DRY

                   Poverty. I've seen it before. In overwhelming amounts. Along with it comes hunger, pain, sorrow and death. But here in Africa, it comes with joy. All I see are wide faced smiles, hospitality and kindness. I see joy in the faces of the children at the Wednesday afternoon feeding, hear it in their laughter and feel it radiating from their very souls. At first I feel overwhelmed by the sheer number of them, by their energy and the feeling that I have nothing to offer them. I sit down by a tree at the edge of the park and watch the kids waiting for their turn to get their plate. One meal many of them are lucky to have that day, a meal many won't see the likes of for the rest of the week. As I sit there feeling helpless and dry, two little boys walk up and sit beside me. Almost immediately they claim my lap and start reaching dirty hands to  caress my face and hair. I feel tears collecting, and an immediate comfort and joy. I realize I've never been dry, and I've never been helpless. These little boys are showing me the easiest yet greatest action: love. When all else fails, love is greater. It's in the small things like a tender caress, a kiss or an act of service. It speaks to the hearts of those who need it the most, it restores and brings hope. With an everlasting supply from the One who showed us first.

Give Me Light

Give Me Light

Mom acts different at night. 

She loses her softness and becomes harsh. 

She doesn't stand up for very long. 

She leaves me all alone.

Dad is someone I don't know.

He has never been there.

He has never given me the safety I want.

He left long ago.

Sister leaves during the day and comes back with money at night.

She gives all of it to mom.

She has to.

She has to beg on the streets of Delhi for us to survive.

At night I get scared.

My tummy hurts, asking for food with growls.

My body itches and aches.

My dirty hands cradle my head.

When morning comes the trains rumble by.

I've seen many children lose their legs.

I've seen dads jump on never to be seen again.

I've tasted the dust in my mouth several times.

Today there are little sores covering my small body.

They itch and than give me pain.

They get worse as dust and dirt rubs in.

They give me no relief.

Tomorrow will only bring worse pain.

Maybe my tummy will be fuller tomorrow.

Maybe mom will love me tomorrow.

Maybe I'll feel safe and be healthy again.

All tomorrow brings is darkness.

Darkness in the day.

Darkness in the night.

Darkness.

Two is my age.

Two I will remain.

Two year old boy, no name, no face.

         Of the many pieces of my heart I've left behind, most of those pieces are in India. The children of the slums with dirty, smiling faces asking for didi (big sister) and the beautiful girls I met who had been rescued from those places.

One day I went to a slum with Victoria (second photo) to take photos of her work in Delhi for her blog. She stopped and prayed for one of the little boys in the pictures who was sick. According to her only 50% of children make it past the age of 5. With sickness and alcoholism running rampant in the slums many parents are too drunk to look past the few coins in the hands of their children. Sending them away in the morning and buying alcohol with the money at night. When the sun goes down the darkness in the lives of these children becomes tangible, and the safety they so desperately long for flees. Babies are trampled to death in the late hours of the night, or are eaten by rodents. These children were meant for so much more!

The day after we prayed for the little boy, he passed away from his disease. The suffering in India is enough to make a person run away for good, leave the suffering behind and become comfortable again. Victoria showed me a different way. A way full of hope, a way full of Jesus. She started a school called Treasure House where she baths, feeds and teaches children of the slum everyday. They sing children's worship songs and the joy so evidently now apart of these children's lives is so awe - inspiring.

I will never forget those beautiful faces and the hope amidst the suffering.

So...

So blogging is obviously not my strong suit. I'm in Argentina right now and my last blogpost was from Thailand. I'm 9 countries behind. Whoops! I've realized this past week however, that blogging is so important. It's important to tell the stories of those I've met, the beautiful people that have helped shape my life. I get blown away by God's faithfulness and love almost everyday, and it's important to document that. This trip has been the craziest, hardest, most beautiful thing I've ever done, and it's time to share it.

So... these next 5 weeks I'm dedicating my time to the people around the world I left my heart with. Starting with India and ending with Argentina, I'll start telling the stories of the nameless and faceless people who are longing for justice and the love and mercy from their Savior.

Opening your eyes and letting yourself feel deeply is the hardest thing. This past week my heart has broken over and over again thinking of the people I've left behind. I've never journaled more, or cried more in such a small period of time, and it's made me realize yet again how desperately I need Jesus. His grace and love are greater than anything else in this world!