Your Love

A couple nights ago I was lying in bed listening to a thunderstorm. I used to love thunderstorms. Still do! Listening to the sound of the rain beating against the roof of your house and watching bolts of lightning lighting up the night sky while curled up under a blanket. It feels safe. But this time was different. As I lay in bed I didn’t have the same secure feeling I did at home. There was something eerily dark about the cracks of thunder and flashes of light. I was curled up in bed; I was dry and safe, what was different? As I thought about this my mind immediately went to the kids that I’ve grown to love here. Maybe the thunderstorm was different this time because I was subconsciously aware of what it meant for some of those kids.

The rain hitting the roof isn’t a soft pitter-patter as it hits shingles, but is a harsh clapping as the rain hits the metal roof. The water pouring off the roof doesn’t run down drainpipes, but runs off the roof, floods the floor as it leaks under the sheet metal walls, and creates a muddy mess. The muffled thunder isn’t simply a reminder of your safe secure home, but a piercing crack that echoes throughout the open air and is followed by shrieking from your baby brother and the neighbor kids that share a wall with you. The lightening isn’t just a show to watch, but a reminder of the power of the storm that if it continues, could destroy your home. Thunderstorms don’t produce a safe secure feeling, but invoke fear as you huddle in a corner with your younger siblings praying for your own safety.

While this is likely not the exact experience of all the kids I’ve met here, it is certainly close for some. But more importantly, it touches on a greater truth that I’ve become more increasingly aware of. What we see as normal is determined by our culture and our surroundings and affects who we are as people.

Within my first week here I knew that there were some BIG differences between the lives these kids have and the one I grew up with. Don’t get me wrong, I knew there were significant differences, I wasn’t completely naïve. But there’s a difference between knowing there’s a difference and really seeing and experiencing it. Here are a couple examples of what I’m talking about.

A couple weeks ago I was at soccer practice. We were scrimmaging when gunshots started to fire nearby. This alone would be strange to anyone from my background, however having been here for two weeks already it wasn’t my first time hearing that. But what really hit me was that no one reacted. Not a flinch, not even a glance up. It’s simply background noise. It’s normal.

Within my first couple weeks here I’ve tried to have conversations with numerous kids at the soccer school. After some of the usual basic questions like what’s your name, how old are you, what’s your favorite color, I’ll usually start asking about family. I started to see a pattern. The conversation would more often than not go like this:

Me: Do you have any siblings?

Kid: Yeah I have 4 brothers.

Me: How old are they?

Kid: 5, 6, 9, and 13.

Me: Do you live with your parents?

Kid: I live with my mom. My dad is in the US.

Me: Oh! Where in the US?

Kid: I don’t know.

While this is sad and slightly shocking itself, what’s more shocking is the nonchalance with which it is said. It’s normal.

These kinds of experiences weren’t unexpected. I knew it was likely I would hear gunshots and I knew I’d run into kids who didn’t know where their fathers were. What was unexpected was the normalcy of it. To these kids these things are normal and it’s affected who they are and are becoming. I’m not going to argue whether that affect will be good or bad, that’s not the point. The point is it’s shaped who they are. And likewise, I was shaped by my surroundings as a kid, surroundings that were very different.

As I thought about this I began to wonder how I am ever supposed to be able to relate to these kids. Not only is there a language barrier, but I can’t even begin to understand what it’s like to experience the things they have. I began to question my ability to have an impact.

I recently heard a song that seemed to have an answer. Part of the song goes like this:

Your love
Your love
The only the thing that matters is Your love
Your love is all I have to give
Your love is enough to light up the darkness
It’s Your love
Your love
all I ever needed is Your love

(Your Love – Brandon Heath)

What I realized is, the only thing that matters is God’s love. I may not be able to relate, but thankfully relating isn’t a prerequisite to loving. God’s love has no language, no culture. What I’m realizing more and more is that His love is all I have to give these kids. And I’m learning to trust that His love is enough to light up the darkness by which they are surrounded.