I wish I had a photo of Yared, a 10-year old boy that we met at the playground in Ethiopia. Our entire trip to Ethiopia was moving and eye-opening and emotional, but meeting our new son aside, two experiences stand out as making the biggest impact on my heart, and Yared is one of them.

We were playing in the park with Ben one morning and several boys came over and joined our soccer game. One introduced himself to me and started showing off his English skills. He was tall and slender and had dark skin and beautiful eyes. His smile showed teeth that had suffered neglect, but was no less radiating. His clothes were worn and ragged and did not really go together. You could see that life was not easy for him, and yet he was so very friendly and happy-looking.

He told us he was 10 years old. His English was good enough that we had good conversations, and when we struggled to understand him, he worked until he could explain it to us in another way. He asked about Ben and our family and was excited that we were adopting him. He asked about America, and what we thought of Ethiopia. Unlike some of the other children that followed us around that week, we really enjoyed his company. We were so touched by his sweet spirit and how very smart he was and Josh, Dan and I were all really impressed with him. After spending about an hour with him, I asked where his parents were. And then he told us that they had died, and that he lived at the Mother Theresa orphanage. I felt like someone had pulled the rug out from underneath me. I had assumed he was at the park with his family like the other children that were playing with us.

I felt sick inside. I felt guilty that I had been talking so openly about adopting Ben to this boy who was an orphan. I felt guilty for the nice clothes I was wearing, the nice lunch I had just eaten. I felt guilty that he knew, and I knew, that there are not many parents looking to adopt a 10 year-old boy and his chances of finding a family were slim.

And then almost as if the guard had realized that this boy was an orphan the same time we did, he callously came over and made Yared leave. Despite our pleas to let him stay and us trying to explain that he could be with us, the guard made him go. Yared smiled and waved, as if saying it was ok and he was used to it. It was just a tiny glimpse at how the world will treat Yared, and it was heart breaking. We stood there feeling sick inside. He had not asked us for anything, besides our company and some attention for a short while.

We decided to leave, hoping we would see Yared. We saw him near the park gates and felt desperate to do something for him…to give him something…to find a way to make things ok. But he was being ushered out and we had to go, and the pack of gum and small memento we hurriedly pulled out of our pockets and gave to him were so small and insignificant that I was ashamed.

Yes, I wish I had a photo of Yared, the boy in the park, who serves as a painful reminder to me that there are so many children in the world, who are smart and gifted and wonderful and full of potential, that they may never be able to develop. He reminds me that while babies are sweet and wonderful, that older children are also sweet and wonderful and desperately need families to love them and nurture them. He reminds me that we have so very much that we take for granted.