by Camron Wright

I’m directionally challenged—a polite way of saying I completely suck at directions. I get turned around easily. I get lost constantly. I’m lucky to make it home at night. It’s so bad that I’m certain when I'm 80, my wife is going to send me to the supermarket for milk and the police will find me in Reno.

It goes without saying that I rely on my GPS like Yin relies on Yang. On those rare occasions when I accidently leave my phone at home, or when Google Maps decides to take a break, my stomach knots, my palms sweat, and I end up circling my destination like a plane trying to land in Atlanta.

Now imagine living with that same dread for the greater portion of your life, always having the feeling of being completely and constantly lost. That’s how it was (and perhaps still is, to a degree) for my friend Taj Rowland.

Taj was kidnapped as a child from his village in India. He was sold to a Christian orphanage and then adopted to an unknowing family in the United States. It took a year before he could speak enough English to tell his new parents that he already had a mother and father—a family—back home. By then it was too late. Even though his new American parents tried their best to track down his Indian family, all avenues led to dead ends.

At this point his story sounds like a tragedy—and in some ways, it is. But it’s also a story of hope, discovery, and determination. You see, Taj never gave up. Over a decade later, the knowledge in his gut lingered that he had loved ones in India still waiting, still eager, still missing him. No matter how hard he tried to forget his past and move forward with his new American life, Taj couldn’t shake the notion that he needed to find his way home.

It could be argued that Taj’s story is unique. Very few of us, after all, were kidnapped as children. But it can be equally argued that Taj’s story is common. Don’t we all at times feel lost? Aren’t we all perpetually searching, longing for home? Whether we like it or not, the desire to discover who we are, how we fit in, or where we come from is a yearning that’s etched into our souls.

In his new life in the United States, Taj was given all the comforts of prosperity: a warm home, plenty of food, a good education. Taj was provided a material life he could never have dreamed about as a poor child in India—and yet, Taj still needed more. He needed to understand why a lonely Indian boy in a crowded and confusing world mattered. He needed to belong.

There is a Chinese proverb that claims we are connected to others with an invisible red thread. The adage declares our thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break.

The lesson Taj learned is simple. Sometimes we need to quit fighting with our red thread. We need to stop twisting, pulling, tangling. Instead, we need to gently take it in our fingers and follow it patiently forward, all the while marveling at where it leads. Many of the challenges we find along the way will seemingly tangle our thread beyond recognition. But if we stick with it, more often than not our red thread will lead us to the waiting needs of others—and the resulting miracles will be amazing.

Let me sum up Taj’s advice this way: Look down. See that messy bundle of red? Pick it up and start tugging. There are people—family, friends, strangers, soulmates—perhaps some more than half a world away, who are pulling on threads of their own, and they can’t wait to meet you!

—

Camron Wright is the author of several award-winning books. His book The Orphan Keeper is based on the life of Taj Rowland and is available on Amazon or in bookstores everywhere.