I tumbled out of bed after laying there for nearly 10 minutes debating whether I should actually lift my head off my pillow. Without a snooze button on my watch it is truly by the grace of God I ever get out of bed each day. Although the incessant crowing of roosters probably has something to do with it as well.
Anyways, in my half awake state I
stumbled into the bathroom and I opened one of the multiple books we
have next to the toilet. One of those “Chicken Soup for the Soul”
books; this one happened to be on angels. I opened to a story
entitled “The Missionary”. “Huh, that's maybe a little ironic,
” I thought. The gist of the short story, told from the viewpoint
of a missionary in Africa, was that this man had lost sight of his
reason for having answered the call to be a missionary, but was
reminded of the call during a “conversation” with an elderly man
(in a language he didn't understand one word of). While the
missionary was wondering why God had sent him to a deserted African
plateau only to have this elderly local man hand him a small sheet of
paper in English and with a drawing depicting the salvation story.
The man then disappeared into the distance... leaving the missionary
and the reader with the question, “Was that an angel?” My
response... maybe, maybe not.
I figure if an angel is a messenger sent from God then I am surrounded by dozens everyday... the majority disguised as beautiful innocent children. For example a few weeks back I had gone over to visit my “special friends” (the girls in House 1) to tell them about a little boy with brain cancer who needs their prayers. Just so you know the girls in House 1 are the most dedicated little prayer warriors I have ever met. I have complete faith too that God must hear their prayers above all others simply because of their complete love and trust for him. I gave the girls these bracelets as a reminder to pray for little Braden. There was no hesitation to pray for this little boy despite knowing nothing about him, but then there was one question, “But Kit who is he to you?” I explained he is the nephew of my classmate from high school. “Okay, but what do we say during prayer?” This seemed like an odd question coming from them. “What do you mean?” “Well, we say Laura's Dad or Carmen's daughter or Emily's Grandma, but who is Braden to you?” I said they could just say for Braden and they seemed content with that.
The next morning during prayer when it came time for prayer intentions one by one they each asked God to take care of the long list of people they'd committed to pray for (their memories are impeccable) ending the list with my request, “and for Kit's nephew”, or sometimes it is “for Kit's cousin”, or for my friend or some other relation of mine. So while the rest of the community may not understand their intention I do and more importantly I know God gets it. As an added bonus the majority of my friends and family are now covered in prayers from these little girls.
Just this past Saturday I was “babysitting” the girls while their parents and the other house parents had a couple hours off to go watch a movie. Spending time with them is always fun (in hindsight) despite sometimes running on empty. However, this past Saturday was particularly great. It was Seidy's 9th birthday so I brought plenty of card games, craft supplies and even Twister (a great game I realized I can use for teaching English). So while some of them made cards for the new missionaries who are coming October 1st others colored pictures, and while I played go fish with two of them another two played “beauty shop” with my hair. It's usually pretty evident who has spent time with house one by the hairstyles you don the rest of the night.
Around 7:30 without too much hassle
they had cleaned up all the games, brushed their teeth, gotten into
bed and said their prayers (each with their long list in mind). It
took about 15 minutes of me reminding them they needed to stop
talking in order to fall asleep, but before I knew it was all quiet
as I sat there reading a book. Then from behind me the door to their
parents' room opened and little Bety poked her head out. (Bety is the
biological daughter of the house parents.) In a concerned voice as if
she had to tell me something weighing heavy on her heart before
falling asleep Bety said, “Kit?” “Yes Bety?” “Just... Can
you please tell all the other missionaries how much I love them.”
“Of course Bety, Goodnight.”
As I said before if angels are God's
messengers then these kids are the little angels who remind me of
God's message daily that above all else love is what matters.
