In a 16x16 wooden box they called a house, tucked away by a riverbed down a footpath road in a forgotten community in Honduras far from the conscience of the world lived a family.....of children. One of those an eight year old boy, left with no mommy. Alone with 5 siblings in a world that on a good day has little security. I can only imagine the fear, sadness and loneliness he had to be feeling. My chest gets tight when I think of it sometimes.

I lost my mom when I was a grown women. I remember the moment she left this world as if it were yesterday and daily I miss her. I remember feeling like an orphan when she died. I remember thinking "I am no ones daughter" and how lonely that felt. How abandoned I felt.

I remember looking across a concrete room into these beautiful brown eyes attached to a dirty face on a body with dirty clothes and little dirty feet with no shoes. I remember an instant feeling of connection, a moment of "Oh, there you are my love. I don't know who you are but you are part of my heart" It has been many years and our lives are still intertwined and I hurt sometimes when I think of that little boy. I hurt for his pain and lose and his feeling of abandonment, which based off of my own experience still feels everyday.

sometimes I am overwhelmed how God works and His decision to dance with us and create the most amazing love story of His world. I am overwhelmed by His love and care and His

heart for the very smallest and seemingly insignificant parts of His creation.

In this story I fall in love with the God that held the little soul of an eight year old boy in his hands. Feeling all of his fear, sadness and loneliness and ordained a divine meeting that would change two lives forever. Why I was part of this dance I do not know but I am thankful.