The LORD keeps bringing up some memories lately.
I lived with my friend and her 3 small children for 9 months in Virginia last year. It was a season of grieving and of healing. One specific night I was sitting on the couch, falling asleep when my friend told me to go to bed. Being stubborn, I said no. Which my friend then threatened to tuck me in if I didn’t head to bed. I laughed at her and said, “Yeah, ok. I’d like to see you try.” Well, she grabbed my arm, dragged me to my room and told me to get in bed. Then she proceeded to hook up her ipod and put a playlist of Jesus lullabies on. I layed there thinking this can’t get any more awkward. Well, it did. She then gave me a hug, kissed my forehead, tucked me in and left the room. I layed there for a moment trying to process what just happened when the lyrics of the lullaby became clear and the presence of the LORD heavy. Then I began to sob uncontrollably for what seemed like forever. I can’t really explain the depth of healing my inner child experienced, but I do know that in that moment I felt loved and had a sense of belonging that I had never had before in my life. I know it sounds weird for a 23 year old at the time to be tucked into bed by her friend, but God knew that that was exactly what I needed.
The other memory that keeps popping up is of a 4 year old little boy named Lazach from month 3 in Malawi. He lived across the dirt road from the preschool we were living in, and stopped by just about every day to see us. I had been awoken from my nap by a scream outside which wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Nat was in the room writing so I asked her what was going on but she didn’t know. So I shrugged it off and started drawing. Well, the screaming became louder and turned into hysterical crying, and I knew it was a child in distress. I rushed outside but everything was still and quiet. As I started walking towards the road, screaming and hysterical crying started again. I looked up the road and saw a mother gripping her 4 year old son by the arm and punching the crap out of him until he escaped. Anger flared up in me. It was one of the little boys we taught in the preschool, Lazach’s friend. Then I looked across the street to figure out where the crying was coming from, but I didn’t see anyone. Lazach’s mother came outside yelling, looked at me, smirked, and then began moving toward the bushes yelling some more. The bushes started shaking and the hysterical crying got louder out of fear. She tried to get ahold of Lazach from the bush, but he ran to another so she threw a rock at him. She looked at me again, started laughing and then went inside. I crouched down and called to him softly, motioning for him to come to me for about 10 minutes when he slowly and hesitantly emerged from the bush. Inch by inch he made his way over to me picking up a rock and kicking dirt along the way. I gently scooped him into my arms and held him close. I then wiped the tears from his face, told him he was ok, and began to sing a lullaby as I rocked him. We sat there staring into each other’s eyes as I sang the same song over and over. I don’t know how long we sat there, but I do know I fell in love with that kid even more, right there in the red dirt of Africa. Lazach clung to me after that day, often pushing other kids away from me.
The Lord keeps telling me that he sees me often as the little one crying and hiding under a bush, that he wants to care for me, hold me close and sing over me. Even though I feel like he’s going to throw rocks at me for disobedience, I often slowly and hesitently make my way over to him when I realize he’s going to keep calling my name.
