Author Keith Miller tells of an outgoing 40-year-old woman who was part of a sharing group he led. Here is her story:
"When I was a tiny little girl, my parents died, and I was put in an orphanage. I was not pretty at all, and no one seemed to want me. But I longed to be adopted and loved by a family as far back as I can remember. I thought about it day and night, but everything I did seemed to go wrong. I must have tried too hard to please the people who came to look me over, and what I did was to drive them away. But then one day, the head of the orphanage told me that a family was coming to take me home with them.
I was so excited that I jumped up and down and cried like a little baby. The matron reminded me that I was on trial and this might not be a permanent arrangement, but I just knew that somehow it would work out. So I went with this family and started to school. I was the happiest little girl you can imagine, and life began to open up for me just a little. But then one day a few months later, I skipped home from school and ran into the front door of the big old house we lived in. No one was at home, but in the middle of the front hall was my battered suitcase with my little coat thrown across it. As I stood there it suddenly dawned on me what it meant--I didn’t belong there anymore."
Miller reports that when the woman stopped speaking, there was hardly a dry eye in the group. But then she cleared her throat and said almost matter-of-factly, ...
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