A 'special' day

Although I love all the kids that I work with here in Liberia, there are six teenage girls that have a very special place in my heart. I meet with them every Wednesday afternoon for our small group. We talk, laugh, pray, read; the activities will vary depending on the day. One thing I always try to communicate, however, is that each one of the girls is special, uniquely created, and deeply loved.

Living in an orphanage means that these girls often feel like just another face in the crowd, simply another number in the midst of many. They don't have a lot people in their lives who can affirm or encourage them, to help them see and reach their full potential. As teenage girls, they struggle with self-esteem and image issues. They often put themselves down and call themselves ugly or stupid. I look at them and see some of the most beautiful, talented, amazing young women I've ever met--and it breaks my heart that they don't see it in themselves.

In November, I planned a "special" lesson for the girls. We read You are Special by Max Lucado and talked about how all of us are wonderfully created by a God who loves us more than we could ever know. I had also written little notes to each girl, letting them know how much I love them and how much they mean to me. It was a beautiful, memorable afternoon.

Yesterday, when I went to the orphanage, I brought a surprise for the girls. I had ordered them each a copy of You are Special and gave it to them as a reminder of how treasured they are (by both God and me!) As each girl unwrapped her gift, a huge smile lit up her face, and many of them started giggling. After hugs and thank-yous, I asked them, "Do you know why I gave you this book?" All at once, the girls replied, "Because you think we are special!" My heart smiled, as I realized that they finally are starting to believe what I have been telling them for weeks. They have begun to understand just how special they are.

For the rest of the afternoon, we had "girl time." We painted our nails, sang songs, did an art project, took photos, and just talked. It was one of the best afternoons I'd had in a long time. As Janet, who was sitting on my left, grabbed my hand and held it, and Teddy, who was on my right, rested her head on my shoulder, I started tearing up. 'This is what it's all about,' I thought. I've been meeting with these girls faithfully each week, hoping that love, care, and attention will help make a difference in their lives. And in the process, the relationship we've built has totally changed me.

So the poor have hope, and injustice shuts its mouth. (Job 5.16)

For the past few months, God has been showing me more and more of His heart for the plight of the needy. The fatherless. The widow. The poor and oppressed. The abused. The hungry. The sick. The disabled. The insecure and lonely. The ashamed. The broken. Abba grieves over them. And He wants our hearts to grieve for them, too. Over and over again in His Word, I see His love for the needy: Exodus 22:22-23. 1 Samuel 2:8. Psalm 72:12-14. Proverbs 21:13. Isaiah 11:3-5 and 9-10. Ezekiel 34:11-16. Zephaniah 3:19. Luke 18:7. One thing is clear--God cares.

Tonight a broken, needy man named David showed up on our doorstep. He used to work for us, but we had to let him go for various reasons I don't need to go into here. Every few weeks, he would call Debbie, begging for her to help him with money so he could eat. I won't lie; it became frustrating after a while. Money is such a quick fix, and we were worried it was only feeding his dependency.

But tonight, as David sat crying on the porch, my heart broke inside of me. He wasn't eating. He had been beaten so severely that he couldn't walk straight, and his eyes were blood red. He couldn't see properly, he couldn't find a job, he was utterly alone, and he was sure that he would soon die. I couldn't handle it, couldn't stop the tears from coming. All I kept thinking was, "God made this man, and God loves this man. It doesn't matter what wrongs he has done in the past--he is precious in Jesus' sight. No one deserves this. No one."

So I ask that you would please, please, PLEASE pray for David. The word that keeps coming to mind is "restore." I believe God wants to restore David, to health and to wholeness. This man needs your prayers. He needs hope, and he needs to know that someone out there cares.

Bucket

Those of you who have followed my blog and receive my newsletters most likely remember Timothy's story. He had a serious speech problem and, as a result, was often teased by his peers. Since April, I have been meeting with Timothy on a regular basis to help him with his speech and reading, and I am continually amazed by all the progress he has been making.

Today, I went to the orphanage to teach Timothy's lesson. Before I got a chance to sit down with him, though, Evelyn (the mother of the home) pulled me aside and said, "Elena, I want to tell you about the good English that your son was speaking today!" She said that Timothy and a few of the other kids had been drawing water, and all of them were talking about the "buck-eh" (FYI: many ending sounds are omitted in Liberian English.) Finally, Timothy spoke up and corrected them: "It's not buck-eh; it's bucket! You have to pronounce the 't'!"

It's a funny story, but it also melted my heart because it reminded me of just how far Timothy has come. (It also totally made me feel like a proud parent!) Sometimes, I can get overwhelmed when I focus on the enormity of need here and I start trying to figure out how to help them all. But then I remember stories like Timothy's, and it brings me back to reality. I wasn't called to help them all--but I was called to help Timothy.

Mother Teresa once said, "If you can't feed a hundred people, then feed just one." I love that. The truth is, I can't help them all. I wish I could, but it's just not possible. But I can help one. And that's a pretty good start, if you ask me.