I've seen her before on the enlarged screens at the front of the sanctuary where she has been documented well amongst intentionally thought out graphics while an inspiring song plays in the background to tug on my heart. I've seen her before when the postman delivered her in my mailbox amidst the bills and credit card offers, asking me to respond to her extreme need. I've seen her before as I sip my morning coffee, where a traveling journalist has eloquently captured her in words in a magazine on how she lives on less than two dollars a day. I've seen her before on the screen of my laptop where someone has posted her picture to Facebook with a quote or a bible verse underneath her picture and I glance at her there as I scroll down my news feed. I've seen her before many times in many different ways; the face of the little girl living in extreme poverty. But I had never seen her this way. Today when I saw her it was different.
I was at her doorstep.
There we were this precious girl living in extreme poverty and me along with 31 other muzungus (white people). I stood there in my comfortable brand name tennis shoes that contoured my feet well for the uneven terrain of red bumpy soil we had walked to find her home. She stood there barefooted. I stood there in my clothing choice of the day to best suite what I had been prepared for by guides and trip coordinators to be most comfortable for the walk. She stood there with a tattered dress that I guess used to be an off white color but now more closely resembled the same hues as the dirt under my feet; one button was missing on a side of the little jumper so the strap of it hung off her shoulder. I've seen her before and my heart felt drawn in a distance sense of the word to feel love for her but today standing there at her door it became so different. It was close because she was given a name Vanessa. And she was given a story. Her life of 6 years consisted of her father dying of AIDS and her mother Dora who was also HIV+, left with four children to care for. Her three other siblings had been sent out of the village and into the city because her mother had become week and could no longer parent them all. Vanessa had been chosen to stay for she was the strongest so she could aid her mother in the care she needed. Her mother had recently become I'll and had to stay in the hospital, Pastor Samuel said Vanessa stayed there by her mother's side as he shared the short but wrenching story of Vanessa's short life. We gave her mother a bag of beans and flour. A team member prayed for Vanessa and her mother. As we began to depart we hugged their thin bodies. Vanessa held out her hand and I took her sweet little hand in mine, pulled her into an embrace, and squeaked out the words Jesus loves you before I walked away. Walking away was the hardest part. When this was all at a distance I could click to another site when it became to overwhelming, turn off the TV, put down the paper, throw the request in the trash never to bee seen again. At a distance the big screen in the sanctuary would eventually take her face out of view and replace it with the sermon outline. But now here in the village outside of Kampala, Uganda, I could not turn away. It was everywhere I had been for the past few days and everywhere I would be over the course of two weeks. I felt so small as one woman engulfed in the specific physical poverty Vanessa lives through every moment of every day. To be honest I felt really angry. "God why am I here for moments of this precious child's life dropping off food that will be gone tomorrow?" I not only felt helpless in being unable to forever relieve Vanessa's material and physical poverty, I felt the poverty of my humanity a small woman with a small impact in the midst of great need that I can't even get my head around.
"Why did you bring me to Vanessa's doorstep today God?" I asked this question continually as we walked through the slums of the village that day. My heart swelled with the overwhelming sense of burden and smallness and the poverty of my humanity. As my spirit continued to ask the question, the Lord began to speak to my soul.
"I sent you to the doorstep of Vanessa's home today, but I arrived at the doorstep of Her heart long ago. I allowed you to touch the softness of her precious little hand, I created that precious hand. I allowed you to hear the heartbreak of her life story, I died for the heartbreak of her life story. I made her and you as I wanted you to be strong and filled with purpose and value and agenda for my kingdom's sake. The smallness and helplessness you felt as you left her doorstep is where you life and hers know no difference. Two small fragile daughters of mine with limited human abilities who I fill daily with My Spirit which gives without limit, created by a Father who will redeem all that is broken within His children and restore all of creation back to the right state I created it. Child do not fear for I came to Vanessa's doorstep and knocked before you did, just as I came to yours. And just as I have not left of forsaken you nor will I ever leave her. Remember your darkest night falling asleep alone and you felt me hold you close? I also hold Vanessa close. So child smile the same way Vanessa did as you left her doorstep today and allow my light to beam forth out of you."
