Day 5: God is faithful

We attended an International Church this morning on recommendation of one of the gals in our group and were a little disappointed. We were hoping for more of an authentic Ethiopian church service but instead got a very typical US mega-church-style service. Ah, well.

I did enjoy the opportunity to lift my voice and sing with other believers of our very faithful God. We sang “forever God is faithful, forever He is strong, forever God is with us…” You know the song.  I have a mental block for remembering song titles but I can give you the chorus line.

Anyhow, it rang true for me. So, so faithful is our God.

Our baby’s name means faithful and his middle name—good. Ethiopians name their children for the meaning, not how the name sounds like Americans usually do. I wish I could ask T’s mother why she named him faithful.

For me, he will always be a testimony to the faithfulness of our God.

As I was holding him on Friday, seated by the window on the third floor of Acacia Village, taking in his peaceful little face, I was struck with how faithful God has been to us.

I am finally where I’ve always dreamed of being. Holding a precious little black baby knowing that he was going to be… mine!! Most of you know me well enough to know I am—and always have been—a bit of a baby nut. My dream as an 8-year-old little girl was to have a children’s home and fill it full of babies who had no one to love and care for them. I would love them! I remember exactly where I was when God moved my heart this way. Our church was hosting its annual mission week and there were missionaries in from Burkina Faso. Their pictures of precious little black children, with big dark eyes and too big tummies captured my heart and broke it and I knew I had to do something to help. That was the day I decided to study medicine.

Those studies took me a number of places where I got to see children in need. I got to hold them and love them and… give them back. I was just a small—very, very small—touch in their lives of the love of God.

Staying at the guest house with us is a group of high school theatre students from the Midwest, here in Ethiopia to visit children’s homes and, in the words of one of the girls, “play with the orphans and let them know that while no else might love them, we do.” Noble. I tried not to be too judgmental. But, darn it, you have no idea, child, what love is! I said nothing. Could have been a perfect opportunity for me to share with her about the One who defines love, but, no, I said nothing.

Holding T the next day, I thought again about what she said. Thought about the team of college students from the states playing with the kids in the room below. And I thought back to myself—volunteering at the children’s hospital in Orlando and holding babies in the wee hours of the night, working as a PA in Sharon, providing medical care for filthy, poorly loved children. Feeling so powerless to do anything to make a difference. Feeling like I had more love to give than I was able.

And then it hit me: I am where I’ve always wanted to be. This—being here in Africa, holding this little fuzzy headed baby—is a dream coming true for me. This baby gets to be mine! I am in the position I’ve envied all my life. I get to make a big difference in this child’s life. For all of his life. I have the opportunity to touch him with God’s love every day. I get to be his mother.

I am blessed! God is faithful and good. And I have two little boys named accordingly to remind me of it for the rest of my life.