Sometimes I like to close my eyes and think of China. I love to remember the smells, the sounds, the tastes (think Shanghai soup dumplings...), the sights... I love to remember the experiences, from the crazy train rides to the lavish dinners to the charades as I try to communicate. I love to think of the people I've met there, of the friendships I've formed.
But most of my memories revolve around the kids. I can feel them in my arms, grabbing my hand, or begging for a lollipop. I can hear their little voices, laughing, crying, and talking. And I remember special little things about each one.
Like the little girl who vacuumed the floor with a toy vacuum cleaner then said, "All clean!"
Or the older boy who told one of us that other kids at school laugh at him because he is from an orphanage.
Or the girl who loves scarves and accessories and made motions asking us if we had any make-up with us.
What about the little fellow who keeps snacks in his back pocket and carefully keeps his face cleaned while eating?
And the babies. Oh the babies! Who could forget the precious little babies!?
I could go on and on. I can't tell you about every child in one post. But I can keep telling you little bits about them, and you can tell someone else, and as we each do our part their stories will be told and heard!
Or the older boy who told one of us that other kids at school laugh at him because he is from an orphanage.
Or the girl who loves scarves and accessories and made motions asking us if we had any make-up with us.
What about the little fellow who keeps snacks in his back pocket and carefully keeps his face cleaned while eating?
And the babies. Oh the babies! Who could forget the precious little babies!?
I could go on and on. I can't tell you about every child in one post. But I can keep telling you little bits about them, and you can tell someone else, and as we each do our part their stories will be told and heard!
