Ever
left your crying toddler in the Church nursery, or your kindergartner
on the first day of school, or even a pre-teen at a summer camp? They
look up at you with “Please don’t leave me, Mommy” tears brimming, lower lip
protruding, arms reaching out to for you to pick them up. You know
there is nothing you can do; the time has come and you have to
leave, but you feel a little nauseated. And the second you get to your
car, you let the hot tears flow.
My
last week in Nsoko felt just like that. I did not have a choice; I had
to leave these precious little ones. They didn’t understand, and in
many ways, neither did I. They tried to crawl in my car after my final goodbye. I kept explaining over and over, that I was coming back, but everyone says that to them, and most never do.
Maternal
instinct is a powerful thing; I still check on my all my kids in the
middle of the night (even the ones that are taller than me!), and I
think about the Children of the Dirt all the time.
I
will be back with them in the middle of June, with a group of people
broken for them and willing to give up time and finances to come and
see them. In the meantime, the Nsoko Project fund has run dry, and my mothers’ heart is racing for these little ones. I know God will not let them starve; I know He will provide like He always does, but they are so far away.
The
same way I awaken with a start, wondering who in my home has kicked off
their covers and might be cold, I awaken several times a night, and
wonder what the community of Nsoko is facing today.
I wonder if Pastor Gift feels alone and overwhelmed. I wonder if Jumbo is beside himself with work, all of us knowing he will never give up, because he truly loves the kids. I
wonder if the children are getting cold at night now that it is nearing
winter in Africa. I wonder if anyone will check to see if they even have
covers to kick off. I am counting the days to be with them, and praying for the floodgates of Heaven to open up over them.
My last meeting with the GoGo’s, the elders, the Chiefs, and the teachers were also filled with tears and goodbyes. The one thing they all asked before Gary and I left was: “Please, don’t forget us.”
Back
in America, I see the economy feels less than booming. I feel the stress
as people strive to maintain the American dream, and I know that
“giving” is down more than ever. I
also understand that people feel overwhelmed. I am struggling with that
myself since returning to this great and wonderful nation. I know my feelings are stronger for these little ones because I have held them, and I know their names.
I am blessed, I know. I am also selfish. I do believe that what we reap is what we sow. I often think we are so arrogant to think that our children would never be in that situation. Sometimes, I think “what if…” What if something did happen in our country: a plague, a war, a catastrophic event. What if we were all gone, except Noah, the baby of our family, or the baby or your family? What if our five year-old prince was suddenly alone on this earth? No parents, grandparents, brothers or sisters, just little Noah walking around vulnerable, alone, searching for food, exposed to the elements, scared, and prey for predators.
Would
someone who didn’t know him take him in, feed him, love him and
protect him, simply because God commanded them to? Would a stranger
make a sacrifice to save my baby?
See, my motives here? They are all someone’s babies; they could be yours.
We can all do something, no matter how big or how small.
It matters to them…
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