She started screaming as soon as she saw us. It was about 10 a.m. and she was clearly drunk, and when she gripped my arm, her strength surprised me. Her build was so slight compared to my 5'9” frame, but years of working the fields, pounding maize, and hand washing clothes gave her the distinct advantage. Wanting to show us something, she dragged me into her house with my teammates following behind, still yelling in Portuguese as if I understood every word.
Elias, our contact, translates, telling us that she wants us to fix her roof so that she and her grandson can sleep without the rain coming in. Her yelling dulls our compassion for her situation, it's clear that we are only rich mazungus to her; and, we've seen and helped at homes in far worse situations. Instead, we've come today to pray for her and invite her grandson to lunch and games at our house later in the week.
Our contact is in the process of building an orphanage. One of the many things we've done this month is visit with the families in the community that will be involved in the orphanage once it's completed. There are many widows here who are unable to provide for their children and many orphans who are considered burdens by their extended families. The later is the case here.
Usually, the boy comes running when Elias visits. This morning, the twelve-year-old is hiding behind a tree, sobbing. He sees Elias and starts sobbing even more, starts telling him that she's been beating him because he doesn't do the laundry, but, he can't do the laundry because nobody's ever taught him how. He grandmother interrupts constantly, enraged by his tears. She tells us how horrible the boy is, how she beats him because he's worthless and stupid and good for nothing. Even without Elias translating every word, her rage at the boy, at life, is apparent.
I simultaneously fight back both tears and the desire to choke her just to shut her up. It's not a pretty confession, but, it's true.
You don't have to go to Mozambique to find unloved children. I know that. But, it was so raw, so devastating, so see it here firsthand. My heart broke for him, for his helplessness, for the injustice of it all. My mind raced to understand how anyone could believe that a child was a piece of trash.
His eyes turned up to Elias, questioning if this man would be able to intervene on his behalf. As her screaming started again, his eyes hardened before sinking back to the ground and I wondered how long before that root of bitterness grows into the same hatred that his broken grandmother carries with her today?
Lord, have mercy.
The boy comes to lunch and games at our house later in the week, along with about 75 other kids. It's such a relief to see him smiling and happy. At the beginning of the month, missionary friends of John Michael and Ashley gave them a Portuguese Bible to give away. I had forgotten about it, but they hadn't. Guess who went home that day a proud new owner of his very own Bible?
Elias promised that he would help the boy study the Bible. We prayed that the Bible would be read, hoping and trusting that God's word would intervene in ways that we simply cannot. We prayed that God would continue to extend his mercies to this child here in Mozambique.
We visited the home again today. The grandmother, thankfully, was sober and engaged in polite conversation with us. It was very different from that first day. We asked about the boy, wondering where he was. The answer was better than we could have asked for. Apparently, every day he goes to his uncle's house to get help reading his new Bible, which he is so excited about.
As we left the house, the boy came running up to us and Elias asked him what he was reading in his new Bible. The boy's face lit up as he told us all about the Christmas story, straight out the beginning of Matthew. He can't wait to learn more about the life of Jesus… and I can't wait to see what happens next.
All I can say is, always remember, the Lord has mercy. The Lord has mercy.
