Reflecting

I find myself sitting in a quiet Saturday morning, lacking an agenda, a schedule, and the business I’ve become accustomed to.  
The lack of business leaves me unsure as to what to do with myself, and my mind turns to Huncie.  “How is she?” I wonder.  “Has she eaten since I fed her yesterday?  Does her mother still have the baby formula we gave her for the weekend?” 
My mind continues wondering as I think about the Africaners I’ve come to know and love, and in all honesty, I cannot imagine leaving.  Nearly two weeks after arriving, it’s hard for me to remember what life was like before.  I’ve been thrust into South African life, and find myself completely at home in it.  No, I don’t see myself living the rest of my life here.  Yet I know that God has me here for a reason, and I hope with everything in me that I will be back.  For a year, maybe, or three years, or five.  We will see what God has in store for me, but I feel as though the noonday sun is beginning to peek over the horizon.  The sky is blooming with pink streaks as outlines begin to become visible and the flashlight, though still much needed, is no longer my only source of light (Psalm 119:105). 
 The future is still so uncertain, yet what peace there is in being just where God wants me right now.  Days are long and busy and tiring, yet I love them.  I smile as I finally get a load of clothes washed and cleaned, and then in those clean clothes, pick up a toddler or baby who is wet with urine.  But I hug them close and laugh, because this life is beautiful and I wouldn’t want anything else.  
I sit piled in a car with 19 others, toddlers on my lap and teachers by my side, and I smile as we rumble down the road with the African sun setting in the distance behind us.  And this morning, I’m able to sit and reflect over these past two weeks and I smile as I look forward to many more.  
Yes, there is heartbreak, and yes, there is redemption.  In it all, I’m and seeing the heart of God and praying He’ll grow and use me more than ever.  Little Huncie is His child, and not mine.  And while I will have to leave her, the other kids, and the teachers, He never will.  
My place is here for these five weeks, and it my place may be here in the future.  But He is always here, always with them, with plans for their good and their growth bigger than mine could ever be.  And I think Him for that. 




Just how many people can you fit into a car?





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