We were visiting a carepoint this morning, Joyela. The children here seem to live up to that name: Joyela...place of joy! The head go-go at this particular carepoint is so diligent in instructing the children and giving them the structure they so crave. She is gentle, yet firm with them. She is quick to smile and praise, but won't let them get away with too much. One phrase I hear her repeat often is: "Don't fall down and if you do fall down, don't cry." Don't let that fool you, though. This woman loves these children and watches over them like they were her own grandchildren. Most days, she gives them coins from her own pocket to walk down to a nearby shop and purchase treats. The best thing about her, though, is that she takes the time to really know the children. If I ask her about one of the little ones, she always takes my hand, looks me in the eyes and tells me about their unique situation. Today, she pointed out one of the younger boys. He couldn't be older than 2 or 3 years old. He sat quietly on a mat, away from the other children. He did not stand up to participate in the singing and dancing that they all enjoy so much. He did not line up to recite his alphabet or numbers along with his classmates. His face was full of sadness. His dark eyes held deep pain. This is a terribly troublesome feature for someone so innocent and so young.

"He used to run to greet me each morning." Nellie (the go-go) sighs. "Now his mother tells me he doesn't even want to come to school." After shaking her head slowly she continues: "His father died, about six months ago. I think it has changed him. He is not the same."

This story is one that is being lived over and over here in Swaziland. It is a story, unfortunately, we have heard so many times even in our short time here. This morning, however, it landed in a deeper place in my heart. As Nellie was telling the story of this little boy losing his daddy, I was watching him walk around the room. His eyes were scanning the door, the window...back to the door. A low, almost silent sobbing is coming out of his mouth.  He's looking for his father...the thought pricked my soul with such force that I found myself breathless for a few seconds. I got up off the floor and walked outside to get some fresh air. My heart was breaking for this little guy who is too young to even have the vocabulary to put into words what he must be feeling. How does a child so young begin to process this? I do the only thing I know to do: go back inside to find him. I try to sit next to him on the floor, but he moves away after a moment. Another young lady on our ministry team tries to coax him onto her lap for a cuddle but she has no success in that attempt. She and I look at one another. We don't say anything, but I think we are both feeling a bit defeated.

After a little while, I decide to walk back outside and see what is happening. As my eyes adjust to the bright sunlight, my heart quickens in my chest at what I see in front of me. Eric is standing in the middle of the play area with this little boy in his arms. He has arms wrapped around him and he is whispering into his ear. I know instantly that he is praying blessings over this little boy. As I watch, I can almost see the little boy's body relax and melt into Eric's embrace. He is no longer scanning his surroundings. He is looking at Eric and he is feeling love. A father's love, holding him tight in the middle of a noisy, busy play yard.

 

"A father to the fatherless...is God in his holy dwelling."  Psalm 68:5