The Box Baby
By M.J.
The January sky of China was the same as yesterday: gray. My parents are still in the underground mission house. I cannot stand being down there. I don’t like the secretivity and tight space. Being a sixteen year old girl, I want to do something amazing and not stay cooped up. Thankfully, mom and dad let me spend most of my time outside, in the freshest air China can spare. They say to me, “Go take a walk, Ava. Maybe you can find a friend while we’re here.” I leave with a smile, though I know there is no one who wants to befriend a stranger.
The roadways in the countryside are dirt, decorated with hints of trash. No one bothers to clean up, the place is so desolate. I begin my daily three mile routine, picking up the garbage along the way. It is hard to make this area of God’s earth beautiful. As I walk, I pass the graveyard, several run-down homes that are centuries old, a few old barns and the lake. Normally, the lake is too cold and dirty to wade in. But, today seems different. “Is it the air? The temperature? God?” Something draws me to the small lake. As I approach the greenish-blue water, I begin to take off my shoes and toss them aside. The water appears slimy and cold, but as my toes skim the top of the water, it relaxes me. Sitting on the ground with my toes in the water, I hum a lullaby I heard a Chinese woman sing to her newborn son.
Suddenly, I hear a noise...a cry. It was not the cry of an animal. I ran to the noise coming from the opposite side of the lake, my ears guiding my feet. The noise becomes louder and more distinct. Resting in a cluster of water plants was a box. A brown cardboard box. I see holes in the sides but the top is taped shut. The cries are coming from inside it. Kneeling on the ground, I reach for it and slide it onto the grass. It is heavy. I can feel life inside. Tearing the tape off, strong as it may be, my jaw drops at my discovery. A baby. A baby girl. A Chinese baby girl. Reaching for the child, wrapped in a blanket, I bring her close to me and cradle her in my arms. As she stops crying, she stares right through me. She must be a few weeks old, but her chocolate brown eyes glistened like the stars at midnight. I sat on the ground humming a lullaby while I watch the fragile life fall asleep in my arms. Tears were forming in my eyes. I looked back into the box. Lying at the bottom was a Bible, a necklace with a lotus flower charm, and a piece of paper. Picking up the paper and examining it, I came to the conclusion it was a letter from her parents. But of course, it was written in Chinese. I needed to get back to mom and dad. They can translate.
Carefully repositioning the baby, I carried the letter and the rest of her belongings—plus my shoes—and made my way home. I had already walked about halfway when the wind began to pick up, dark clouds rolled in, and rain began to fall. I picked up my pace trying not to slip on the muddifying road.
I burst through the basement doors like a crazy woman, my clothes soaked from the rain. My parents look at me like I’m a stranger. “Ava, where have you been??? And what on earth are you holding?!” Mom demands. Slowly I uncover the still-breathing baby. Mom and dad look as if they have seen a ghost. Everyone else in the room is speechless, unable to move. “I found her by the lake. Her mother must have tried to save her...in a way. She was in a box, but look at what I found in it.” I showed them the Bible, necklace, and the letter. Mom opened the letter, put on her glasses, and began to translate.
Dearest Jia,
I am sorry for what I have done to you. It was my only hope of keeping you alive. In my heart, I know God will protect you. I pray you will read this Bible one day and think of who gave you to me. I give you this necklace, because it is my most treasured possession. Your great-grandmother gave it me, and I haven’t gone a day without it. I love you, Jia. I never wanted to leave you. Your older sister has made sure you will not fall into the hands of the enemy...the ones who despise God’s gift of life. If you live on the earth, do not ever forget me. But do not worry, I will see you in heaven my little angel.
With love,
Xia, your mother
and your brave sister, JuAs mom puts the letter down, I notice tears in her eyes. The baby I hold in my arms is awake. She smiles like she is the happiest girl in the world, yet she is so young. “You know, Jia is going to be a smart girl when she grows up. She’ll love it at home.” My parents look at me with questioning eyes. “Ava Marie Jensen! Are you out of your mind? How are we supposed to get her through the Chinese officers? We don’t have any kind of proof she is ours. And there is no way we can trick them to think she’s American,” dad exclaims. We have to take her back. This is my one mission as a missionary’s daughter: to raise Jia. “Dad, this is a human life. We are not going to toss her into the lake, or hand her over to the government. God wanted us to find her. Why else would he bring me to her? This is my mission now. We will find a way to bring her home. Dad, please help me.” Walking over to him, I put Jia in his arms. “Look into her eyes.”
After a long discussion with my parents, and some of the other American missionaries, we came up with a plan to bring Jia home. But I am fully responsible for taking care of her—the feeding, cleaning, diaper changing....everything. But I don’t mind. She is like having a sister. No. More like my own daughter. Each morning I feed her some kind of milk mixture mom created. As long as it keeps her alive, I am happy. Some of my parent’s Chinese friends bring me clothes for Jia and little toys for her to play with as she grows. I can tell she is healthy by the warmth of her rosy cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes. My heart melts when she falls asleep. The moments are priceless.
The day of escape has finally arrived. We leave for the airport in a few hours. Jia is wrapped in her new clothes and blankets. Her face is covered, but there is enough air for her to breathe. The rickshaw boy waits as we pack our bags into the cart. He eyes my bundle mysteriously, but shakes it off and mounts his bike. Ten minutes later we come to the airport. There are officers wandering the building, wearing ugly uniforms, and suspicious, but neutral, faces. We check in at the desk, the woman failing to notice the “package” I am holding. As we walk to the station to get our bags checked, mission “Bring Jia Home” comes into action. Carefully, I place Jia in my carry on bag. I make sure there is enough air for her to breathe, then I set her on the conveyer belt for scanning. Before she goes through, dad walks through the metal detector, accidentally forgetting to take out his nail clippers. The siren goes off and the officers are detoured from my Jia. Three of them approach him, searching him by hand, while I wait and grab my bag. For being such a strict country, their security has some flaws. The four of us finally board, take our seats, and sigh a breath of relief. At last, Jia will see her new home: America.
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