How do I explain Eden Center?
Well there’s Cecelia who licked Laura’s palm. She also has joyous dance parties in the garden at any given moment and all to a rhythm in her own head. I like to join her.
There’s Ellen. She greets me everyday by calling, “Ay, mama” or “Hello darling” in her growly little 4ft self, voice. The next second she’s angrily telling me she wants to punch the “white lady who doesn’t like her.” When she yells, you know it.
There’s Wilma who wants nothing more than to hold my hand and look me in the eyes. Every day. She’s genuinely delighted overtime I walk in the room.
Melt. My. Heart.
Oh and Mischievous Mosa. Her eyes tell about 5,000 secrets. She gets close and then skirts away just as fast. She whispers.
And the men. Let’s not forget them.
Lucas. He’s missing all of his teeth and doesn’t speak a word of English. Every day he builds planters and bookshelves with me. 90% of the time I have no idea what his goal is, but it always turns out positive. And most likely it was genius and I never would have thought about it. Lucas is a secret Einstein, I swear.
And there’s sweet John D. He loves his stylish, fancy leather shoes and is maybe the most caring of all the residents. He’s always aware of what everyone around him needs.
There are so many of them here. Loving, beautiful people that I’ve come to love.
Really.
They are the most beautiful of souls in such deep need of extra hands and hearts to hear them. Understand them. Love them like Jesus.
Gosh it’s intense to feel all of that.
I wish you could touch my heart and feel the ache of loving them. It’s so hard. Not because it’s hard or strenuous to love them because of who they are.
But because of me.
And my journey here.
I’m leaving them.
And I don’t know how to.
How do you leave people who love so freely and need it so deeply? Knowing all of that. Feeling all of that. Hurting with all of their hurt.
I’m not narcissistic enough to believe they can’t survive without me.
I know they will live and breathe and eat and sleep when I’m not here. But I want so much more for them. I want the hope I feel in my heart to live in their heart.
Every day. I want God’s hope for them.
But I guess that just means trusting Jesus with my people here.
Trusting He’ll send others like He sent me.
Trusting He sees all of them.
God, hear my prayer. I see sweet Rosy’s face when I close my eyes. I see her deep, wide, brown eyes. Her frail legs and slow hobble. Oh Rosy. I see her teeny smile, growing the more she warms to me. I see the hope and the joy that edges in when I pray for her. And the others too, God. I give you Cecelia and Ellen and Sipho and Lucas. And sweet Rosy too. Jesus take care of them. Heal them. Bring them Your hope and great love. Grow the light of You inside of them long after I leave. Papa, love them like the great Father You are to us. Give them Your gifts. Give them warmth in winter and water in thirst. Let them eat until their bellies become soft and welcome in comfort. God be their peace. Let your love walk around next to them. Let your light be their halo. Father, please. Be near. Hold them. See them. Take their burdens.
Amen.
