I'm pretty sure the only reason I have not already started the adoption process is because my dad told me, when we were exchanging goodbyes in the airport, that I can't bring a suitcase full of orphans home with me. 

But I'm sure if he met this little stinker, he'd make an exception.

Rance is five years old. He's small enough that he could easily fit into my pack, so I might just find a way to bring him back with me. Sorry, Dad.

My first encounter with him took place several weeks ago, my first few days here in the Philippines. Hot, still jet lagged and having no idea what our purpose was in this place, we sat in the shade on the steps outside a church to take a breath. 

With Nerf guns in hand, a band of bronze, five and six year old filipino boys, all missing their front teeth, came shooting styrofoam bullets at us, bopping our heads from behind and laughing all the while.

He melted my heart as quickly as his styrofoam bullet "struck" it. 

Rance runs fast even with his oversized flip flops ripping, as playful as any little boy can be. 

He is the youngest of four children; a family dwelling in crammed quarters, walled in by only plywood to the unfair world they live in.

His mom is stern; a mix between protective and angry. With her husband in Dubai for the year, Ruby is supposed to be the provider and protector.

She used to work in the bakery along the main road, but left the job for reasons I'm not sure I'll ever understand.

I do know that she spends her afternoons with a hand of cards before her, gambling away money she can't afford to lose.

Meanwhile, Rance and his brother Byron spend their afternoons running around the village, swinging from vines, chasing chickens, and shooting missionaries with Nerf guns. Boys.

Toting Rance on my shoulders, he'll drink from my water bottle and taunt the kids walking below him, grateful to finally have a height advantage. 

He'll squirm as I try to brush his teeth, and rip off every bandaid I put on the oozing wounds of his arms and legs; even the Batman bandaids.

Rance leaves for school in the afternoons, so I'm lucky to catch him before he goes. I'm even luckier to catch him in his school uniform; his tucked yellow shirt hanging out in the back like a little duck's tail, his hair combed to the side, which I'm sure doesn't last for long, and his new shoes have plenty of room for him to grow into but are already scuffed up. Boys.

Rance will smile and take a running leap into my arms if I stretch them out for him, but if not, he'll take off running for me to catch him and throw him up in the air.

My heart broke the first few times that my teammates referred to him as "Grace's boy," because it rings true.

I know God sent me here to give him the affection that his parents don't.

I tear up thinking about how I won't be around to watch him grow up, but my prayer is that he'll grow to be a man after God's heart. I pray that the love that I show to him, he'll one day show to his son.

I pray that the cycle ends here.

Rance, you little stinker, I love you.

……………………………………...

Boys. They'll do that to you.