They Shall Rejoice
By Anastasia Grace | Casa Cuna Caregiver, St. Innocent Orphanage
"Thou shalt make me to hear joy and gladness; the bones that have been humbled, they shall rejoice." Psalm 50:8
Luna Arrives
When I met Luna*, I was sure we were in trouble. She was eleven months old but looked half that age, spindly and floppy with a swollen belly that hinted at parasites. My supervisor whispered to me that she had come to us straight from the hospital, where she had arrived by ambulance, bones laced with hairline fractures after being brutally battered by a parent struggling with alcoholism. She was diagnosed with shaken baby syndrome and released to our care at St. Innocent's Orphanage.
One glance as they carried her in the door told me that this child, like so many of the little ones we receive, had faced more adversity in months than most of us do in decades. When I picked her up, she weighed so little that I thought her bones might be hollow like a bird's. But the spark in her eyes admitted no weakness.
Oh, Lord, I prayed. Help us give her what she needs.
Learning to Read Her Needs
We settled Luna into her new home, a cheerful little room with a sunny window. Because we rarely have access to any information about a new child's past, we carefully observe their behavior, piecing together hints of past traumatic experiences so we know how best to support them. It quickly became apparent that Luna would present some challenges. If we gently chastised her, she would hit herself or hurl herself bodily to the floor. Discipline in her past must have been coupled with physical abuse.
Mealtimes were another battleground. Luna was so underweight when she arrived that we were all desperate to feed her. Her first dinner with us, I settled down complacently by her high chair with spoon in one hand and pureed pear in the other. She opened her mouth obligingly.
Excellent, I said to myself. No problems here.
Luna lifted her chin, looked me dead in the eye, and spat her food slowly out.
Oh, Lord, I thought. Give me patience.
A Breakthrough at the Table
This routine continued for a month regardless of what we tried to tempt her with. She never smiled. As Luna worked to acclimate to her new home, we worked to acclimate to Luna. One mealtime, after yet another spitting episode, I gave up on the spoon and put a few rice puffs in front of her, hoping that if she felt in control, she would be able to eat. She studied the puffs, then put one in her mouth and actually ate it. From then on, we let her feed herself, and she began to eat in huge quantities. Her aggressiveness lessened, and she stopped hitting herself.
Safe Enough to Fight Back
One afternoon, in the chaos of herding several energetic toddlers toward nap time, I carried Luna into the kitchen to prepare her bottle. As I reached for it, I slipped and nearly fell with her in my arms. Thankfully I managed to catch myself upright with a jolt.
Oh, no, I thought. That must have terrified her.
I looked at her and giggled to show her that all was well. For a split second she locked expressionless eyes with mine. Then, without warning, she launched herself at my face, clawing like a wildcat. I was shocked, I was scratched up, and in all honesty, I was angry. Not until I had laid her down to sleep and stalked off to inspect my face did it occur to me that this was a milestone. The jolt must have triggered a traumatic memory of being shaken. For the first time, she had felt safe enough to fight back.
Baptism, Icons, and a First Smile
We baptized Luna under the patronage of St. Dymphna, who herself experienced abuse and healing at a young age and is a powerful intercessor for those who seek healing. Luna would insist on kissing her patron's icon before going to bed at night. She began to walk haltingly around the chapel as we sang. One day she toddled straight to the icons and planted a smacking kiss on the Mother of God. She began to attune herself to the pain of other children. One afternoon, one of our babies began to cry inconsolably. He had been fed, he had been changed, he had been snuggled, but it wasn't enough. Luna turned her head to look at him. I think he needed to be comforted by someone who understood. She toddled up to the wailing baby and placed one small hand on his fuzzy head. And then she smiled.
Bones That Rejoice
Recently I came across an article referencing a phenomenon I had read about years before, marveled at, and promptly forgotten. A broken bone, when it is given the chance to heal properly, will knit together stronger than it was before, more resilient to the stress and pressure it must continue to encounter through the bumps and bruises of life.
None of us will pass through this world unwounded. We cannot pretend that we do not carry scars in mind and body. Our bones have been broken by sin or circumstances or the deeds of others. Yet as we draw near the Church, looking for a home, looking for healing, our Physician draws the shards together, filling the empty spaces between the broken pieces with myrrh and making whole that which was shattered, until the day comes when we offer of that myrrh to anoint another. And in that day, our humbled bones will rejoice.
* Name changed to protect identity.
