One very ordinary day as we are driving out to the village,
past banana groves, brick houses, and herds of goats, we see him standing there
barefoot. It is not such an unusual sight because there are many children
that walk and stand along the roads leading to a village. We pass by him before
we realize it. This one he is ours. He has been since he stole his way into my
heart as a fun loving nursery school student. Back then, his eyes were full of
laughter and practical jokes. Now at the cusp of 14, I see the ways in which he has wisdom beyond
his years and I know that life has not always been easy. I stop and wonder if
all our love is making any kind of difference. He has reason to believe he is
not wanted or loved. Every time I write to him I remind him that he has value.
That he is loved deeply by someone here on this earth. One time he wrote me a
letter and expressed his thanks because I reminded him that he means something
in this world. And I wasn’t sure quite what to do with the weight of that
responsibility.
We stop the car and I call his name and he comes running,
barefoot and wide eyed and he shows up at my window. It has been hard
work, but these days I can ask him basic questions in his native tongue. He
tells me he is well and I leave him with a birthday card and some ginger
biscuits and wonder if that is enough. I wonder if he will find the courage to
discover his place in this world against so many odds. I wonder if he sees me
on the sidelines cheering him on and believing in who he is.
Sometimes when living in among so much desperate need, it
is easy to become blind and to no longer see what is right in front of my eyes.
And yet, this child he somehow helps me to see. To see who he is and not just
his circumstances. To see his beautiful soul and his vibrant smile. He reminds
me that all of this, my days and my hours are about more than just the
challenges that lie in front of me. It is also about entering into the story of
another.
