Give us strength!!

A little boy died a couple days ago. He had been lying in a hospital bed for months. We stood around his bed, mourning this loss. We cried; I cried a lot. I looked at his empty bed, and, realizing he really was gone, I cried even more. This little boy had been so sick, he didn't even speak. He never smiled. He would just lay there. Sometimes he would cry, or at least try to cry. I hoped he would get better, and looked forward to the day he would speak, laugh. That day did come, just not the way I was expecting.

After leaving the hospital, I had a driving lesson with my dad. It was the best driving I've ever done, the best lesson I've ever had. I wasn't irritated by my dad( which I pretty much always am especially during driving lessons). I was so calm, peaceful. The little boy who died was named Siphamandla which means give us strength. I prayed and hoped that God would give him strength so he could talk again and run around like other little boys. Instead, God gave me strength, to love (my dad) when I didn't feel like, to rest ( and not be stressed about my inability to balance the clutch and gas pedals!!), to be more like Christ even when the world isn't watching and applauding!

I am crying now as I think about the fact that Siphamandla lived only six years of his life, spent his last few months in pain, and didn't live to see so much more, be so much more. But I am humbly thankful for God's wisdom and grace that has used, once again, sorrow and hardship to bring life, to draw me closer to Him. I am thankful to Siphamandla for the lessons I learned because I was his friend, and I hope, in heaven one day ,we can talk and laugh and play.

I pray for God to keep me broken, to keep me humble, sensitive to His voice, sensitive to the world I live in. He has done just that. He will not let me get comfortable, and even though at times I complain (sometimes about the stupidest things), today I am thankful for the way he keeps me broken.

This whole past week has been a string of reminders, little things here and there that keep me in perspective. I met a lady that is HIV positive, looking after her HIV positive granddaughter. She’s s few year’s older than me, but married to a much older man who had children from a previous marriage (something to do with the culture) and taking care of the whole household. She poured out her heart to Kristen and me. A couple days back, I went on a community walk and saw several homes were children under the age of 10 were all alone all day, pretty much raising themselves because there parents have to go to work, and can’t afford day –care or a nanny. They can barely afford to feed and cloth their kids. I was walking with Lindiwe, a lady who gives herself 200% to the kids in this community and is always smiling.

I am black, African, Zambian. I have been raised here. These things are not new to me, but I think I got used to them. I got used to pain and suffering and things we are never supposed to get used to. I guess I became calloused. I don’t think it was on purpose. Maybe I was trying to keep myself from hurting too much. I don’t know. I just got used to things I’m not supposed to get used to.

Two days ago, I saw pictures of a six year-old boy. It wasn’t an,’Oh he’s so cute’ picture. It was a real picture. He was as thin as you can get. He had bed sores; huge sores so deep you could see his bone!!! He has been lying in the hospital for over 4 months!! He is 6 years old!!!! I flinched when I saw the pictures. Tears filled my eyes. I wanted to just go home and cry. I did. Is this the only child suffering this way in Swaziland or even Africa? No. I am sure there are millions. We’ve seen the pictures, watched the movies; heard the stories. I see them here; all around me. Will my heart break each time I see one? Will I cry for every child that suffers? If I have to, yes, I will. Will that change the world, Africa, Swaziland? Maybe not. Maybe it’ll just change me, and maybe as He changes me, He’ll change a few children along the way. Maybe that’s all He’s asking of me.