Where is the rescuer?

“I will not leave you as orphans, I will come to you.” John 14:18

In the summer of 2005, I set out to see what HIV/AIDS looked like in a country where the infection rate was over 40%. I wondered what a pandemic of epic proportions looked like on the faces of everyday people. I wondered where God was in the midst of all of it and more personally where was I. Was I prepared to love the sick? To know them? To sacrifice myself for them? To see children alone? To see women who are selling themselves because there is no other way to feed their children? These are very scary questions for a suburban girl. Could I enter into the pain reserved for widows and orphans and still see a loving Jesus?

With all these heavy questions swirling around in my mind, I set out to visit a country I didn’t know much about with a God I was striving to know intimately. I wanted a real gritty, unglamorous-every day life-kind of look at Swaziland, so; I went alone. I left the U.S. without knowing where I would stay, what I would eat or who I would meet. In a bold move, I decided to let God put my faith into action.

This bold new journey led me to the government hospital in the center of Mbabane. As a result I now know what death and despair smells like. It is a horrible stench like urine, blood and vomit that has the power to knock you right over. That is how I first met Nondomiso, however at that time she was nameless. Just one more abandoned baby at the government hospital.

I really hate hospitals. I always have. They make me feel anxious and I am generally a hypochondriac. I must confess that I absolutely didn't want to enter that place. I really wanted to turn and walk away. Emotionally, I hate that hospital and I am really terrified of it. My heart beat so fast when I entered that place and I could feel tangible fear, but then I thought of the abandoned children, HIV ridden men and women. They can be in that place, so surely I could stand being there for an hour or two. Believe me I am no saint, I was at war with myself to even step foot inside a place that smells so much like death.

As I entered the children’s ward, I went over to two abandoned babies. One was less then a month old, the other was about 3 months old. Both were in the same crib and both were completely alone. They reeked of urine and spit up. The nurse who cares for the babies had to go back to her village for a funeral-- so many people are dying--so there was no nurse to care for them. Therefore the other mothers in the ward were feeding them when they cried, but they also had their own children to look after.

So, when we got there, these babies were filthy. We cleaned them, changed their diapers and just held them. I visited all the other abandoned children while I held this skinny, little 3-month-old baby. I noticed one little girl sitting quietly in her crib in the back of the room. She was about 3, HIV positive with sores all over her face and hands. She was in this metal crib with no toys, no stuffed animals, nothing. She just sat there staring straight ahead- alone. So, I tried to play with her- to smile at her- to notice her. By the end she was laughing with me and loving the baby.

Then as the baby began to cry, I got a bottle and fed her. She would only suck the bottle from the side of her mouth. They had been just putting a bottle in her mouth as she laid in her crib. No one was holding her when she ate. The loneliness of it all just devastated me. I fought so hard not to cry. I put my face about four inches from hers, held the bottle and stroked her face, and she finally looked into my eyes and began to really suck from the bottle. It was an incredible. We connected and love seemed to rest in that moment.

Then I spoke to her-I told her that Jesus loved her--that she was his beloved--I asked the Lord to be her daddy--to care for her and meet all her needs-- to inhabit her dreams. Then with the tears streaming down my face I baptized her and gave her to the Lord. I used my own tears as baptismal holy water and our eyes locked in a way I will never forget.

As often as I could, I went back to the hospital and put myself emotionally back in that place. I think it is actually harder to leave the hospital, than to arrive. Putting that child back into that dirty crib covered with foul smelling blankets felt so wrong--like I was abandoning her. It ripped my heart out each time. I often planned ways I could sneak her out of the hospital and take her to a place where I could love her.

On one of the days I had returned to the hospital I found the two abandoned little ones sleeping in the same crib peaceful like angels. Their faces had crusty formula on them and dried snot in their noses. Shortly after I got there, Cici, the 3 year old with HIV came over to me and grabbed my hand and smiled up at me. We spent the rest of the time holding hands and playing with small dirty toys. She laughed and giggled. It was the best sound.

Then the babies began to whimper. The nurses were busy running back and forth between hanging the laundry out to dry and feeding all the mentally handicapped who live there, so I offered to feed the babies. The two share the same bottle and share the formula inside. They both sucked down some food, very lethargically at first, and then when they felt me close breathing on their face, talking softly to them, stroking their hands and face, they sucked that bottle hard. I spent time praying for each of them and asking God to give them an angel to supernaturally care for them. It was such a spiritual experience. Almost indescribable, but each time I prayed for them they would look directly into my eyes. They seemed to understand. They both fell asleep and I carefully laid them back down. It was just as hard to leave them--maybe harder.

At the end of my time in Swaziland I had been invited to dinner by a missionary couple in the area and as the dinner was wrapping up, I felt someone approach me from behind, when I turned around I saw Claud-- (another missionary who I had met). I was shocked to see him there as his ministry was about an hour from there. I quickly asked him how he found me and what was going on and he said with a broad smile-"We are adopting your baby." I was shocked and I just sat there trying to take in what he was saying.


He had been at the hospital on Wednesday to hold the babies and to play with some of the sick children. At that time he learned that a Swazi couple had stepped forward to adopt the baby he and Mary were inquiring about. They were somewhat disappointed, but were excited to see the baby leave the hospital with a loving family.

When they got to the hospital, Claud picked up the other baby I had baptized with my tears and looked in her eyes. As he held her, the Lord said, "This is your daughter." Claud thought he was surly experiencing some wishful thinking and dismissed the thought. Then a couple of minutes later two other mothers in the room said, "It is nice to hold your daughter, isn't it?" Claud was flabbergasted and very surprised by their comments. Then about an hour later the social worker they had previously spoken to walked into the room and said, "So you have found your daughter." Claud was so overwhelmed. This was all not known to him before he arrived at the hospital. God worked it out and then lead Claud there that day at the exact right moment.

He then went home picked up his wife Mary and they prayed together and then picked up their daughter. When they found me that night and told me that the baby was now going to be their daughter. I just started weeping and couldn't stop. I was so thrilled to see God answer my prayer for this little one.

The last Sunday I was there I attended a local church where I had come to know several families. So, as I arrived at church, I noticed that “my baby” was there in her Sunday best. They said they had named her "Nondomiso" which means praise.

When I saw my baby, I couldn't contain myself and jumped up from my seat and rushed to the back of the church, where I reached my arms out to hold Nondomiso. As I felt her little body next to mine, I suddenly noticed how clean and fresh she smelled-no more foul odor of urine, spit-up and sour milk. It made me think how beautiful we all must smell when God holds us for the first time after Jesus washes us clean. I sat down in a nearby chair, put my face close to hers rubbed her tummy and asked her,” Do you remember me?" As I began to speak, Nondomiso smiled from ear to ear and giggled. Immediately, I choked up, my eyes filled up with tears and I knew that we had both shared a moment with Jesus.

Later that night I asked if I could have her sleep in my room so I could take care of her all night. They were delighted as they were excited to have a full night's sleep. I fed her, sang to her, talked to her, prayed with her and genuinely loved her. Part of me really felt like this was my child and at those moments my heart would fill up with a mixture of joy and pain, because I knew that I would have to leave her--that she was not mine to keep. It is hard to even communicate to you the deep place I felt that pain. But, I resigned myself to fully enjoy her for every second I was privileged enough to care for her.





Nondomiso’s story often brought me to the question--Why does God allow children to be abandoned? To ask…where is God in the midst of this ugliness? If God is so good, why all the pain and injustice? Why is the most powerful being in the universe absent from his beloved creation? The anger builds from a deep place inside and feels so righteous. If we were God, we would certainly be a better rescuer. Love, equality and justice would reign.

One nagging thought though...aren’t I, as one who wants to follow in the way of Jesus, to be God’s hands and feet? So in asking where is God amidst all this suffering—aren’t I really asking where am I amidst all this pain? Remember the story of the Good Samaritan. The priest walked by the injured man on the other side of the street angry that crime and injustice happened in his part of the world, yet he did nothing to alleviate the pain God allowed him to see. Am I like that? Would I rather blame God for the ugliness of this world as I pass by the injustice I see on the other side of the street or will I make their problems, my problems and give all that I have to see them healed?

What suffering, pain and injustice have we seen? Will we walk by on the other side of the road pretending that it is someone else’s problem or blaming God for being a negligent savior or will we give all we have—our time, talents, resources—to be the rescuer God created us to be? God did provide a healing solution to the pain of this world, he created disciples, he created me and he created you.

If you are looking for a way to be the rescuer God has created you to be, please click on any of the links on this blog site.

Faith by Itself…is Dead

“Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, ‘Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,‘ but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if not accompanied by action, is dead.” James 2:14

Once my faith was dead. Void of action. Lost in the emotional and intellectual realm. God was nothing more than a compassionate cosmic genie and I lived in a world where I was always the guest of honor. What I wanted trumped God’s purposes for mankind. I seemed to read the Bible selectively. If what God had to say filled my emotional void or made a promise of future fulfillment, I prayed it and claimed it. Somehow I never had time or never noticed that God wanted more than a prayer of salvation or my worship on Sunday morning. Then I met Maria.

It was Easter at the start of the new millennium. The year 2000, the year I was hoping God would finally give me what I wanted most—a husband. I went to church that Easter morning with my family, silently telling God that He has let me down by not following my well thought out plan for my life. Married by 2000, children by 2004…I had it all planned out.

The Easter offering at our church has always been designated for the HIV/AIDS orphans and widows of Rakai, Uganda. Up to this point HIV/AIDS was nothing more than a word I had heard occasionally on the news. Just before they collected the morning offering, a video showing Ugandan children crying at the gravesites of their parents was played in full picture and in stereo. The deep grief and despair was so intense. It seemed to fill the air and I felt as though I was breathing it in and a great swell of emotion began to work its way to the surface. I was bewildered at the strong reaction I had to the video and simultaneously unnerved by the pain I saw in the eyes of the children. I was having a hard time controlling my emotions, so I decided to get up and leave the sanctuary.

As I paced around the bathroom, I felt this deep sense of sadness. It was a kind of empathy I had never experienced before. It was as if God was letting me experience just a teeny tiny bit of the love and concern he has for those suffering with this terrible disease. I knew I was in unchartered emotional territory. After pushing the overwhelming grief and despair back into the pit of my stomach, I walked out to the annex outside of the sanctuary. I immediately noticed a table decorated with African linens and covered with World Vision sponsorship folders. Just then a still quiet voice whispered, “Sponsor a child.” In light of my recent emotional unraveling, I decided against it and continued walking. Then the quiet thought came again, “sponsor a child.”

For a reason I still haven’t figured out, I stopped dead in my tracks, turned around and walked directly up to the sponsorship table. I knew with my emotions so close to the surface, I needed to sponsor a child quickly. So, I picked up the first sponsorship folder I saw. This beautiful black face was staring blankly back at me. Her name was Maria and she was 7 and a half. Both her parents had died of AIDS and she was currently living with her grandmother.

Over the next year, I wrote to Maria and she wrote back to me. We began to share our lives with each other. She was excited to be back in school and to have her school fees paid in full. Her family was saving money to buy bricks in order to construct a new home and they were eating on a regular basis. She was polite and friendly in her letters, but I developed this longing to know her more deeply. It was at that time that God whispered the next phase of His plan in my ear. He said, “Go to Africa. See her in person.” I thought What?!! Are you crazy?!! I’m not a mission groupie. I don’t eat weird food, protest foreign wars and wear bizarre clothes. I live in the suburbs, shop at The Gap, and love pizza and apple pie.

I continued to argue with God about this bizarre request. I had a million excuses. I get carsick easily. I am a fearful flyer. My school district would never let me leave during standardized testing. I cry at Foldgers commercials. I faint at the sight of blood. Well, fortunately God was patient with me and allowed me to throw an enormous tantrum. God was going to change me, even if I went kicking and screaming.

So in February 2001, I boarded a plane for Uganda . As soon as I landed on African soil, I felt an overwhelming sense of God’s presence. He wanted me to see who He was and what mattered to Him. It suddenly dawned on me that a relationship with Jesus went both ways--me sharing myself with Him, AND Him sharing Himself with me. That concept alone shook me to my core. Could it be that God had created me to love those he loves and that the wealth he had given me wasn’t just for me? Suddenly, I felt the need to rethink everything.

The day finally arrived to meet Maria and her family. My stomach was in knots and I was a bundle of nerves. Could I handle what I was about to see? I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to recognize her, but as I stepped off the bus my eyes locked with hers. Maria came walking toward me and then knelt down in front of me and hugged my knees. Immediately, I dropped down to the ground and just held her.

We then traveled back to her home in order to meet her grandmother. Maria and I walked hand in hand toward the house and I noticed an old woman rushing toward us and I knew immediately who it was. As her grandmother reached me, she enveloped me into a bear hug while kissing the sides of my face and shouting something in L’Ugnadan over and over in my ear. I asked the translator what she was saying and he said, she is saying, “Thank you, Thank you, thank God for you.” I was stunned. What had I done to receive this kind of gratitude?

She then showed me the simple two-room mud hut they live in and the bricks they are buying to build a more permanent house. She showed me the goats, coffee plants, and a banana plantation they had received as a part of my sponsorship. Her grandmother also walked me out to the mounds of stones beside her house. She explained that all her children and their spouses had died of AIDS and that she was still in deep pain over their loss. It was all almost too much to take in at once.

The grandmother then led me over to a chair under a crude tent in front of her home. By this time the whole village had come over to welcome me. She motioned for me to sit in the chair and explained that it was a place of honor for me. Maria came over and sat in my lap and I imagined that she missed doing this with her own mother. Her grandmother then knelt in front of me and proceeded to shower me with gifts. First, I received a bright beautiful basket, and then a basket full of eggs, fruit, and vegetables. The translator then explained that she was giving me all the food that the family would eat that day as a symbol of her gratitude. This family fasted and went hungry in order to sacrifice for me, the way they believed I was sacrificing for them. The grandmother then went inside her hut and gave me her sleeping mat so that I could place it in my house in order to remember their gratitude for all I had done for them. Big tears rolled down my face and I sat there sobbing and speechless. In my mind I saw my own selfishness and self-centeredness and it grieved me to realize that up to this point my life had really just been about me.

As I sat there trying to rein my emotions back in, Maria’s grandmother asked if she could share her story with me. As I was still speechless, I nodded my head yes. She looked off in the distance and then told me how each of her four children and their spouses had died of AIDS. She said that the grief was unbearable. She then communicated how scared she was for her grandchildren. She was unsure how she would feed them, clothe them, and send them to school. She had nightmares about not being able to provide for her grandchildren and of watching them die of malnutrition.

She said that one night she got to the brink of despair and fell to her knees and sobbed all night and repeatedly cried out to God to help her. Then her face brightened a little and she recalled how two weeks after that terrible night, a World Vision staff member came to her house to tell her that I had sponsored their family. She said that she danced and celebrated God’s help in their darkest moment. She then turned to me and asked me a question that I will never forget, “Kari, How did God tell you about us?”

I just sat there and cried. It seemed as if the whole last year flashed before my eyes. Could it be that God had used this self centered suburbanite to meet the deepest need of an African family devastated by AIDS? I was absolutely overwhelmed with the thought that God had used me for His purpose or that I had a greater purpose than just praying for what I wanted. It was so humbling to realize how backwards and dead my faith had been and exhilarating to know that God was leading me into a new faith. One where the poor play center stage and I would live differently.

My selfish heart was damaged that day and I am eternally grateful. In breaking my heart and replacing it with something that breaks His heart, I was given the awesome privilege of not only knowing Jesus but serving Him. It all became much clearer, faith is about action—meeting physical, emotional and spiritual needs of other people. Isn’t that what Jesus said—love God with all your heart, mind and soul and your neighbor as yourself. My eyes were now opened to the fact that my neighbor was hungry, naked and oppressed. It was time to act. Finally, my faith began to breathe and really live.

Have you taken the pulse of your faith lately?

If you have never sponsored a child, please take a moment to do so. May your faith always be marked with action! Just click on the World Vision link on this blog site.

Minneapolis, the Homeless & Me

I have been thinking lately about how God tends to show himself among the places we would never expect him to be. Those places that we find dirty, dark and void of goodness. I had an interesting experience this last fall in a homeless shelter in one of the darkest places of Minneapolis.

The first time I visited this homeless shelter, a man was found half dead just outside the door and had to be rushed to the hospital and another man was forcibly removed with his large vodka bottle in hand. I then witnessed a staff at the shelter smash the bottle to smithereens in the middle of the street while cuss words flew like dandelion spores out of the drunkard’s mouth. Any outsider would see the darkness and walk away sure that no light could exist in such a wild place, but on the contrary, when I entered the darkness I saw the radiance of Jesus more beautiful than I had ever seen it. Over the last year that homeless shelter has become indeed a wildly beautiful place.

This last fall, I had hurt my neck causing muscle spasms and a huge goose egg just below my right ear. It was painful and I was unable to move my neck in any direction without wincing. When I got to the shelter that evening, I chose a chair in the back of the room where I could sit awkwardly facing the chair beside me while I held my neck. A disabled man in a wheelchair, who I had spent time with several times before, appeared next to me and we struck up our usual conversation.

Shortly after we started talking, he pulled out his Bible and began to tell me how the scriptures were holding him together. God was providing daily food, places for him to stay and he was asking the Lord to now provide a job. My purpose at this shelter is to help encourage these new friends and to help meet their needs, but I was failing miserably as all I could think about was the constant pain in my neck.

As I listened I felt the sudden urge to ask this man to pray for my neck, so I told him that I was in terrible pain and sheepishly asked if he could pray for me. Without a moments hesitation, he reached up and put his hand over the goose egg and began to tell the Lord that he loved him then he simply asked for my neck to be healed. It wasn’t a prayer that would ever be recorded for the fluency of the words or for its great eloquence, but it was honest and empathetic.

Almost instantaneously my neck felt relaxed, the pain began to ease and after about a half an hour I had full movement back and no pain! When I realized that the pain I had carried in my neck for two days was completely gone, I was shocked. Was I just healed?

I found him again, hugged him and said “You healed me.” At that he replied, “No, God healed you. I am just the tool he uses.” He then told me that he had found another man out on the street a couple of days ago in pain with a toothache. He prayed for him and that man’s pain was relieved too. We talked for some time and I couldn’t quite make sense of the fact that this man had a broken body, but God used him to heal others. I stared at this man, thinking—is it possible that a disabled homeless man called down the beauty of God’s healing for me, the selfish privileged one? It didn’t seem just, but then again God’s wildness is never what I expect, it is bizarre and seemingly strange, but it is beautiful. All of a sudden there was Jesus radiating light in the midst of the darkness.

Scandalous Forgiveness in Zambia

I want to introduce you to a woman named Rebecca. Her face shines with joy that the years she has lived cannot erase. She has little wisps of gray hair poking out from behind the kerchief beautifully tied around her head. I met her the morning of Wednesday, August 2nd as we all piled into a van heading out past the small town of Chingola. We were traveling a couple hours out into the Zambian countryside to a rural village. Rebecca told us proudly that is was the village she grew up in and the one she would eventually retire to. In order to know Rebecca, you have to know the path she has traveled to know Jesus.

Rebecca first heard about God as a young girl and prayed the sinner’s prayer when she was in 6th grade, but life went on and her faith seemed to dry up and be swallowed by weeds. She finished her high school education and got married. She then settled into the daily routine of raising children, cooking, cleaning, gardening and taking care of her husband. Life was busy with 7 children and left little time for cultivating a relationship with the Lord. In one dramatic turn of events her whole life as she knew it came to a screeching halt.

A friend in the village alerted her to the fact that her husband had been having an affair with another woman. Rebecca didn’t believe it and couldn’t imagine her husband breaking their wedding vows and leaving their children. She lived in denial for some time, until the truth just could not keep silent anymore. Her husband came home one day and demanded that she leave her house and all of her children. Rebecca was stunned and refused for some months, but her husband continued to go forward with his plan to marry this other woman. So, defeated, angry and wounded she left her home, her children and her husband and returned to her father. This new wife brought her five children to the Rebecca’s old home and did not treat her children with the same love and care she had once lavished on them.

Rebecca said that this was the darkest time of her life and that God felt so far out of reach. She became consumed with revenge and hatred. She visited a witch doctor to ask him to put spells on her husband and his new wife. She also began to save money so she could hire some thugs to beat up his new wife. Meanwhile, another woman named Elizabeth began to pray earnestly for Rebecca. Rebecca found out later that Elizabeth had fasted and spent nights praying that Elizabeth would come to know Jesus as her lover and friend. I paused at this point in the story to marvel at how God uses love to woo us out of darkness.

Some time after Elizabeth began to shake the gates of heaven on Rebecca’s behalf, Rebecca found herself alone at her father’s house. She stood up to begin sweeping when she said an overwhelming urge came over her to drop to her knees and begin praying. She had not prayed or communicated to God for a long time, so this was out of the ordinary. As she prayed she poured her heart out to the Lord and confessed all of her rage, revenge, hurt and sadness. God came to her in that moment and soothed her aching heart. After she stood up, the Holy Spirit continued to ask her to go to Elizabeth’s house. Rebecca said that she absolutely refused to go visit her as she was terrified that this woman of God would shame her and reject her if she knew the depth of rage that had been in her heart. All day she tried to ignore the gentle whisper that commanded that she go to Elizabeth’s house. Finally, in late afternoon she could not stand it anymore and went to see her.

As she arrived at Elizabeth’s house they exchanged pleasantries and spoke of the weather. She made sure to avoid any conversation that would lead to what had happened to her this morning. Then as she stood to leave, Elizabeth looked deep into her eyes and noticed a difference. “What has happened to you?” she asked. At that point Rebecca could not hold it in any longer. All that she had confessed earlier to the Lord came spilling out as Elizabeth knelt with her on the floor of her hut. Elizabeth then began to praise the Lord for his rescue and for the forgiveness he had showered down upon her. As Elizabeth praised the Lord, Rebecca tried to crawl out of the room, as she wasn’t sure she could take much more. Isn’t it funny how scary the enemy can make God’s healing look like to us? However, Elizabeth gently held her shoulder and said, “this is a child of God and evil has no place here.” At that point a rush of healing and joy flooded her body and spirit, which began her love affair with the Lord.

After this incredible encounter with God’s love, she felt this love well up in her and sill out the sides onto those around her. Filled with this extraordinary love, she went to her husband and his new wife and told them that Jesus had given her the ability to forgive them and invited them to greet her in the village. Shortly after that she began to tell the new wife about this crazy consuming love of Jesus. She even began to pray for her and befriend her. One day Rebecca was visiting the new wife asking her to join her at church. The new wife refused saying that she did not have a head covering to wear to the service. Rebecca immediately took her headscarf off and gave it to her. When they arrived at church, it was scandalous. The women were shocked that not only Rebecca would forgive this woman who stole her husband, but to give her a nice head scarf like that one. What a moment that must have been! I often forget how scandalous God’s grace really is.

As Rebecca finished this story of God’s rescue, I sat stunned as I knew somewhere in a quiet place within me that God was revealing something about himself through Rebecca’s story. I had wanted to know how God forgives, how God loves us, how to love others. I had been seeking an answer and as I sat there I felt like this story was one I would think about for some time. It would be something I roll around in my mind as I mine it for bits of Jesus. The savior’s personality, his very essence is interwoven in this personal story of God’s redemption. This story is not over for me. It will be one I replay over and over.

As Rebecca and I traveled the dusty bumpy road out to her village, I asked her why she had chosen to spend her life caring for orphans. She became very animated when I asked her this question, turned around in her seat and began another one of her life’s journeys. She was visiting her daughter in the bustling city of Ndola making up for all the lost time of her missed childhood. In order to help her daughter, she offered to go to the market. As she walked through the crowded market full of merchants, she caught the gaze of a small child sitting in the public toilet. It was odd to see a child sitting on the urine caked floor with no shoes and very little clothing. She immediately went to see her and found two scared little girls, two sisters—ages 4 and 7. These girls had been living in the public toilet alone for several weeks as their grandmother was at the local hospital with their youngest sister. The grandmother brought food when she could, but their youngest sister was quite ill and without the grandmother feeding her she would die. Can you imagine the horrible choice this grandmother had to make—be with her dying grandchild or be with her two young sisters? Rebecca said that her heart broke in two as she stood in the stench of the public toilet and she began to weep. She then took the girls back to her daughter’s house to get cleaned up, to get clean clothes and to eat. After speaking with the children’s grandmother, she took them back to her village out past Chingola. Since that time the youngest sister has fully recovered and the grandmother is now living with them in the village. The two oldest are still quite small due to a severe lack of nourishment, but they are in school and being cared for by Jeremiah’s church.

Finally, we had reached the village and I could hear the loud cheering and squeals from the children who had followed our van to Jeremiah’s house. As Rebecca and I climbed out of the van, she grabbed my hand and I looked down to see three small girls smiling up at me. “These are the ones I found in the toilet.” Rebecca said softly. I looked at them and tears began to well up in my eyes. I turned and looked deep into Rebecca’s eyes. Her’s were red and moist too. Without speaking Rebecca grabbed me in a tight bear hug and we sobbed on each other’s shoulder. It was the first of the holy moments I would experience. Time seemed to stand still and God seemed so close. Here in the middle of the African bush in a small village an African woman and a privileged white woman from the west held each other and cried for the orphans who live in toilets, for the children who go to bed without anyone to tuck them in, for the widows and grandmothers who have to make unspeakable choices. Some how God was trying to communicate something about himself in that moment and I don’t want to be too quick to decide what it is.