With a broad white smile, Jorge, 15, won our hearts as soon as he showed up on the Mountain three years ago. Tall and handsome, his eyes size up everything in seconds, and he talks as fast as his hands move. He’s curious about everything, and can’t experience anything without touching it. He’s constantly reaching for something, picking something up, or taking something apart (we’re working on his putting things back together). He’s a natural leader — though not always for the good side.

One day the spry, energetic Jorge stopped eating. After three days of no food, no way, no how, I finally had a heart-to-heart with him at our kitchen table. There was silence for a looong time.  He sat there, sullen, head hung low. He then buried his head in his hands. I couldn’t see his face, but I saw the tear that dropped onto his knee. Then another. Still silence. Finally he said softly, “Who leaves a baby in a trash can?  Who would do that? I hate her. I hate me.”

It’s hard to argue with a story like that. He’s heard it all. A thousand justifications through the years to make him feel better. If God loves him, why was he born to a mother that didn’t want him, and left him to die? As the all-knowing grown-up, I try to explain.  But I really don’t have the answers. I just have to sit quietly and cry too.  I silently cried out to God. “Help me. Help me have something say to ease the pain.” 

Then the Bible verse came to mind: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will direct your paths.” God was reminding me, through His Word, that we don’t have to understand.  Just trust. HE has a plan. And in God’s divine plan, although I didn’t have the words Jorge needed that day— Roberta did.