I cannot believe it has been 6 months since I have last written a blog. In that span of time the Lord has walked me through so much I couldn’t even put it into words- especially in the last month. I have so much to say, but as I am sitting here I am struggling to find the words.
It has been about 2 weeks since my squad has left Africa and arrived in Asia, and if I am truly being vulnerable- my heart isn’t here. It feels as if my body is here in Cambodia; going through the motions of getting up, getting dressed, and going to ministry while my heart, mind and body is back in Africa.
If I can share with you some ugly truth: I don’t want to be here.
I want to go back to Swaziland. I want to go back to walking 3 miles with my team to our ministry site. I want to be at our carepoint; where we would help to feed 200 children but our main job for 6 hours was to love on them. I want to be back with our same little kiddos everyday that would greet us with huge hugs, smiles and laughter. I want to be back playing on the playground and helping the kids to pump water out of their well. I want to be back sitting under the shade with our Shepherd talking about life.
But most of all I want to be back with one child in particular. A child who captured my entire heart and changed my life forever. For privacy reasons I will be referring to her as “Pooty”- a nickname my team and I gave her because of her tubby tummy.
I saw her on our first day at carepoint. She was playing with the other babies on the playground, but when my team and I tried to talk to her she was shy, and didn’t want to be held. However the following day as I was playing with one of the other kids, I could hear crying in the distance. As I walked down to the playground and looked under the slide, there she was. The little tubby two-year old girl from yesterday; eyes closed with tears streaming down her face, little ears that stuck out, dressed in a blue sweatsuit. Without even thinking I picked her up and quickly became aware that that little, blue suit she was wearing was saturated with mud and what I optimistically hoped was water. However after only two minutes of holding her she was asleep in my arms. I spent the morning with her in my lap as she slept, and when she finally woke we played together the rest of the day. As I left ministry that day I could tell something in my heart shifted. It was in that moment I realized how much I loved her only after a few hours. As a couple of days passed her personality really started to show, and the walls she had up towards us started to fall. For the next 3 weeks we would spend everyday together- playing on the slide, running around and chasing her as she laughed and smiled, feeding her lunch and letting her nap on my lap. Everywhere I went I would hear her running behind me yelling, “Umblungu” (the word for white person in Eswati) asking me to take her too.
That was my life everyday for 3 weeks until the day came that it wasn’t. The day I was dreading for so long; the day I had to say goodbye.
It was our last day at carepoint and all I could think about was how excited I was to see Pooty. I couldn’t wait to see her bright smile as she would wave to me from the playground, and to play with her the whole day. However when we arrived to our carepoint we were greeted by all of our little kiddos- except Pooty. My eyes scanned the playground, the well where she would play, and even inside the slide; but she was nowhere to be found. My heart dropped to my stomach. I asked our Shepherd if Pooty would be coming, and she told me she wasn’t there, but on our way back from doing home visits we would go to her homestead and pick her up. I couldn’t explain my excitement when we made it to her home and I got to see her! She was outside getting a bath, but even from a distance I could see her bright smile as she waved to us. When she was finished we were able to bring her with us back to our carepoint. We spent the morning playing and when the afternoon came she was asleep in my arms. It was then that I realized in a couple of minutes our van would be arriving to take us home for the last time. I took Pooty inside of our preschool and sat with her in the room my team and I would have lunch. I knew I needed to say goodbye in private. As I sat in that little blue room I couldn’t stop crying. As I looked down at her little face, I broke. All the facts that were told to us about the children of Swaziland flooded my mind. The fact that she lived in a country with the highest rate of HIV/AIDS in the world. In a country where last year alone 2,000 children went missing due to either sex trafficking, or were kidnapped by nominees during election season as a sacrifice for witch doctors so they would win. It felt like my heart was tearing in half and there was nothing I could do to stop it. The love that I had for this child was beyond my comprehension and more than I could even put into words. All I could think was how much I didn’t want to leave her. I wanted her by my side, always. I wanted to watch her grow up and protect her from every bad thing that could happen to her, but I knew that I couldn’t. So I just prayed for her. I knew that the same God that I trusted to care for my family back home is the same God that would care for her. And as I sat in that little, blue room the Holy Spirit gave me a vision of her. But she was around the age of 13. She was beautiful, with that same bright smile that I had come to cherish. I felt the Lord telling me that she would grow up to become a fierce, but gentle leader. She would know how to make others laugh and would know how loved she was by the Father. It was in that moment that I knew she would be okay, and that the Father has her covered. It was okay to say goodbye now. Right as I came to that realization I heard our van pull up to the carepoint- It was time to leave.
My team and I gathered our things with Pooty still in my arms. As we said our goodbyes to our kiddos, my Shepherd came up to me with her arms outstretched, reaching for Pooty. As I placed my sleeping child in her arms, climbed into our van, and started to pull away I turned around. I turned to see our Shepherd walking with her back into the school. And in that moment I knew I would never see her again. Never see her bright smile, hear her infectious laugh, or feel her tiny fingers stroke my hair as she fell asleep in my arms.
This was one of the hardest goodbyes I have ever had to say, but even now as I am sitting here with tears streaming down my face, I am thankful. As much as I miss her, and as heartbroken as I am, I know it is only a tiny glimpse at the Father’s love for her. It’s crazy that the God that paints the sky every morning and night, and who created the very depths of the Earth could love each of us so fiercely. And yet he does.
Thank you Father for allowing me the deep honor of knowing and loving this little girl. Thank you for breaking my heart for her, and giving me a glimpse at your’s. I don’t think there will come a time where the thought of her smiling face won’t bring a tear to my eye, and for that I am thankful.
Pooty, you will always be my little girl. I love you.
Thankful for you All,
– Lakota
ps- Even though apathy has taken a hold of my heart, I know God has big things for me in these last three months. I am actively praying that the Lord would change my heart. That he would give me eyes to see people where they are, and his heart for the people of Asia. I would love it if you would be praying as well!
