I just finished pastel-ing outside to try and process through some of the things that have happened so far today, before we leave for the children's hospital. So much transpires in a day and I want to keep it all in my immediate memory.
Besides teaching Jesus Loves Me in front of a Sunday school group of about 120 kids in a classroom and not really remembering the hand motions, I felt comfortable at church this morning. I couldn't help but think about the way that the pastor and the rest of the congregation continually welcomed us, telling everyone how far we had traveled and that we "visitors" come from a place with air-conditioned houses and air-conditioned cars. It's also the place where I am recognized by an African woman as someone who appeared on reality TV. The schoolteacher from California, as I was introduced to the congregation, apparently bears a strong resemblance to a contestant on one of the last season's Bachelor shows.
I also was greeted by kids with sticky hands and puffy tummies. They did everything they could to cling to me and make me feel at home. I have a hard time saying no to them, when they ask me for everything from shoes to food to my email address, just like I have a hard time setting boundaries at home.
Africa, the land of contrasts.
The joy of the people despite their dire circumstances. Their faith in God despite everything that they have endured. My full heart ready to give, yet burdened because most of the time I'm not sure how. I know that I can fund a preschooler's boarding school education, after hearing the story that she came home one day and was locked out of her home and had no where to go. The cement factory, polluting the air, now next to a land that is a testament to God's cleansing love for Africa.
The joy of the people despite their dire circumstances. Their faith in God despite everything that they have endured. My full heart ready to give, yet burdened because most of the time I'm not sure how. I know that I can fund a preschooler's boarding school education, after hearing the story that she came home one day and was locked out of her home and had no where to go. The cement factory, polluting the air, now next to a land that is a testament to God's cleansing love for Africa.
Schoolteacher Margaret, who yesterday adopted me as her third child among the eight that she already has, tucking in my bra strap and shooing away the children from me.
Entering the gate of our hotel, where the back is full of trash, and the front a manicured and landscaped lawn.
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