I cry almost every day.
I could be riding in the van down the road, doing a devotional, listening to music, playing with the kiddos at the park, grocery shopping or any other number of typical activities I experience here in Eswatini and, all of the sudden, here they come- tears.
I don’t know that I can actually put into words the things I’ve seen or am feeling, but I’m going to try.
To preface, this blog could be considered graphic to some- uncomfortable realities from across the world woven into the words you read during a break in your day (and I’m so thankful you do).
This month my team and I’s ministry is to visit a care point (the same one each day), play with the kids there and feed them (twice if they’re there all day, once if they come in the afternoon). A care point is essentially a small 10′ by 10′ building, a cement structure where a fire can be made to cook each day and a playground.
This seems easy enough. It’s definitely the easiest ministry I’ve done yet as far as planning and preparation is concerned.
We just show up.
We hold them.
We feed them.
We play games.
We sing songs.
We show them Jesus loves them and we tell them, too.
So what’s my deal? Seems almost like a month off at first glance.
Here’s some facts about this country:
– 70% of kids are orphans. 70%. Seven out of the ten kids I held today are trying to find a safe place to sleep tonight; they don’t know where their next meal is coming from and they own almost nothing. I know who they are. They’re the ones without school uniforms; they’re the ones in the same clothes that they wore all of last week; they’re the ones with diseases eating away their hair, open wounds and questionable growths. They’re the ones who fall asleep as soon as I pick them up because they might not have a safer place to sleep later. They’re the 3 and 4 year olds who pack up their own food to eat later, because if they don’t, they won’t eat.
And I cry.
– Witch craft is heavy here. During election season, hopeful nominees flock to the witch doctors to procure their success. Witch doctors will then ask for certain body parts in various quantities. Last election season, 2,000 orphan children disappeared.
And I cry.
– In only two weeks, some of the individuals who have graced the playground as we were with the kids have been a man who is a known rapist in the area, a fully naked late middle-aged mentally deranged man, who was mumbling nonsense and came into the play area, and a group of three or four drunk men, stumbling around and yelling. The children all gather together and the Shepard, a person who mans the care point all day for four days a week, will insist that the person or persons leave. I want to clarify, I’ve never feared for my own safety. We far outnumber any amount of people that have entered. However, we will leave and only the Shepard will remain. These kids are kids. They should be able to play with their friends without seeing naked or drunk men. They should be able to play without fear.
And I cry.
– 1 in 3 individuals in this country have AIDS. This epidemic is partly to blame for “the missing generation”. You see children and you see the elderly, referred to as Go-gos, but it’s rare to see anyone between the ages of thirty and fifty. This is also why there are so many orphans. Since AIDS can be transmitted through birth, the life expectancy is only 55 years old. A book I read stated that the entire country could die out by 2050 if the epidemic continues as it has.
And I cry.
I’ve seen kids who are terrified and cry when we get close. I’ve seen kids who automatically trust us because we’re missionaries. I’ve seen 3 and 4 year olds walk to the care point alone, play during the day and then remember their shoes and leftover food as they head home. I’ve seen children with the same clothes on each day and sometimes with no pants or shirt at all. I’ve seen a girl who was completely scratched up and stood on the outside of the play area holding her private area for ten minutes. I’ve seen kids showing signs of physical abuse, sexual abuse and emotional neglect. I’ve seen kids showing signs of reactive attachment disorder (RAD) and post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).
And I cry.
Some of these kids have already experienced more heartbreak than I might see in my whole life.
And where is God? Does He not care that His children are suffering? Does He not care that they’re dying?
I believe He dearly does. I think He’s crying, too- with me and with these kids. I believe He adores them and feels for their pain more than I could ever fathom.
And I think He’s asking- Do we care that His children are suffering? Do we care that they’re dying?
What are we going to do about it?
We just show up.
We hold them.
We feed them.
We play games.
We sing songs.
We show them Jesus loves them and we tell them, too.
And we pray and we pray and we pray. And then we volunteer at a food bank and pray again. And then we learn how to empower this nation to begin to fix its own problems from within and we pray again. And we support long term missionaries here and then pray again.
There’s children dying.
What are you going to do about it?
“I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me. I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.‘” Matthew 25:35-40
