Show Us Your Face

I am not even sure how to write this blog post.  Monday morning shortly after 2:30am, there was a knock on my door. "Terp, a baby just died."  All I remember is saying the words "ANOTHER ONE!" I usually am the person people go to in times of trouble.  God has given me the gift of compassion and because of that I try to use it in every situation.  Yesterday, when I stepped out of my front door, I heard the screams and cries from a mother who lost her child.  Was she the child's biological mother? No, but she was a mother in mourning.   I froze in my steps and couldn't move.  There are no words to describe what went on during the next few hours.  The heartache and emotions are indescribable, but I will try to share one part of the story.  As the nurse and I along with other house moms were trying to calm the mother down, the nurse looked at me and said, "I want you to sing praise songs to fill this house with God."  My heart sank even deeper.  How am I suppose to sing?  What song do I sing?  I took a few deep breathes and opened my mouth and God supplied the songs.  Did I believe the words that were coming out of my mouth?  If I am honest with you, I didn't.  I wrestled with disbelief over the loss of another baby.  I wrestled with praising God during a time of deep grief.

All day yesterday I felt like a wet noodle.  I had no strength but I had the other children and staff to think about.  I focused on them and tried to go on with the day.  At lunch time, the social worker asked if I would drive her to a village to drop off 2 of our girls with their aunt who was going to raise them.  I agreed, and was also a little excited, because on our way back from the village we were going to pick up the little boy I had been feeding at night from the hospital. 

The drive was long and I learned a lot about the social welfare system and how things work.  When we got to the village, I got out of the car and felt extremely heavy.  I didn't know why, but all I wanted to do was get in the car and drive away.  The aunt and grandmothers were there, but they had changed their minds, they didn't want the children anymore.  Why you ask? Because the mother showed up and they didn't trust her.  The meeting was very hard.  There was yelling and it didn't matter that is was in Sesotho, because their body language said it all.  After about an hour of talking, the social worker asked me to take the girls to a lodge down the road and sit there until she came.  She gave me directions and said make sure you sit inside the lodge, you will be safe there.  I have to say, I was a little nervous by her words and tone, but I knew she was serious and knew I had to find whatever strength was left in my body from the days events and do it.  So the girls and I went to the lodge and sat.  The employees at the lodge had many questions about why a white person had 2 Basotho girls.  They wondered why I had to be there and not with the chief of the village.  There wondered how people could abandon their children.  At one point I was surrounded by 5 employees who all had questions.  I sat there with 2 scared girls on my lap and tried to answer them.  I was given the opportunity to speak to them about BG and everything we did.  After some time, the social worker came back and had some good news.  The girls were going back to BG and the family was releasing their rights.  This means they are available now to be adopted. 

When I got home, I sat on my bed and just stared at the wall.  I had nothing in me.  I wanted to cry, but couldn't.  I wanted to scream and break something, but I didn't have the strength.  I wanted to be able to laugh, but the sorrow was too heavy.  I sat and thought about loosing 2 precious babies within a 24 hour period.  I thought about the village and the conflict that I witnessed.  I thought about the 2 young girls who clung to me with all they had, while we were at the village and the lodge.  I thought about singing through the numbness.  I opened up my bible to my favorite Psalm and just kept reading it over and over.  I wanted to believe the words with all that was in me, but I literally had no strength to do so.  All I could do was pray that God understood my pain, questioning and heartache.  I hoped that as He lost His Son, He would join me in the grief. 

I pray that He will show His face to BG right now.  We need His love to wrap around us, the campus, the staff and the children.  We need His Face.

PSALM 27

The Lord is my light and my salvation—
    whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life—
    of whom shall I be afraid?

When the wicked advance against me
    to devour me,
it is my enemies and my foes
    who will stumble and fall.
Though an army besiege me,
    my heart will not fear;
though war break out against me,
    even then I will be confident.

 

One thing I ask from the Lord,
    this only do I seek:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
    all the days of my life,
to gaze on the beauty of the Lord
    and to seek him in his temple.
For in the day of trouble
    he will keep me safe in his dwelling;
he will hide me in the shelter of his sacred tent
    and set me high upon a rock.

Then my head will be exalted
    above the enemies who surround me;
at his sacred tent I will sacrifice with shouts of joy;
    I will sing and make music to the Lord.

 

Hear my voice when I call, Lord;
    be merciful to me and answer me. My heart says of you, “Seek his face!”

Your face, Lord, I will seek.
Do not hide your face from me,
    do not turn your servant away in anger;
    you have been my helper.
Do not reject me or forsake me,
    God my Savior.

Though my father and mother forsake me,
    the Lord will receive me.
Teach me your way, Lord;
    lead me in a straight path
    because of my oppressors.
Do not turn me over to the desire of my foes,
    for false witnesses rise up against me,
    spouting malicious accusations.

I remain confident of this:
    I will see the goodness of the Lord
    in the land of the living.

Wait for the Lord;
    be strong and take heart
    and wait for the Lord.