I’ve begun a new cycle. As I slide into the swivel of my office chair, inhale the warm sips of the morning coffee, and scroll through the growing inbox of emails and tasks to be completed before the days end, I find myself right clicking, just for a moment, into the stories of World Racers on the field. A joy really in my morning, and pleasure at getting to spend part of my workday devoted to encouraging and supporting those out in the field, I find myself lost in the stories, the tales, the trials, the triumph. My heart and my mind become a blaze with the memories and the longing for the days of just a short yesteryear when I felt the African clay wedged beneath my fingernails, and the humid Cambodian air choking my lunges with a strange delight. My heart aches in the sweetest of ways, and for a brief five minutes, I escape vicariously into the lives of those whose feet are fresh on the field pounding through.
Today I read about Mikala, H Squad World Racer, and how in a simple short month her heart swelled for the motherless. No longer was it just a vague word,ORPHAN, but a face, a heart, a child that she was able to hold, to cradle, to love, to whisper truth, hope, and promise into her ear. Immediately, with a tear scrolling down my face, I felt that same pang of understanding for the orphaned, remembering that day in Kenya when my own story echoed that of Mikala's.
Today I held her hand until she feel asleep
Today she came home from school with tears in her eyes. She was in physical pain from an ear infection, and her heart was in pain also.
How could it not be.
As she lay on her bed half asleep she told me of her mom and showed me the shirt her mom had given her that she uses as a comfort blanket. I asked if she missed her and she nodded her head yes. Then her eyes dropped closed and I continued to hold her little hand in mine and stroke her beautiful black hair.
Today I held her hand until she feel asleep because her mom is not a part of her life anymore.
She lives in a home with 8 other girls. Some like her have moms who for some reason or another can not take care of her, others have no parents at all.
She has one younger sister who lives here with her, and one brother who lives at the boys home.
That is her family, she is young, but soon she will realize that she is an example to her sister. That she will be responsible for her and will play the role of mom to her.
I prayed over her as she wrestled with sleep that she would grow into a woman of God, a woman who knows her heavenly father intimately.
I prayed many other things, and every once in a while I would pause and thank God for the opportunity to love on her and be there for her.
I do not know when or if she will have someone willing to do that for her ever again. I am so thankful that I listened to God, put down my laptop, got off the bed and crouched next to hers to ask what was wrong and then offer her the only comfort I could. Gods Love.
These are moments on the race that I will remember forever. These are the moments I want to have for the rest of my life.
Thank you Papa.
____________________________________________________________________
Thank you Mikala for sharing your story. I promise you will remember these days, for the rest of your life.
My Siada (the child I held dearly, whispering promise and hope with each embarce)
