She wore a black and pink dress and a smile that she tried to hide. I watched as little chill bumps popped up across her chocolate skin. I could see the confusion in her eyes as I spoke English words she didn’t recognize. I took the coat I was wearing and wrapped it around her little arms.
For me, that wasn’t enough. Anyone could give her a coat but I wanted to give her more. I motioned to my lap. Slowly, a smile broke out across her face and she climbed up and snuggled against my chest. She pulled her tiny distressed Bible out and recited her favorite verse in English. There it was. The connection that my heart desired was finally established.
Once our service was over, she took my hand and lead me down the side of the mountain to visit one of the local villages. I listened as she sang songs in her beautiful language but never loosening her firm grip on my hand. From a distance on our walk, I could see smoke rising from the straw house chimneys up ahead.
The moment we stepped into the village, I could see tiny little heads hiding behind houses as we walked by. Up until this point, I was never more aware of the color of my skin and what it might mean to those who had never seen it before. As we made our way deeper into the villages, I couldn’t help but notice the lack of adults in an area with an abundance of children. Still holding on tight to the grip of my little friend, I made my way to our first house to pray.
My heart was not prepared for what I was walking in to. Every corner I turned was a child whose tiny toes hung out of the top of their shoes, bellies that were swollen from no food, and babies relieving themselves on their own legs. As I watched a toddler holding her baby sister on her chest in a way a mother would hold her daughter, I broke down. The tears that had not fallen since I arrived in Africa were now streaming down my cheeks.
These were no longer pictures of children I had seen in other countries anymore. This was real. This was raw. This was true. I couldn’t just close my eyes and hope that it all went away. I couldn’t just walk by and hope someone else would tell them how much Jesus loved them. But more importantly, I had to realize that I wasn’t going to be the one who saved them. It didn’t matter how many shoes I passed out or how much food I gave them, only the Father’s love would do that.
As we were leaving the village, my sweet friend looks at me and says, “I want to go to America with you.” Every thing in me wanted to pick her up and run. Run to a place where, in her mind, everything was different. In the middle of my selfish thought, I hear my Father’s voice, tell her she has a purpose here. I may not be able to stop and love every child that crosses my path but in that moment, I was able to tell the one God placed before me that He had a plan and a purpose for her life.
