lullaby (and goodnight)

We tuck in all 30 kids every night.

A process that started out simple enough: A kiss on the cheek or a quick rub of the back and a "goodnight sweetheart."

Rinse and repeat.
30 times.

Slowly over the months this process has turned into something not so simple: Someone has a heart question, someone has tears and needs an extra few minutes, someone had a rough day listening to teachers and needs a stern but loving talking to...

Rinse and repeat.
30 times.

But now, I am afraid I have created a monster.

They all want a lullaby.
Not just the littlest girls but even the big 13 year old boy.

All. of. them.

Lullabies are special to me. I feel as though I have poured out my love to each of my own babies as I sung these quiet little tunes to them in those precious moments right before sleep. Even with Eli coming home as a three year old, I'd rock and sing to him and came to cherish that special time with him when he actually would relax in my arms.

Last week I was singing to Chika at bedtime. At the end of "Taura-Laura" she burst into quiet tears and she hugged me tight.

I realized the power of a lullaby in that moment.

They may be quiet comforting tunes, but they convey strong messages of love and care and evoke even stronger emotions. And for an orphan, emotions are a very good thing. The cycle of abandonment and broken attachments is so harmful to the development of their feelings that they slowly stuff away or disengage from all feelings as a protective mechanism.

Our sweet Chika.

And so for now, I may have created a monster that makes bedtime routines stretch into a not so perfunctory time slot. But it is a beautiful monster. And I'll keep on singing.

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