The fear of not doing these experiences justice through my writing have kept my backspace button in good use for the last 3 months and thirteen minutes, but as I rambled on last time, these are people and places worthy of sharing, so I’ll try to wrap up Swaziland and describe the indescribable.
During my time in Swaziland I felt the heat of the sun that stretched the length of our days, but took no toll on our kids that stretched their arms for sweaty close hugs. I met one of the most humble and God-fearing men, Sihtulele, who served as the best shepherd that gave his all to the children, yet still had room to love us as daughters. I was cared for by a beautiful family of four (soon five), the Towns, who were the very best ministry hosts. They went above and beyond to make sure we were each well fed, cared for, known, loved, and in a state of receptivity for the Lord’s works. I witnessed and experienced growth in our 47 person community as we came together through vision, worship, hammock talks, and family-like celebrations. We also grew close as we shared our individual experiences that we had with the same love. The love of God that extends from person to person, care point to care point, and from heaven to earth. I experienced restoration and healing that I couldn’t attain in my own human ability or strength, and all I had to do was give it to God and be still. Swaziland allowed us long, slow days that provided space and silence for that stillness. The opportunities to establish that foundation of faith in the Lord with minimal worldly distraction, and with the ability (in practice) to carry out that growing understanding of love, trust, hope, peace, and all the good things daily. I was blessed with the most beautiful, authentic, caring, and unique relationships at the carepoint and throughout the community that I could never dream up myself.
When the last day inevitably and dreadfully came, I was holding those precious children for the last time. The kids, Sihtulele, and the gogos all made the final day so sweet for us. The classroom was decorated with colored papers and letters, filled with laughter, requests to dance, and farewell songs. Goodbyes began, and the same hugs were given on repeat because no hug was good enough to be the last. One of the grandmother’s I was closest too, Julie, pulled me in for a goodbye hug, making me cry harder, then wiped the tears off my face, also making me cry harder. I had some kids look at me and say “I’m sorry” because I was sad and guess what that did? Made me cry harder. At that point any word they said or anything they did seemed to be prolonging my cry. It’s no dramatic teen claim of a heartbreak when I tell you, and I still shed tears as I write, my heart physically ached saying goodbye.
I am thankful to carry the things I’ve learned, the growth, and the memories with me even after leaving Swaziland. I am thankful for the things I couldn’t carry out and that though I hated leaving, I have a good amount of reasons to go back.
