A heartbreaking sound
“Don’t leave, mum!” the little boy shouted out the door as his mother disappeared into the night. “I want my mum!” His shrieks grew deafening once the sound of her bike shriveled into a faint echo. As I watched, outside I remained strong, but inside I sympathised… empathised… and somewhere deep down, a seven year old within me shared in his pain.
As he threw himself about in a tantrum, expressing his pain however he could, I reached down, wishing only that I could give him what he wanted. But instead I had to pick him up, carry him as no one else could, do my best not to drop him as he continued to shake around, and take him away from the door.
The feelings of his mother, driving away reluctantly, I can only imagine. The trials of a single mother: with the father absent she must travel long distances in search of work, and when she goes, the boy cannot follow, and so she has asked us to take him in. Where he cannot go though, my prayers go instead.
It is often asked of me if it is worth it for me to be here. The answer is a resounding yes, but not because of what I might gain, but because of what I am privileged to be able to give. It is a paradox. The more I give, the more I am given to give. Praise God.
