It’s been three weeks since I cried my way through the Atlanta International Airport, clinging to the hand of a boy who stole my heart and rocked my world. 

Three weeks since that boy placed his hands on my cheeks and beamed as “Ayi ku la.”

Three weeks since we said “zai jian” to the 10-year-old superhero we can’t stop thinking about, reminiscing about, talking about or praying for.

I never knew three weeks could feel like such a lifetime ago and almost yesterday at the exact same time.

That boy, he wrecked me. Utterly, completely, wholly, fully wrecked me.

In the surprise of my life, God used a 10-year-old orphan from China to rewrite my definition of “love.” To turn my world upside down. To reveal my flaws. To shine a light on the dark spots of my heart. And to teach me about a NEW kind of love. A bold kind of love. A kind of love that gives itself wholly and unashamedly and FULLY without reservations, even when the person offering it knows that a 200 percent kind of love WILL end in a 100 percent chance of pain when the person being loved and the person doing the loving have to say goodbye at some point in the future.

Especially when the person imagining herself to DO the loving finds that SHE IS INSTEAD the one 200 percent fully LOVED.