It’s hot. I’m covered in dirt and sweat, but the shade in this cool, cement room gives me great relief. I entered expecting to sit in on a class, observing a teacher and watching his students, hopefully taking pictures and taking notes. Instead, I’m the only adult in a room full of beautiful eyes waiting for me to do something…anything. Teach us something, they seem to shout at me with their silent faces. I wait patiently for someone else to come, someone who knows what is supposed to be done, someone who can do something. But no one does. Without panicking, I make a choice. I can apologetically walk out of the room, or I can share my heart with these kids. And why else did I come?
There is a map on the wall. I put it on the table in front of me, as the kids somehow take my cue and jump out of their seats to see what I am about to do. They gather around me as I stare at the map. “Here,” I say, pointing to the little spot in New York state that I call home. “This is where I am from.”
I explain that it’s cold there. Snow is on the ground. Snow is like ice that falls from the sky, and builds up several feet so that it covers our house. We have to shovel it out of the way just so we can walk and drive to school. I say that I have a handsome husband and two amazing boys that I love. I’ve left them at home so I could be here, with you. It cost me a lot of money to be here, more than I had. It took me two days just to get here. But here I am.
“Yes, there are a lot of mazungos.” (white people) “But there are people of all colors in my town.”
I point to Florida, California, Canada, and Mexico. “I’ve been here, too.” Then Czech Republic, Egypt, Ireland, Amsterdam, Australia and New Zealand. “I’ve traveled here, too.”
Faces are full of awe. Yes, they’d like to travel someday too. They’d like to see America and meet Obama.
One bold voice asks, “Why? Why did you go to these places?”
“For school, for fun, and to help people.”
“To help kids?”
“Yes.”
There is a pause.
“Orphans?” he asks.
It was one word, but it caught me so off guard I almost couldn’t understand what he said.
“Yes, some were orphans." Like you, I think.
With all the thoughts that swirled in my head after that question, my focus was wondering if that made him feel less special, that I’ve also poured out to others before him, or does it make him feel better, knowing there are other kids in different parts of the world who are just like him.
I will never be sure what reasons he wanted to know that, or how my answer made him feel.
I seem to constantly choose difficulties and things that are too hard to do, because I think God has called me to them. Do I choose to suffer? No! But if suffering is on my path, I will walk through it, just like every other thing on the way. I refuse to walk around things just because my legs hurt, or stop moving because I need a break.
This moment was crazy hard. It doesn’t seem like a big deal, but it was. I’ll never forget it. I’ll never forget being alone in a room full of orphans, asking me questions about life and wondering why I’ve come so far just to be with them.
If even one child understands that I came because I LOVE, then my life has meaning.
LOVE is patient and kind. It is not envious and does not boast. It is not proud, rude, self-seeking, or easily offended. It doesn’t keep a record of wrongs and does not delight in evil, but rejoices with truth. Love never gives up, never loses faith, always hopes, and always endures.
I must make sure LOVE is my driving force. I no longer live in fear, or shame, or darkness. I no longer walk in pain and sadness. Love is a movement that keeps my legs running, my feet pounding the ground. Love for those orphans, their country, this world. It is my Joy. And there is no end to that.
Walking in love one week at a time.
