Last night the power went out in the village that will be our new home. It was a typical ‘African moment’ as they say. It did not bother me at all. I thought the wine tasted better by candlelight, and perhaps the conversations were more intimate. It stayed out for all of the night and most of the morning. The sound of baboons and crickets seem to be our new lullaby. Gary took a cold shower. I was not that brave. I will wait for the hot water.
After breakfast a friend and I went to the “drop-off” care-point. It was raining so only about 20 little ones came today, apparently most days it is closer to 40. The care-point is like a day care for toddlers to school-aged children. These children would otherwise be alone all day in a shack with no food and no supervision. It is a large room with toys, and cheap plastic chairs and tables. It was dark with no electricity. We were all thankful for the fireplace. Without it we would have been quite cold. These precious little ones are all small for their ages; they may look like one year olds and be closer to three or four. It took about two seconds for them all to pile on our laps. They were right in my face. Some played with my hair, some my earrings. I do not know how many were HIV positive, but I am sure more than half. I did not ask because I want to just think of them as the beautiful children that they are, not be distracted with a hideous disease. I did notice one “teacher” that could not control her coughing. I prayed for her, and held as many little ones as I could. There were children all over me, trying to get as close as possible, all wanting to be held. They ate their apples and porridge and no one chased them around trying to convince them to eat like we do in America. They were disciplined, yet full of life. Amazing that God has created billions of humans, and we are all so different. There was one little boy that seemed to want to crawl up in me, he 
couldn’t get close enough. When a little girl tried to take his spot on my lap he cried. Not spoiled tears, or the crying you hear from children when they hurt themselves. This was a deep whimper of hurt and disappointment. It was if he was saying, “All I want is for someone to hold me, just me, and tell me I am worth holding.”
I had all the other children sit next to me, and I scooped him up. We cried together as I rocked his little body, and he rocked my heart. We stood up after a while and joined the group for prayer and “assembly”, singing “Father Abraham” and “Jesus loves the little children.” It was fabulous, the most fun I have had in a long time. I thought of Alexis, Emily and Caleb. I could see them spending all day there. The children started raising their little hands and quoting scriptures. Psalms and Proverbs have never packed so much punch. I did not want to know their individual stories. I am sure they are all horrific in different ways. I decided instead to be very thankful for the structure and the staff, doing all they could for forgotten children and I vowed to cover them in prayer as I do for my own babies, tangibly fighting for their lives as well. They need cots, clothes, better nutrition and medicine. They are being taught to pray, and pray a prayer of thankfulness for the day, the food, and for protection. They are praying for protection from things I cannot comprehend for children to have to face daily. Their mothers are either at work, or just gone, fathers are rare, they seem too be a nearly extinct species.
