I wrote this on March 26. Sorry it’s a bit late. Check out Aubrey’s latest blog to find out why I haven’t written in a bit!
I’m sitting here, about an hour before our final English class for adults, and I am struck by an inexplicable sadness. Well, okay, never mind: I can explain it.
I began this month thinking I was going to rather hate it here. I’m a sweater- I sweat a lot back at home. So put me into the hottest place on earth, and yes, my sweat glands will go into overdrive. I thought I would hate sweating all the time. I thought that I would hate the children yelling “mzungu!” at us so constantly. I thought that I would hate walking through sand all the time, without the benefit of nearby water (remember, we’re in Dar, but we’re still about 15 miles from the ocean).
But as the month has progressed, I’ve fallen in love here.
With the adults who come in the morning and at night to learn English, so proudly announcing it when they understand what we’re teaching. (Side note: this also led to an awesome discussion about not saying someone is fat when one man, who looked so happy to have understood, loudly exclaimed “Oh! I am skinny… and she is fat!” His grin was only overshadowed by our collective gasp.)
With Kevin and Chevy, who never fail to smile as they run up to us, and then ignore their mothers as they try to follow us home. (I also love how Kevin will walk up to me and just open his mouth, knowing that I’ll pour my water into it-I feel like a mother bird!)
With Agnes, Pastor Angelina’s daughter, who is spunky and funny, and who has also gotten us hooked on the show The Unit and this terrifically awful dubbed-in-English Brazilian soap opera, Shades of Sin. She is my age and is in law school. I also kind of have clothes envy when I see her wardrobe!
Kevin is on the left, Chevy is in the middle and Jamal is on the right.
So today, as Aubrey taught, I just tried to take it all in, to create a mental picture. The weight of little Kevin, wriggling around on my lap. And the touch of Zaituni’s hands around my neck as she rested her head on my chest (yes, I can fit up to three children in my lap, I’ve discovered!), her smile as she touched my hair. The giggle of another girl as she also touched my hair: These kids are really in awe over our hair. I want to tell them that I don’t even have great hair; it’s pretty thin and hasn’t had much conditioning done to it for the past, oh, 8 months! The sound of Amani laughing behind us, John yelling out “Not fine!” in his deep rumbly voice. The kids shyly peeking in at us from the door of the church.
This has been a good month. I think I’ve learned a lot about myself- even MORE about my selfishness (will that ever stop?!) and pride, and how to better love people. Maybe I’m starting to see people as God sees them. Not always, but I think there are glimpses of it sometimes. I’m a failboat at it a lot- like today, when I was trying to do laundry and five women just stared at me. I was a little angry with them, thinking Look somewhere else! I’m not a show! But that quickly passed. After all, I’d probably watch someone who was doing laundry badly, too!
And then there are the things here that will never, ever cease to pull at my heartstrings,
like the homework that 8-year-old Grace turned in. She is such a cute little girl, who loves Fanta and skips and dances with us on the way to church and holds our hands, but mostly
Marissa’s, as they just have this awesome, beyond-all-language-and-culture bond.
But her English homework (which Aubrey created for them) asked the question, “When is your birthday?” Her answer had me with tears in my eyes almost immediately.
“We don’t no.”
You see, Grace is an orphan.
And she has HIV.
And she doesn’t know when her birthday is.
I thought back to all the wonderful birthdays I’ve celebrated- surrounded by family, filling my belly with food and my grandma’s amazing homemade chocolate cake. And I would give anything for Grace to have that…just once. To have a family surrounding her, loving her, singing to her and looking at her adoringly, to watch that cake-filled fork make its way to her mouth.
There are a few things that kind of comfort me in this, though.
A) That there are people like Marissa, who fall in love with someone and show them love on this earth. Maybe it’s only for a month on the World Race. Or maybe it’s a family who adopts and loves that child with all the love any parent has for his or her child. Or maybe it’s just a smile. But it’s love, nonetheless. And I commend anyone who has taken part in showing love to someone who so desperately needs it.
And B) That God loves orphans. Over and over, He commands that we care for the strangers, the widows, the orphans. Jesus said Let the little children come to me.
And I have this image in my head of the Great Banquet, when we all finally get to be with Jesus. In it, He has gathered His bride at last. And all of the orphans have those ridiculous birthday hats on, and little cakes in front of them. And I see Jesus going to each one, sitting the little girl or boy on His lap, and singing them Happy Birthday. They will rest against His chest, enveloped in love, finally. And He will laugh with them, and tweak their chins, and they will know that they were never, ever alone, even when it felt like it, even when they thought they were. And all of those who played with those orphans, or adopted them, or loved them, or clothed or fed them, will get birthday hats, too, and those loud party favors. And we’ll all celebrate together, our Father’s love for all of us. And how we’re called to share that love with everyone. I hope that I get one of those party hats, and that it doesn’t fit quite right, so I have to keep pushing it up.
Because each time I push it up, I’ll remember: I showed God’s love. Someone like Grace didn’t have to be alone on every birthday, because I was already celebrating with them on Earth. Who can you love today? Go do it. For Grace.
