lady if you can hold her baby." I realized soon enough that it had been God that placed those words on my heart, because then, I saw her.  A mother in line had three children. Two little ones, one wrapped around each leg, and a baby in a pink onesie was in her arms. She was doing her best to juggle a dirty chopped off milk carton, and another container to hold the soup in.  I walked toward her. I don't speak Spanish, but I knew she understood me when I stretched out my arms and said, "Can I hold your baby for you?"

      As I took the baby in my arms, and held her to my chest, there was a odd sound. There was something inside the onesie. Something crunchy.  The baby was content and happy as I unzipped her onesie and looked inside. Animal cookies. The baby was stuffed with animal cookies. I couldn't help but smile. And then I found myself laughing with joy. I walked around and showed her to people as the Mother moved through the line. "This baby is stuffed with animal cookies," I said, as I showed her around. God knew exactly what I needed. He knew that baby stuffed with cookies would bring me joy. I pictured the Mom unzipping it as the kids brought the cookies around because she had no where else to put them. 

     I managed fine after that. I waited until my daughter and her team had filled the woman's dirty containers with soup, and watched them give her little one bread to carry. Then I joined her and followed her back to their home. Their cardboard box at the dump. I handed her back her baby. I knew she was grateful. I could see it in her eyes. And her children were hungry. 

     I went back and helped a few more families carry things. I heard talk in the Van about the soup and bread. "It's going so fast." "So many people still in line."  "Still more coming." 

     It wasn't until many hours later that we all talked about the miracle. Each person in the Van serving food shared that night. Each one of them believed they were going to run out before everyone got fed. But they just kept serving. They started breaking the bread in half. But the soup pot always had one more ladle of soup in it. And the box of bread had five pieces left, then four. Then they gave some away, but there were still four pieces in the box. 

     We found out later that not only was everyone fed, but some people had come back for seconds.  It was like the miracle of the fish and loaves with Jesus on the mountainside, but instead it was a miracle of soup and bread at the dump in Ecuador. 

     We found out the next day that we couldn't adopt James because of our age. Ecuador wont let people over 40 adopt, and we were that. 

     I cried myself to sleep that night while Paul comforted me. The day before we left, he took me shopping so I could buy something special for James. I bought him a sheepskin blanket for his crib. And I wrote him a letter. I told James how much he had been loved and how I'd wanted to take him home, but couldn't. I taped the letter right on the wall right by his crib.  

     Years later, I got a letter from Melinda, the woman from our church who started the orphanage. In the letter was a picture of James. He was about 3 I think. She wanted me to know that he had found his forever family. She wanted me to know that the sheepskin blanket I bought him went with him, and so did the letter I wrote him the day before I left. 

    My tears that day were tears of joy. I had thought about James so many times, but the gift I got that day from Melinda healed something inside me.   

     My youngest daughter went back with our friends the next year and got to be with the babies again. I can't think too much about the people who live at the dump because it hurts too much. But remembering the miracle God preformed that day we fed them, makes me feel better. Maybe he's done it again. I know that He sees them. I know that He loves them. And for now, that has to be enough.