One of these little ones

It has been a tremendously fruitful week. On the very first day of interviewing, I had exceeded the goal I had set for the number of teachers I would interview for the entire trip. Every principal I approached welcomed me into their school and helped organize their teachers to talk to me. It was also entirely God's grace that the five schools I visited were so different in size, resources, and the types of vulnerable children enrolled - a rich base from which to compare the experiences of the teachers.

And some of these teachers truly inspired me. A lot of the teachers gave textbook responses concerning the vulnerable children in their classrooms, but some of them very frankly talked about the enormous hurdles they face in trying to care for them. Their schools may be lacking resources, but they were clear-eyed about what was needed and offered radical, insightful suggestions. What stuck with me most of all was their sincere desire to love the ones who didn't have much love in their lives.

Yet sometimes this is not enough to change the lot of a child. Prior to the first interview, I had inadvertently gone to the home of a caretaker that the teachers later talked about. I met both her and some of the children in her care. (The teachers mentioned no names, but the details made me fairly certain that this was the person to whom they were referring.) This woman, who was eager to show herself to be loving, friendly, and entrepreneurial, was actually mistreating the children - not feeding them enough, beating them, and overworking them.The students confided in some of the teachers, but they could not confront the caretaker for fear that the children would face retribution. Unless the teachers were ready take the children out of her care, there was little they could do.

I felt sick listening to them, knowing full well that I had seen the faces of the people they were talking about, that I had read their brochure of the NGO that had all the right phrases, that I had set foot in the home where this abuse happened for years. Helpless anger churned in me. What can I do? 

A few months ago, as I wrestled with whether to go to Uganda at such expense and at the cost of leaving Zeke behind and Ryan alone to care for him while juggling lots of work at school, I was moved by the word LOVE.  I was compelled to pray that I would be motivated by the love of the Lord, not going for an exciting experience, or comfort or ease, or to quiet a restlessness.

So here I was, convinced that God had called me, wanting to love. But I couldn't do anything. All day I shuddered at the thought of how these children were treated. Writing a paper about it seemed so useless, so completely irrelevant, a million miles away from the lives these kids lived.

That night, God brought to mind Matthew 18:10: "See that you do not despise one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven." 

I am powerless, but God is not powerless. God cares so deeply for these little ones that if someone should take "one of these little ones" from him, causing them to stumble, their fate would be worse than having a large millstone hung around their neck and drowning in the depths of the sea. Perhaps one day God will show me a way to tangibly intervene. But that night I felt the Lord wrestling with my heart to rest while fully aware of my ineptitude, to trust His outstretched arm, to know that the cries of the little ones rise before our strong and seeing, wrathful and merciful, just and loving Father in heaven.