Many of you who read this heard last year the story of Charity, a little girl here who'd been found in the forest, being raised by apes. She had many anti-social behaviors and refused to spend much time around other people. This year, Charity looked me in the eye and shook my hand when I greeted her. She had shoes on her feet, and she wasn't trying to kick them off. She walks upright and shows more emotion in her face. I am convinced it is because of other children being the presence of Christ for her, even when she would spit at them or run away. Today in church, I sat next to Charity and her friend Njeri. Njeri is a quiet girl in class 5 who has the biggest heart of any girl I know. For the entire two-hour service, Njeri sat in the same chair as Charity. She wrapped her arms around Charity and rested her head on Charity's shoulder. When Charity would reach her hand up to her mouth to chew on her fingers, a nervous habit that has left her fingers quite a mess, Njeri gently pulled her hand down so she couldn't hurt herself. And halfway through the service, Charity, the girl who would grunt and spit at me last year, reached over and took my hand, and held it for the rest of the service. I fought back tears, seeing what Njeri's love was bringing out of Charity. Njeri wasn't doing any expensive occupational therapy exercises or sending Charity to see a child psychologist. She was just being present with Charity. She was showing Charity the love that God had shown her. And it was honor to sit next to this little girl who was so much closer to Christ than me.
Sometimes, I feel so overwhelmed by how much I don't know and don't understand about Kenyan culture, that I become convinced that I can never make a difference here. I become paralyzed by how great the need is, and how inadequate I am to meet that need. But God reminds me that I don't need to preach a sermon or heal someone with my touch to make a difference. I don't need to have all the answers and I don't need to be fluent in Swahili: I only need to be present. I have crowd problems here, too. I'm not teaching my lessons from boats, and no one has punched a hole in any drywall to get to me, but I've been accidentally elbowed, pushed, and squashed by children all vying for a place near me. And it is because I am present. Because I am present, my hair has had more knots, tangles, and braids put in it in the last three days than the entire past year. I constantly hear calls of "Teacher Beth!" from children who want (and know they can receive) my attention, because I am present. I can't fix every hurt these children have ever had, I can't turn them into brilliant students in 6 weeks, and I can't even converse with all of them in their own language, but I can let them know that they are loved. I can't tell Kanje that she is one of the most special children in the world to me, but she knows it when I spend hours holding her even though we can't understand each other. I can't change the fact that Sarah lost her father a few weeks ago, but I can hug her and gush over how wonderful the pictures are that she takes on my camera. (They really are wonderful pictures.) I can't tell Charity with words about a Savior who loves her so much that he died for her, but I can hold her hand when she offers it.
I am excited to be teaching English and music to these wonderful, loved children this summer, but mostly I am honored that God is allowing me to be his physical presence to them, even for a short time.
"Dear children, let us not love with words or speech, but with actions and in truth." -1 John 3:18
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