She has big brown eyes just like the rest. The same beads of sweat break across her forehead in the heat of the Swazi sun. A similar pretty smile that spreads from cheek to cheek, especially when she sees me. I am her favorite. Most of the day she spends just wanting to hold my hand. I look around for her and find her swinging a jumprope. This one’s always busy. Always up to fun. Always spreading joy.
He is an eager one—ready to jump in as soon as they break out the soccer ball in the red dirt. He has a gentle spirit, one whose very presence is calming. I am his favorite too. He just comes and sits by me, not saying anything, just being here. He is easily surprised and and easily amused—always with a goofy grin on his face.
These two fill my heart to the point of tears when I see them amidst the other children of God. They are more beautiful to me. Probably because they are mine. These are my parents.
In a whirlwind four days, Mom, Dad, and I did rural Swaziland together. We loved children at feeding care-points and worshipped with them during their discipling time. We encouraged the “gogos” (SiSwati word for grandmother) who cook the meals for the children. We visited and blessed the aged of the community who live in small, isolated huts. We sang for them, read the Bible with them, and prayed for them.
We caught up on seven months of life apart. We laughed together, cried together, prayed together, sat together, used wi-fi together, enjoyed air conditioning together. All the good things.
I saw how this journey has impacted them, how the Lord has been teaching them lessons of their own. I visibly saw their love for me as they walked off the bus in their matching “World Race Parent Vision Trip” t-shirts with sweat pouring off of them and tears rolling down their faces. I saw their passion for serving the Lord when Dad read words of encouragement as we sat at a widow’s home and as he kicked the soccer ball with the Swazi boys desperate for a male figure in their lives. And again when Mom held a sleeping toddler all throughout worship and swung the jumprope with the little girls. I saw their trust in me when I initiated their very first hitchhiking experience. I saw the Lord’s compassion as Mom pulled out each American treat for me from her luggage, washed my dishes, paid for my laundry, and scratched my back. I saw the Lord’s tenderness as Dad choked up reading a letter he wrote for me. I saw how they were touched and humbled by the simple beauty of the Swazi people.
I felt the absolute freedom that comes from the comfort of family. I felt more in my element than I have since home. My parents are my biggest blessings and two of the greatest sacrifices I have had to make these past seven months, and suddenly they were here serving alongside me. I could be candid with them about what I am learning and how I have struggled. The people the Lord gave me who have known my heart since birth were able to share this part of my heart too. I could finally share this experience with those who understand me and know me. When I try to grasp how long and wide and high and deep is the Love of Christ, I think about how much my parents love me—beyond that is truly incomprehensible.
