You could be my grandchildren

This is a story about my family, my flesh and blood.

My brother-in-law is from Ghana.  He has dark rich West African skin. My sister has light Dutch-Wisconsin skin.  Their kids have creamy brown skin, dark curly hair, and long eye-lashes that get them compliments often.  My parents love that they have grandkids that don't look like them.  They love that their flesh and blood have dark rich skin.  

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My dad and I flew 14 hours, then 3 hours, and then drove a couple of hours to get to the orphanage. We were taken down to the house where we would be staying during our trip. It was a long day but we wanted to see the kids and beat the jet-lag so we walked up to the orphanage. 

We held and hugged each child as they came to the gate to welcome us. The little ones reached their strong brown arms up to us and smiled when we held them.  The older ones took our hand in theirs. They were all older, taller-they'd grown up again. The kids played with the veins in my dads hands-he held them and threw his head back, laughing with them.  

After dinner we all gathered in the house to worship.  The kids, 30 or so, stood together and sang loudly.  At times they used their hands to clap.  At times they used their hips to dance and Stuart sat behind the drum and his brown hands flew across its top.  They prayed with their bright eyes open, they prayed with their eyes pinched shut.

My dad stood in a corner of the room.  He swayed back and forth.  I saw him wiping tears off of his face.

At the end of worship, Patrick asked my dad to share some words with the kids.  All of the kids sat down.  My dad clasped his hands together in front of his chest.  He began to speak and his voice quaked. He closed his mouth, gained his composure and spoke,  

"When I look at you, I see the faces of the children of God." He paused and patrick translated.  The room waited quietly for him to continue.

My dad collected himself, "When I look at your faces, I see that, you could be my grandchildren." 

My dad paused Collected himself, waited for the translation. 

Patrick began translating the simple phrase, and as he translated the room began to erupt.  Some kids started clapping when they heard the English, others had to wait until Patrick translated what my dad had told them. But by the end of the translation the kids were clapping, some were cheering, Patrick jumped up and down in the middle of the room, William said Wow, Wow, Wow!  The cheering went on for a few seconds. My dad put his hands up to his lips. His eyes were wide. He smiled. Then he turned to Patrick, shook his head and said, "That's it." 

"Wow, wow, wow."

To see them as children of God was to see them as his own grandchildren.

And to be seen as someone's grandchild, well it's such good news that you can't help but jump up and down in the middle of the room.

Things Kids Say

When Saap is not wearing his bright orange St Mark school uniform, he is wearing the blue striped soccer jersey. He walks home from kindergarten with the other kids, takes a bucket bath in the courtyard, and puts on his evening garb.

We play a game where I say, what about pineapple, and he tells me the word for Pineapple in Luganda.

What about beans?
ebijanjalo.

I used to teach him English this way.  But now he says, what about leaf, grasshopper, tree, clouds, chin, elbow and I shake my head and try to remember the Lugandan he teaches me.

During worship, William asks the children if any of them have testimonies to share.  Saap stands in line and when it is his turn, he speaks, "I praise God for what I am and I praise God because I am alive."
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We were walking in the dark to the Safe House for devotions.  Faridah came with us.  Faridah and I walked together and we talked. That alone is a beautiful thing.
The shadows showed us where the dips and puddles in the road were.  The candles in the shop windows provided the shadows.
Faridah?
Yes?
What do you want to be when you grow up?
Ahh.  She paused.
I want to be an accountant like daddy William.
Wow! I said, An accountant! Like daddy William! My voice trailed off-it is good to hear that she wants to be like her daddy. Are you good at math? I asked.
Yes, I like math.  I always want to be a singer too.  
I side-stepped a puddle, A singer, really? Are you a good singer?
I'm alright.  Even Becca, she wants to be a singer so much.  Many kids want to be singers.  I just love to sing.  If I could always be singing...
Yea, you are a good singer, I think. 
Do you know what I want to do someday?
No, what?
I want to start a house for children.  But for me, I think you need to care for little children so you can, so that you can grow them.  You know? Sometimes if they are too old...they need to be young so you can...
Teach them?
Yes.  Do you know what I want to call my house?
No, what do you want to call it?
Can you guess?
Guess the name?  Ummm, Faridah's House of Hope? I guessed.
Faridah paused and thought about the name. Hmmm, yes, maybe.  
I offered her a few other name options.  She liked them all.  Then the conversation switched and she took my hand.
Do you know which word I love so much? 
What word?
Mercy.  I really love it so much. I don't know why, but I love it so much.  I see it in the Bible. 
Yea, that is a good word.
But, what does it mean? She asked me.

Well, that's a really good question.  I'm not sure how to explain it.  
I didn't have to. Faridah started talking about a new topic and I kept watching the shadows so I wouldn't fall.
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Derek has only been at the orphanage for a little while.  He was a new boy last time we visited.  He did not have a sponsor yet.  While we were there, Charlie decided that he could sponsor someone, and so we told Derek that Charlie was going to be his sponsor.

On Thursday night-just a week ago-I said good bye to all of the kids.  I was walking out of the orphanage when Derek ran up to me.  All of the other kids had gone back inside. He grabbed my hand and I bent lower to hear him.

Tell Uncle Charlie that I love him so much. 
Derek gave me his message and waited for my response,
Ok, I will.  I'll tell him.  I gave Derek a hug and he ran back inside with the other kids.

There was so much urgency in Derek-it was so important to him.
Charlie must know, he must know that I love him.  So much.

From Uganda: Mama Faith

Each morning Mama Faith walked down the dirt road, through the path cut through the long grass, and up the cement to bring us our breakfast.  It was an unnecessary act of service-especially on the mornings that it rained. She saw my bed un-made and insisted on making it.  She saw our dirty clothes on the ground and she insisted on cleaning them. She bent low to sweep the dust out the door and to mop the cement floors. 

Mama Faith runs the orphanage-the 50 kids who are in school, eating well, playing hard, and praying harder. She is not educated and she doesn't know much English. Her daughter Pauline is one of the kids that goes off to school every morning.

She is glad to have the orphanage-but not as glad as the orphanage is to have her.  She gets paid, but not much, not much at all.  Pennies/hour considering how long and hard she works.  She has a room in the orphanage, a bed, and a TV that gets 2 channels when the electricity works.  At church she stands behind the other women who lead the songs.  She is the widow putting her pennies in the offering plate, the least, the servant of all. With all that she does, she is the servant of all.

I found out on this trip that 15 of the children rescued from the slums were able to go to school. We visited them.  They brought us their books and showed us how they could write english and do math.  They are behind for their age, but they are in school. They are boarding school students-their home is no longer the slums, it is a school.  On the ride home from the visit, Patrick was telling me how they were able to send them to school.  Generous outside donors and volunteers who came to the orphanage generously put together almost enough money for all of the kids.  

Then Patrick told me that Mama Faith sponsors one of the kids.  My jaw dropped.  Mama Faith sponsors one of the kids! I thought about her salary-thought about the cost of sponsoring-she gave away nearly everything. Mama Faith uses her salary-a salary she has earned a hundred times over-to send a boy from the slums to school. 

I watched fields pass by my open window and thought about Mama Faith sponsoring a child. It changed something for me-forever I think. Mama Faith redefined generosity.  I had set the bar comfortably low.  I was more generous than most.  But now she is the bar-she is the example.

The kids who were rescued from that slums that are now in school need sponsors who can give $40/month. Their next term starts in June and they don't have sponsors, so as of now, they will have to drop out of school.  We need 12 people committed to 12 kids. Shoot me an email: caleb@beautifulresponse.org