Today I have a short story inspired by a news article: Korean pastor saving babies with anonymous ‘Baby Box’. The article in part reads: " Hundreds of unwanted babies are abandoned on the side of the street in South Korea every year. Jong-rak knew he needed to set up a way to save the lives of these precious babies. He built a drop box on the side of his home with a humble sign reading, “Place to leave babies.”"
Here's today's short story:
November 19, 2030
Seventeen years ago, there was a documentary made about my life and hundreds of others just like me. We are the "Dropbox Babies." I wasn't aware that I held that distinction until a year ago, when my parents showed me the documentary. I knew I had been adopted as I don't look like my adopted American parents.
I was one of the lucky ones. My mother left a note saying this was the best she could do for me. This was the best she could do for me, really?
The pastor found me a good home. I had a good family and a good life but doubts still nagged at the back of my mind. How could she give me away, if I was so special? I wasn't physically or mentally handicapped, just unwanted. I am not alone, over eight thousand children were abandon in 2010 in my biological country of South Korea.
My family showed me church but I felt unlovable. If the woman, whom had brought me into this world couldn't love me, I wasn't worthy of love. I was mad at God and the world.
Then I watched the documentary and the film maker became a Christian during the filming. He could see God's hand in the saving of what seemed like doomed children. Maybe there was hope for me.
I was preparing to make my way into the world, out from under my parent's wings. I realized I, too, had been loved and still loved as tears streamed down my mother's face as I left to return to see my birth country with a reunion group of returning "Dropbox Babies."
Dad too, although, he wiped them clean, not wanting the camera to catch his moment of weakness. He whispered, "I wish we could be there to share this time of discovery. But we understand you need to do this alone." He squeezed my shoulder. "Just remember we are always here for you. You'll always be the son of my heart. I love you."
One last embrace from mom, she cried, "Go find yourself. God has a plan for your life. He always has. It's why he rescued you. But please, please come back to us. I love you."
It was a favorite saying of my parents that I was the son of their prayers and heart, if not of their bodies. It has taken my trip back to my homeland to understand that saying.