If you were to ask me how old I was when I first learned about orphaned children, or in what context, I wouldn’t be able to recall for sure. Perhaps it began with “The Rescuers” – a cartoon movie about two mice who help an orphan named Penny escape from the terrible Madam Medusa.
First of all, I’m embarrassed that I even have to tell this story. I’m a 46-year-old mother of two, for crying out loud. Way too old to get lost. But standing alone in the forest, watching the sun slip behind the massive outcroppings of boulders, I knew the time for pride had passed. I started to shout.
Anxiously, I waited for the nurse to return with the results. I felt disoriented and alone as I sat waiting in a cramped room of the local pregnancy center. The nurse returned and revealed that the test was positive.