This is the life story of the woman I write to in prison. I call it ‘Sparrow’s Song’ so her identity will be protected. I will be working on this biography for quite a while, as she will be in prison, quite a while. I hope you will get to know Sparrow through this blog, and fall in love with her, as I did! Please pray for Sparrow when you read her story and think of her. I don’t think we can imagine what it is like in her circumstance.

Please enjoy her story in a ‘Chapter book’ style. As she writes to me, I write the story, send it back to her, and finally when I get her ‘thumbs up’, I send it to you, my friends.

As always, I want to hear from you in the Comments section.

SPARROW’S SONG                                                                                                                                           CHAPTER ONE

“Sparrow, come in please, it’s time for lunch” my mom was calling me from the back porch door.

I ran quickly toward the kitchen door and caught a glimpse of a new lilac on our bush.  I went over and took a deep sniff.  AAAAHHHH I do love the scent of lilacs.  Hey, I thought, so does Mom!  I will bring it in for her to enjoy on our kitchen table.  I broke off the luscious, lavender bloom and ran in to show her my treasure.

‘Mom Mom look what I found in the backyard!’ , I squealed as I ran in almost tripping over then small step at the kitchen door.

Mom knelt down to be eye to eye with my small four-year-old  frame, and she gasped with delight!  “You picked that for me?  Thank you, you know how much I love lilacs!  The scent is heavenly”.

“I know Mom, I just thought of you and picked it”.

“It’s beautiful, Sparrow’, now go wash up for lunch please.

I went in our powder room on the first floor.  I liked the way Mom decorated this room!  It was yellow and butterfly wall border.  I usually name all the butterflies on the paper while I was washing my hands, but today I looked in the mirror at myself.  I saw a pretty girl with straight black hair and high flat cheekbones.  My eyes were dark brown and at a slant, kind of like the pictures I had seen of the Asian children in our Mission lesson last Sunday.  Those children were very poor and often ate from the dump.  I shook my head to get those thoughts out of my head.  Mom was calling me for lunch.  I smoothed my hair and T shirt, and walked to the kitchen.

Mom had my fav for lunch- tomato soup and ½ of a grilled cheese sandwich with a glass of mile and a tangerine.  Mom asked me to pray.

‘Dear Lord I thank you for my food today, and my mom who made it and takes care of me.  And dear Lord, could you please feed the children that look like me, but only have the dump food, amen’.

I began with my grilled cheese while the soup cooled a bit.  I did love to dunk a corner of my sandwich in the soup- so good!  The cheese gets all melty and stretchy.

Mom watched me.  Then she asked; ‘Sparrow, you prayed today for children that look like you.  What did you mean?

I squirmed in my seat.  Mom had a way of getting information out of me that I was not yet ready to give up.  How could I stall this time?  I said’ my mouf if fuss I cnt tak!’

‘I’ll wait’, she said.

I knew it.  She does it to me all the time.  I want to be deep in my own thinking thing.  (That’s what I called daydreaming).  She wanted information!

My lunch was losing my interest.  I did not know how to ask a question I thought might hurt the one of the only people in the world that I knew loved me.  But, no better time, I guess.

Well, Mom, I look at your beautiful face, and Dad’s and I see blue eyes and light hair.  I look at my brothers, they have curly hair and very white skin, and my sister has long curly hair and beautiful blue eyes.  I don’t look like anybody in our family.

I was choking back tears as I spoke with great hesitation, and my favorite lunch lost its appeal!

Mom wrapped her arms around me and walked me to ‘our chair’.  This was where we sat to read, or rock when I was sick, or anytime I got hurt.  It was a comforting chair.  I hope this conversation would not ruin my ‘comfort chair’.

Mom began, ‘Sparrow, one evening at a church service a choir of boys came from South Korea.  They sang so beautifully, and were so pleasant and well behaved, Dad and I were just so impressed by them.. Then the leader said they were orphans,   (Mom had to explain that to me.  She said that an orphan was a child who had no parents.)  My heart started pounding in my little chest. I could hear it yelling in my ears. What would she tell me????

to be continued…..