From Nova Scotia to the Philippines: Eileen Richardson’s Quiet Impact at a Local Orphanage

When Eileen Richardson of Nova Scotia first arrived in the Philippines to teach at a local Bible school, she expected her focus to be mainly on the classroom. She did not expect that her time outside of teaching would have a lasting effect on both her life and the lives of others.

As part of the school’s curriculum, the students were required to dedicate one afternoon each week to working at a local orphanage. On her first visit to the orphanage, Richardson was emotionally struck by the harsh reality of life inside the facility. Designed to house about 50 children, it held closer to 120, all under the age of seven. The staff was insufficient and overworked, and basic supplies were scarce.

“It was dingy and dirty, and hard to deal with the first time I went,” she says. “They have none of the things that we take for granted, like toys and clean water.”

The children were bathed outside each morning using a plastic tub and a worn pink hose. Most wore t-shirts and diapers made from old flour sacks. Some had visible disabilities, and those with the most serious deformities were often kept out of sight.

One child, a little boy named Emmanuel, changed everything for Richardson. He was about four years old, blind, and mentally challenged. He had spent nearly all his life lying in a crib. He had never been held, had never smiled or laughed. Richardson was so drawn to this child, whose name means “God With Us,” that she knew she would be going back after that first emotionally wrenching visit.

She asked for permission to go to the orphanage daily, after classes. From the very first time she saw him, she picked him and held him, talked to him and loved him. Sometimes she sang to him, and she began to gently exercise limbs that had never been used. It became known in both the Bible School and the orphanage that Emmanuel was “her boy”.

“When I first held him, he didn’t know what was happening,” she recalled. “His limbs went rigid, and he cried and struggled. He fought for an hour because he had no idea what was happening, but when he finally stopped fighting, I was able to just hold him close and talk to him. By the fourth day, he was smiling. The staff told me he had never smiled. He recognized my voice, and he began to respond to me. And then he laughed. I was told he had never laughed. In fact, the staff did not know that he could laugh.”

Over time, Emmanuel began to respond eagerly to Richardson’s visits and attention. He laughed and jabbered, and eventually was able to stand with help. The two had become an accustomed sight, Richardson walking around the orphanage with Emmanuel’s arms thrown around her neck, the two of them babbling away to each other in different languages.

The staff was encouraged by his progress, accomplishing things they’d thought he was not capable of, and they now encouraged his potential whenever they could. The staff was quite taken by the change in him. As Richardson made more visits in the following years, she was overjoyed to witness Emmanuel’s steady progress. The third year she returned to the orphanage, he was no longer hidden away but was moved into a room with other children, where he could walk short distances and explore, as long as he had a railing to hold.

On one visit, Richardson arranged for him to see a doctor to explore the possibility of surgery to restore his sight. Unfortunately, the diagnosis confirmed permanent blindness due to oxygen deprivation at birth, but Emmanuel had already gained so much confidence and abilities in other ways. He was walking, interacting, and letting his personality shine through. He loved being with the other children, feeling the sun on his skin, the wind in the yard, and the joy of being nurtured.

Richardson’s story is a powerful example of what can happen when someone chooses to care, even in difficult conditions. Through consistent acts of kindness and love, she gave a child a better chance at life. It’s a testament to the fact that the most meaningful help doesn’t always come from major programs or organizations. Sometimes it starts with a simple decision to show up, to sit with someone, and to show them that you care. In a place where few resources are available, presence, love, and patience can often make the biggest difference.