What I Think About

I think about Africa every single day.

Sometimes I welcome the memories, but other times, I would prefer not to think about them.

When I visit my grandmother in the nursing home where she is so well cared for

         I think about the woman on the street with no place to live,
her back hunched with age. She begs for money, 
but I have none to give. 
All I can do is hold her hand and pray for her. 

She is thankful for that small gesture.

When I see a fat, healthy, newborn baby

     All I can think about is the baby girl I hold in my arms, 
her body so sick and malnourished that she can barely move. 
Her mother smiles up at me, proud that her daughter has made it this far. 

I try to smile back, but it is fake. 
What are her chances of making it to the age of 5, 

much less adulthood? 
I feel overwhelmed by the unfairness of this world.

When I hear a child laugh

I can only think of Isatu, her body riddled with AIDS 
and grotesquely emaciated. 

The sores from living in a wheelchair pain her. 
I blow bubbles for her 

because it's all that I can do. 

It seems so out of place. But it's enough. 

Her face lights up and she lets out a breathy, 
almost inaudible laugh. 

In that one moment, the pain is forgotten, 
and she is a child again. 

When someone says, "Praise the Lord!"

I hear my friend Kadie say "Tell Papa God plenti tenki!" 
Her hands raised to heaven in praise.

Although her life is more difficult than I can fathom, 

she still thanks God for bringing Mercy Ships 

to remove the large tumor on her jaw. 

Too often, the sweet memories are overshadowed by the pain

the injustice

the sorrow.

But I am finding that as time goes on, I can recall the moments of life

of celebration

of healing

more vividly than those of pain.

And I think that's what is important. Not to forget the sorrow.

But to be like my African friends in this way-

To remember the sorrow 

Thank God for the healing

And embrace every day as an unexpected gift from God.