tonight my light melted on my wall

Tonight when I went into our bedroom to get Nede ready for bed, after a bit of tickling and out of control giggling, I smelled something. As if something was burning. I was quickly led to the light that I had clipped to a nail above my bed. During Nede’s nap time today I had tucked the mosquito net on the light to keep it out of our faces. Not such a great idea. This evening Nede had gone into the room and switched on this light to find her pajamas, as she does every night. I still don’t quite get it but, whatever happened it’s not good, the lightbulb obviously was too hot or the electricity was too strong and the plastic of this clip on lamp had melted, a lot. I’m afraid it was only a matter of minutes more before the mozie net would have gone up in flames. I’m told that none of the electricity is “grounded” in this house and, apparently that’s not good, I’m learning that it sure isn’t! None the less we’re praising God tonight that this story didn’t turn out worse. If you’re now wondering how I survive on my own out here-- there’s only one word to explain it. Grace.

3 years ago

I remember you so young, 
so frail.
So broken,
inside
and out. 


You shattered me like none other.
But the heartache you experienced was like nothing I'll ever,
in your 20 young years.


I saw you in the death of an elderly American.
I turn my head to the lives of young Mozambicans.
Your suffering can never be 

                             changed.

I heave at the INJUSTICE. 


Your legacy is held in one beautiful child.
One strong child.
His precious ONE. 


We're fighting for life here.
Abundant life.
Her's WILL BE different.
Her's IS.


I'm sorry yours wasn't.


I'll kept fighting.
Because His grace is sufficient.
I pray.

she are!

Nede: “Mom, are you sad?”

Me: “Why do you ask?”

Nede: “I’m just asking, Mom, are you sad?”

Me: “Yes, Nede I’m a little sad today.”

Nede: “Why?”

Me: “Well, I wish I felt like Jesus was a little closer to me.”

Nede: “He is. He lives in your heart.”

Me: “You’re right Nede. You’re right. But, do you ever just wish that you could feel a hug from Jesus?”

Nede: “But She are. She is hugging your heart!”

Me: “You’re right Nede. He is!”

xoxo

know it all

Conversation with Nede while hand washing bedding in the tub this morning:

Nede: “That’s not how you do it Mom. Do it like this!”

Me: “Nede do you think you know everything?”

Nede: “Yes!”

Me: “Nede what is 10 + 10?”

Nede: “Washing.”

Me: “No. See Nede you don’t know everything.”

Nede: “Ma’ma, what is washing?”

Me: “The process of making things clean.”

Nede: “No! It’s Kupadza. See you don’t know everything too.” (Kupadza may actually be the word in Shona. I don’t know.)

Me: “Nede you don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Nede: “Me either, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

monrovia, liberia, 2007

I’m reading a book right now about a families experience with adoption.

As I read tonight I was taken back to a place in my memory that I haven’t visited in a long time.

Monrovia, Liberia, 2007. I was there being a nurse but nursing did not facilitate my life change. This came on my day off. This particular day I chose to visit an orphanage.

It’s still fresh in my mind. Too fresh almost. I went with a group. That part I don’t remember well. What I remember is that I was somehow left along in a room. Well, not alone. I was alone with babies/children. That was exactly where I didn’t want to be at the time, alone with crying, orphaned children. What I particularly hate about this memory is that I didn’t want to hold that one child. I can still see her sitting there. I wanted to not see her. I didn’t even want to touch her. I was extremely uncomfortable with her physical appearance. Her pencil-thin limbs surely could not support her body and, although not certain, I am sure she was far older than I would have pegged her. I remember thinking/hearing/knowing/feeling (whatever that was), “Dara, that is the very child you NEED to hold. You need to love that ONE!”

I responded. I went and held that child on my lap, against every desire of my own, I did it anyway. I sat, uncomfortable, holding this smelly child whose abdomen was enormous and her affect was flat. She lacked any spark of life, hope or fight. It was hard for me to show love to this child. Because I couldn’t do anything to change the situation I would have rather not been exposed to it. I felt to helpless.

I only held that child because I knew God wanted me to, because I KNEW HE adored her. He loved her and I was supposed to also.

Fast forward a few months and I was back in my bed in my Arizona apartment and I woke from dreams numerous nights in a panic. I would find myself sitting up in bed anxiously thinking, “Who’s holding the children? Who’s loving the orphaned?”

Now that I think about it tonight, that’s part of what started this all.

I have no idea whatever became of that child. I never even knew her name but she and her environment is etched in my mind.

I knew then and I know now that because HE loves them, I need to too.