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.
