I stepped through the gate of our property when I saw them on the right side of our house. I smiled to myself.
Those two children live in a small house in the shadow of ours behind the same fence so they pretend all the land is theirs.
Except this morning they weren’t running through our house. Instead, she was completely naked sitting in the sink spraying water from her mouth onto her towel-clad older brother.
Bath time for two grade-schoolers who don’t get along is no easy feat.
Especially when you don’t have a shower.
Wrapped in a beach towel herself, their mother came around the corner to chaperone.
She’s 38 but you’d guess much older.
She’s a Nicaraguan refugee. A single mother.
Both of her children are from the same father—a rarity among families in this area.
She and her husband—yes, at the time they were married—weren’t willing to give up after their first miscarriage.
Yet two successful births later he was gone. Gone to the lifestyle of those living in this community: sex, drugs, and reggae.
And now she struggles to make ends meet. Struggles to get her children to school on time. Struggles to bathe them in the washbasin under my house.
This isn’t a story from the other side of the world. This is a story from right next door.
Not even next door. We share a water tank.
Their house is on one side of mine and their make-shift shower on the other.
Most mornings, we find her children inviting themselves into our house to sit and watch us, use our oil-based paint to “help” with the walls, or entertain themselves with balloons and our box fan.
Most evenings, she comes over to see how we’re doing and get some adult fellowship. And some of our leftovers.
She’s my neighbor. She’s my friend. And she’s got stories that break my heart.
And she’s not alone. She’s just closest to me.
Across the world there are single parents (and even married couples) doing all they can to give their children the best life that they can.
But it’s hard… when you don’t have a bathroom.
When you don’t have enough food for everyone to eat today.
When you’re working as many jobs as feasibly possible just to make ends barely meet.
That’s where we come in.
I love it how Caitlin Jane puts it.
(Watch on YouTube)
We get to be the ones making sure the children (and their parents) get to hear God’s love song being sung over them.
We get to be the ones making sure they get the vaccinations they need to live past infancy. The education they need to spell their name.
These parents are giving their children all they have… and it’s not nearly enough.
Will you help them out?
Out my back window, I can see her rooftop. I see her laundry hanging. I hear her worship music. I hear her children protest bedtime.
What do you hear out your back window? Who do you see?
