This morning while sitting in church with little Zawadi in a kanga, asleep on my chest I was just overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with all the hurt here. Overwhelmed with the feelings of hopeless of others. Overwhelmed with love. Overwhelmed with pain.
Zawadi (gift in Swahili) came to us two days ago. We have no idea how old she is, but currently I am leaning toward 9 ish months. Her mother had a history of mental health issues and ran away, abandoning her child.
In her short 9 months she has probably endured far more pain and suffering that most will in their lives. Far far more than she could have ever called upon herself. Far more than most can withstand. At only 9 months.
But here she is. And she smiles. And she laughs. And her eyes… they are filled with light.
At times I think I can see the sadness under the light. The pain. The heartbreak…
What drove her mother to such hopelessness? Was it lack of work and money? Was it lack of adequate mental health care? Was it lack of trust in her ability to care for her “little gift”.
She is a gift. Little Zawadi. What a precious sweet gift. We will love you to health. We we love you to strength. We will love you. I will love you. I want to continually give you hope and opportunity. Give you security and strength. Give you care and attention. Give you affection. Give you Jesus. Give you His love. Give you dreams and vision.
Sweet sweet Zawadi. Our little gift.