My Heart Hurts

“Ashagre looks like he was born playing baseball.”

One of many comments received on my Facebook page in response to the pictures posted of Ashagre’s first baseball game. There is so much truth in this comment. Flipping through the pictures of Ashagre throwing the ball, batting, and running the bases, one that knows his story, even a piece of it, is blown away by how natural he looks in this truly American setting. There is no inkling of doubt that this little boy hasn’t grown up watching baseball on TV with his dad and throwing the ball around in the yard with the neighborhood kids. Who would guess that he has actually never seen a baseball game before and that he is using his eyes to study and learn the rules of the game as it’s is unfolding in front him because he doesn’t yet fully understand the language of his coach and teammates?

These pictures make my heart hurt when I look at them. It feels like it might burst from too much pride and joy and appreciation for the spirit of a truly brave little boy that got on a plane with two relative strangers that didn’t look like him or speak either one of his two languages only to get off 20+ hours later and, with both feet, jump into the crazy new world he had found himself in. My heart hurts with a ferocious love for a little boy with a nearly ever-present gappy grin that hugs his new mom and dad fiercely every morning when he wakes up and every night before he goes to bed. My heart hurts for a little boy that lost his birth family and his birth country and is losing his native language daily. My heart hurts for a country that lost such a loving and inspiring boy. My heart hurts for a world in which it is possible that I have the opportunity to raise and love Ashagre.

The same commenter posted this comment about pictures posted of his first baseball practice two days earlier, “What an upside down world we live in - it's amazing they can take it all in and smile.” Like the comment above, this couldn’t be closer to the truth (thank you Elizabeth).