February 2012 – Journal/Blog Entry
It’s a little hard to put into words all that I’ve been experiencing lately. Plenty of joy and a handful of sorrow; this is what’s been taking place in my heart. Most of my time has been spent with ten wonderful children. I’ve been helping the three oldest learn how to read, played outside with all of them, seen them dance and jump and shout for joy when Zambia scored the goal against Ghana, and watched them climb the guava tree in our yard.
At these things I have felt so thrilled and blessed; for some reason God saw it fit for me to live in Zambia and be apart of their lives. For some reason I do not know, God chose me to walk with them, love them, help them learn, encourage them, play with them. Though I don’t quite know why, I am so glad He did. It’s only February, I haven’t been here for a month, and I am so excited to see what unfolds, what stories I’ll have to tell, what things will happen and what fruit will be brought from this season. And the next. And the next.
But over other things my heart has ached. As I hear the children’s stories, their pasts, I have a heavy heart. To know that they have parents who are too sick to care for them, who just don’t want to care for them, or perhaps who have passed away . I cannot comprehend the rejection and confusion that the children must feel, and I cannot stop thinking that God is so good to have brought them to Kwathu Children’s Home. When I hear of the dirt, the filth, the mess they come from whether it just be the physical dirt—or when I hear of the broken hearts that tried to care for them—I am grieved. Such beautiful children left to wander in the streets, to fend for themselves, to sleep in a house no bigger than a washer and dryer put together.
Even though these things are sad and almost unbearable to hear, I remember hope. I remember that even now they are sleeping in warm beds, with a roof over their heads, dressed and cleaned and resting so they can wake up, have breakfast, and go to school tomorrow. I remember where they are from, and then I remember where they are now and how much God has done. How glorious. He has rescued them, and He is spending Himself always on redeeming them, growing them up, and loving them unconditionally forever and ever. That is my joy in the darkest moments. That is my joy when I think about the sad stories. And not just stories, but pieces of their lives. He is just, though, and good. And in that justice and goodness, He has given them a place that they can call home, feel remembered and not forgotten, loved and not rejected, where they can simply be children; laughing and dancing and playing in the rain and learning to read and write and spell and drawing and coloring and playing with cars and dolls and watching movies on Friday nights or soccer to support their nation.