Today was visiting day at the Tania Centre. Students could have relatives or other important adults in their lives come to visit them at the school. Many of the students don't have parents, or don't have parents who can come to visit them, so other adults had to step into that role today. Some of the dorm mothers and other school employees took the children in small groups to spend time with them, listen to them, and give them little treats. The children were thrilled with their party hats and masks, cookies, and cups of pineapple juice.
Some of the children, like the class 6 girl, were lucky enough to have outside visitors come to see them. A few friends of the Tania Centre stopped in to see some of the students shortly after lunch. One of the older girls with specials needs saw their car pull in and, unable to speak, started wildly waving her hands at the dorm mother she was with, and pointing up at the car. She got permission, and went running up to greet everyone as they piled out of the car to greet her and her friends from the special ed class. This particular girl doesn't always have much control of her facial muscles, but she did not stop grinning from the moment she hugged her first visitor until they left. Oh, the joy of being loved.
The class 6 girl was so thrilled to have visitors that she couldn't keep them to herself--she invited three of her friends, and me, to join in with her visit. We sat around a table and enjoyed together the many treats that her aunties brought--chips (french fries), stew, sausages, orange soda, and fresh, juicy oranges. The girl was given gifts, too, like a soap dish and laundry detergent. Her elation was so contagious that I could not stop grinning, either.
One sweet girl lost her father, who used to be a teacher here, a few weeks ago. She seemed a little lost while everyone was visiting with people, so I decided that I would visit with her myself. We sat there for a while, with her just leaning on my shoulder, which seemed to be what she wanted most at the moment. Some children visiting with one of the dorm mothers noticed her by herself and brought her some juice and biscuits, and another child donated a party hat to her. And she was one of the three friends who were invited to visit with the other girl's aunties. It was probably a hard day for her, but she knew she was not forgotten.
In a school so large (80 students, plus another 40 high schoolers who come to live here during breaks), I'm sure it's easy for these students to feel lost in the crowd. In the bustling cities and neat, trimmed suburbs of America, we often feel lost, too. Everyone, from the special needs students of the Rift Valley to the stay-at-home moms of Northern Virginia, needs to know that they matter. That they are important. That they are loved. That someone cares enough to come for them.
We can be reminded that, even if it seems like we don't make much of a difference with our existence, that Jesus thinks we matter a whole bunch. He told this story about how he rejoices over each one of us the same way a shepherd rejoices over a lost sheep that has been found. It doesn't matter that the shepherd already had 99 other sheep, and it doesn't matter to Jesus how many other people are already in a relationship with him, he will still come for you, the one lost sheep. He will be so excited to see you that he'll have the angels throw a party in your honor! I imagine, for some of these children, that party will include biscuits, juice, and shiny party hats.
"Five sparrows are sold for just two pennies, but God doesn't forget a one of them. Even the hairs on your head are counted. So don't be afraid! You are worth more than many sparrows." -Luke 12:6-7
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