love

I guess I wasn’t prepared for the insult on my senses when I returned to do visits with the volunteers today in Gondola. Carlos was shocked afterwards when I said to him in Portuguese that “my heart is heavy.” I think he thought that I didn’t mean to say that.

I meant it to the core of my being.

The first visit we made was to a young lady who couldn’t have been more than 25 yrs old. But really, who can tell when you’re looking at a skeleton barely covered with flesh? The scene was straight from an awareness film regarding the AIDS pandemic in Africa. As the 3 of us encompassed her, she turned, as best she could to look at me. I pray she didn’t feel an ounce of shame in that moment. I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to hold her. I wanted to touch her and let her know that she is NOT forsaken, she is not less, she is not untouchable. I held her arm, I stroked her skin wanting her to know she’s loved. Not by me, because of what worth could that even be? She is loved and adored by the Maker of the Stars. I pleaded for her. Her story is just the same as millions of others.  Her husband died, she’s left alone with 2 kids, she gets sick, leaves her kids with her husband’s mother to come live with her mother as she now wastes away—starred at as if they’ve all seen this multiple times before, helpless and blind. She’s just one—one that won’t make it through the weekend. Two new orphans will be statistics in Mozambique soon. This story is far more than statistical.

It seems I have written this same story before. I’ll probably write another next week. It doesn’t end. I practically can’t stand actually being part of what life is like here, but even more, I can’t stand not being part of it.

What an honor it is to love. The Lord sustains me.

On a happier note, here’s another Dara I met in Mozambique today: