While you are in Africa, I will be here.
I will be here.
Doing all the things here requires. Like waking up with the little one long before the sun rises. And teaching the five year old to read one letter at a time. Begging a child to eat half a sandwich for dinner, while sweeping up the half that’s been chewed up and spit out on the floor. I’ll be settling a minimum of 20 skirmishes a day, and wiping away at least a hundred times that many tears, some of which are bound to be my own. I’ll be tickling little feet, coloring pictures, singing songs, playing hide and seek. I will teach the manners, the values, the important life skills, and hug away all the bad things. I’ll be tending two lives, while cradling another inside. All day. Every day.
I will be here. I will be here.
So you can be there. Because there the children don’t have someone to make them a sandwich. There is no one to answer life’s questions, or sing them a song, or pull a thorn from their feet. No one to show them the love of their Father. Unless you go. Unless you help. Unless you give.
Somewhere out there you will be filling souls. And I will be here, filling these. In my moments of doubt, it seems like a lot. But then again, He has given us a lot. And these next several days He will make us enough to go around.