That time when I cried in church.

Last Sunday I skipped out on my church and went to church with Morgan instead.

Why?

To watch my nephews get dedicated, and to cry.

It all began very well. I snapped a bunch of pictures on Morgan's phone, laughed when the guy up front read their names wrong, and teared up as they were being prayed for.

Then we started singing, and suddenly I was thinking about my kids in China--Fabio most of all.

This was the progression of my thoughts:

It's so wonderful to see the church come together around these children.

My nephews have people who will teach them the gospel!

My kids in China don't have this.

What if I never see them again? Ever?

Every song after that was a complete disaster for my vocal chords because I could NOT stop thinking about them.

My kids in China came from privileged homes. Their mothers didn't do drugs during pregnancy. They were well fed, cared for, and on the path to success, which is much more than I can say for some of my kids here. 

Their opportunities to hear and see the gospel are fewer and farther between, however. And isn't that all that really matters? I would rather them live a life of poverty with the Lord --His joy, strength, love, and acceptance--than a life of privilege without him.

So I cried in church, because I missed Fabio and the rest of my Chinese children. 

I cried because I want them to have what my nephews have. 

I cried because I may be the only person in the world who prays for them.