All of our kids came down to church with us today. By “our” kids, I mean Abuba and Laudina’s kids—Paula, Francis, Franco, Ellen, Jessica and Thomaso. I love when they all come. We all trounce down together, the girls’ colorful princess dresses floating around them and the boys—dressed in the secondhand clothes I brought them from Kenya—chattering excitedly about their clothes and the songs they’re going to sing and all the silly things Kim and Andi had done already that morning. There are moments when I’m filled with untouchable joy in where God has me and who he has me with. This was certainly one of them.
Francis challenged me to a race once we hit the valley, so we all took off running like fools toward the church, leaping from rocks and weaving along the path, all the while making super-hero noises. OK, sure, they don’t know what super-hero noises are. They probably just think they’re weird Andi noises. You get me. It’s so funny to see Franco and Thomaso—the little brothers—toddle along, giggling and grinning. Every once and a while, I’d just throw one under my arm and run and catch up with the rest. They didn’t miss a beat.
It’s hard, to love a bunch of rugrats so much. It’s risky, knowing the government could usher us out someday when war starts again, knowing God may or may bring me back to this specific place, knowing these precious kids could grow up to adopt the ways of their culture and not the way of the Lord, and be lost forever. But I suppose it’s a risk I can’t help but take—I’m helpless against the love for these people God has put on my heart, even if I don’t feel it every day and in every situation.
Please pray for them, by name if possible. My prayer is to change one generation for Christ—and it might just be this one. Wow, just imagine.
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