愛(ài)的力量治愈傷痛

　　Jackie Lantry is a part-time hospital clerk in Rehoboth, Mass. She and her husband have adopted two girls and two boys from China. When Jackie asked her children what they believed in, they said “family.”

　　Jackie Lantry是美國(guó)麻省利河伯鎮(zhèn)的一位醫(yī)院兼職會(huì)計(jì)。她和她的丈夫已經(jīng)收養(yǎng)了兩名中國(guó)男孩和兩名中國(guó)女孩。當(dāng)Jackie問(wèn)及孩子們的信念時(shí)，孩子們異口同聲地回答：“家庭”。

　　“It was not therapy, counselors or medications. It did not cost money, require connections or great privilege. It was love： just simple, plain, easy to give.”

　　“治愈和轉(zhuǎn)變孩子，靠的不是醫(yī)療，也不是心理咨詢，更不是藥物。它并不需要花費(fèi)金錢，也不需要什么社會(huì)關(guān)系或者特權(quán)。只需要愛(ài)，只需要付出簡(jiǎn)單而平實(shí)的愛(ài)”Jackie如是說(shuō)。

　　I believe in the ingredients of love, the elements from which it is made. I believe in love's humble, practical components and their combined power.

　　We adopted Luke four years ago. The people from the orphanage dropped him off at our hotel room without even saying goodbye. He was nearly six years old, only 28 pounds and his face was crisscrossed with scars. Clearly, he was terrified. “What are his favorite things？” I yelled. “Noodles,” they replied as the elevator door shut.

　　Luke kicked and screamed. I stood between him and the door to keep him from bolting. His cries were anguished, animal-like. He had never seen a mirror and tried to escape by running through one. I wound my arms around him so he could not hit or kick. After an hour and a half he finally fell asleep, exhausted. I called room service. They delivered every noodle dish on the menu. Luke woke up, looked at me and started sobbing again. I handed him chopsticks and pointed at the food. He stopped crying and started to eat. He ate until I was sure he would be sick.

　　That night we went for a walk. Delighted at the moon, he pantomimed, “What is it？” I said, “The moon, it's the moon.” He reached up and tried to touch it. He cried again when I tried to give him a bath until I started to play with the water. By the end of his bath the room was soaked and he was giggling. I lotioned him up, powdered him down and clothed him in soft PJs. We read the book One Yellow Lion. He loved looking at the colorful pictures and turning the pages. By the end of the night he was saying, “one yellow lion.”

　　The next day we met orphanage officials to do paperwork. Luke was on my lap as they filed into the room. He looked at them and wrapped my arms tightly around his waist.

　　He was a sad, shy boy for a long time after those first days. He cried easily and withdrew at the slightest provocation. He hid food in his pillowcase and foraged in garbage cans. I wondered then if he would ever get over the wounds of neglect that the orphanage had beaten into him.

　　It has been four years. Luke is a smart, funny, happy fourth-grader. He is loaded with charm and is a natural athlete. His teachers say he is well behaved and works very hard. Our neighbor says she has never seen a happier kid.

　　When I think back, I am amazed at what transformed this abused, terrified little creature. It was not therapy, counselors or medications. It did not cost money, require connections or great privilege. It was love： just simple, plain, easy to give. Love is primal. It is comprised of compassion, care, security, and a leap of faith. I believe in the power of love to transform. I believe in the power of love to heal.

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