What I See in Her is a Piece of Me

We pull out a puzzle, dumping the pieces on to the cool, hard concrete porch at the Villages of Hope Orphanage in Zambia, Africa.

Her fingers fiddled with the fragments, trying to figure out what to do next.

“Do you know how to start this, Mary?”

“No, Auntie. I do not, ”  she shares quietly.

“We start with the pieces that have a straight side.  They look like this. We’ll put them together, they are the outside, and then we’ll fill in the frame.”

We work silently.  She concentrates on the puzzle. I concentrate on her.

Her face serene reveals trust, not turmoil.

I marvel at her willingness to attach to me, a stranger. She sees me as her friend.  I am her friend.

Her tender spirit reveals a gentle soul, not contaminated by the world, and yet, having endured trials and tears unknown to me.

Her strength sturdy and yet fragile is evident.

I wonder about her life, her past,  her future.

I eventually break the silence and ask her questions about herself.

She likes the color yellow, her favorite thing to do is play hide and seek and to learn at school.  She hopes to be a nurse some day. Her favorite thing about God, “He saves me.”

It dawns on me.

What I see in her is a piece of me. 

A daughter of the king, fiddling with the pieces of life that God gives me, trying to figure out what is next, trusting Him for each day.

My heart connects to her. God does that work, drawing us together.

We finish the puzzle and admire it.  She is content.  I am blessed to know her.

Out of Africa -- Back to Writing

The children tumble out of the houses singing, at the Villages of Hope orphanage, and tumble their way in to my heart. They gather together in the meeting place, before walking to school. 

Mouths and hearts open, voices raised. No instruments necessary.  Making music in the key note of gratitude and joy.  Prayer follows.

“Father, thank you for bringing me here to this place,” one child calls out to the One Who Saves. 
There is no shadow of sorrow in the faces of these children at the Villages of Hope, only joy and confidence in the provision of their Father in Heaven.

I pause long before walking with my teammates and the children to school, taking a deep breath in, I try to gather a response.

I question myself.

Or is it the Spirit speaking?

“Am I truly content or am I discontent where God has placed me, in my every day? Is my faith this strong? Do I project gratitude and joy? When was the last time I thought of His Saving Grace?”

I feel a small presence next to me. Soft, brown, beautiful, gentle fingers knit their way through mine. She sandwiches a handwritten note between her palm and mine. I read it.

“Dear Auntie, I love you so, so much.  I am happy that you came. From Mary J to you.”

I look down into deep cocoa colored eyes.  She smiles. She does not hesitate to love. She walks quietly alongside me on the dirt road to school, holding tight.  We talk a little where language allows, but mostly, we enjoy each other’s company.

I miss Africa. I miss the children at the Villages of Hope, Zambia.

I am back now -- out of Africa and back in to life in Wisconsin and writing.

Please join me once again, as I hope to encourage you in life and the Lord, through my stories of Africa and more.