Little Friends. Big Responsibility

I sat in my place at the back of the church. Recently they were given 500 new chairs. My church cannot hold 500 chairs, but they still set as many out as could fit in our little building. Now, the back is the way back. I find myself among all the mamas with toddlers and young ones. This is not an issue for me.

One late mama came and sat next to me. Her youngest is around two and her oldest is around five. Out of all three of them, I know the oldest daughter the best. She has the most beautiful eyes, and often comes to greet me when I come to Kakolye. The younger daughter stayed with mama during the sermon. She sat well most of the service and managed to find a child’s chair to sit between mama and me. I sat as usually do, one leg crossed over the other, while holding my knee. While I soaked up the sermon, the mama bats at my arm to get my attention. She then pointed down to her daughter, who sat exactly like I did. We shared a laugh at the sight, and she went back to the sermon.

I, however, am easily distracted and struggle refocusing once my attention is pulled away. I peered around the sanctuary – our one room church building, abnormally swarmed with people, including several children who stayed behind. Four of us sat with our legs crossed. I was the only adult – the other three were children I know and love. A part of me smiled.

Ever since I began going to Kakolye, God has given me kids to love. Within my first month of visiting, I would be greeted by name. A few months later, I had a core group of children that know I don’t like to be called “mzungu” (white person) and would correct the others, “eheh! That is Namilo! Not Mzungu!” They still do this now, but I am more commonly greeted with big hugs and shouts of “NAAAMMMMMIIIILLLLLLLOOOOOOO!” As I walk the streets of Kakolye, jokes are passed that I have my nursery school following me from place to place. They know how far they are allowed to follow me and when it is their time or time for others, and they have learned to respect those boundaries. These kids have my heart.

As I spend time with these little ones, I see hope for the Karimojong. I spend my Monday mornings in prayer for the children of Karamoja. One morning as I prayed for individual children, I noticed a pattern – these children are filled with a tenderness that is rare to find among adults. As I prayed God began to show me how somewhere along this hard life the children become hard adults. They lose their tender compassion. When does this happen? I know the parents, and I wish I could say each is loving and teaching their child to be different. However, this is not always the case. The truth is, I can understand how these children become so hard. For myself, I constantly pray that I am not hardened by this place – that the Holy Spirit will keep my heart tender for these people and His work. I see how the hardness of this place can harden the most compassionate child. Oh, how I pray against it for these children.

As I said, a part of me smiled as I witnessed these children crossing their legs during church. However, a large part of me began to grasp the huge responsibility that God has given me. These kids know me – watch me – listen to me. Am I being the model they should be following? Are my actions pointing them to Jesus? Do they understand that the reason I am different than the other adults they know is not because I am white but because of the Holy Spirit? As these questions fill my mind, I began to pray God would mold me to be the adult these children need me to be.

I am beyond grateful for the children God has placed in my life. I pray that as we sing, dance, laugh, and play, I will be more mindful to point these little ones to Jesus.