Snow in Africa

Drakensburg, South Africa, August 15, 2011. It seems this country is awash with metaphors. And so it comes as no surprise that I would awaken to one on this cold morning in the Drakensburg mountains – in the form of three inches of wet, heavy snow. Snow is not unheard of here, especially during this strangely cold and wet winter in South Africa. But in the 10 years I spent growing up outside of Johannesburg, and the eight years I have been coming here since we founded 25:40 (including every winter), not once did I experience snow at any place or elevation. So, as evidenced by the one pair of jeans and five pairs of shorts I packed for this trip, this was unexpected.
The metaphor here, however, is not the unexpected, but the beauty that can flow from it. The craggy Drakensburg mountains take on a new, almost unimaginable majestic beauty when covered with a blanket of snow. When I showed a few early morning photos I took of the surrounding mountains to my daughter Hannah, her only response was that they looked “so fake.” I had to agree. An Egyptian goose perched upon the snow-covered peak of a thatch roof rondavel, with dusty veld-covered hills blanked with a thin but complete veneer of snow, set against a backdrop of crooked peaks and plateaus built black but temporarily (and imperfectly) painted white. This was not the photo I expected to take on this trip. Mountains draped with shapeless wisps of cloud, much like a shawl on an old woman’s shoulders, play tricks with my autofocus. With no perfect lines, it just doesn’t know what it is supposed to shoot – where it should focus. Yet another metaphor.
I have been taught (but still struggle to learn) that what we intend and what God intends are often not the same thing. When we forecast sun, He has no concern with bringing rain. When we forecast warm and dry, He’ll bring snow – even if to the farthest reaches of the desert – if needed to demonstrate His will. I learn, from mornings like this, that God is not silent. He is speaking to us constantly, in many ways. And if this morning I am to listen, then I must put aside my plans, retire my predictions, and stop trying to focus. I must stop asking Him what His will is for me, and simply accept it as it comes. The snow outside is cold, wet and uncomfortable. It has placed a hold (perhaps permanent) on our plans to hike, fish, or take a horseback ride. And when we search for an alternative, it is impossible to focus. But when I step away from the lens, and simply take in what is there, I see something unlike anything I will ever have the chance to see again. Snow in Africa.
Even as I write this, the snow is receding. Leaving behind pools of clear water in the foreground, and exposing jagged, black and brown rock in the mountains. Even God’s unexpected moments are but temporary reminders of our need to stop and wait on Him. After several weeks working on our efforts to start and run programs to help the most vulnerable children here, I have a trove of observations – nearly all of which are rather depressing on the surface. Even after eight years of experience working in rural South Africa, it seems that all we learn is how immense – indeed perhaps impossible – the task of saving these children is. Their parents have failed them, either by dying or disappearing (literally or figuratively, depending on the child). Their caretakers fail them, often ignoring even their most basic needs such as food, while simultaneously taking advantage of child-welfare grants that the government gives out with rare and haphazard, at best, follow-up. Their schools are failing them – often jamming up to 80 kids into cold, damp class rooms with nothing but worn blackboards and a hapless, hopeless babysitters masquerading as teachers. Their government is failing them, with overwhelmed and disinterested social workers not even lifting a finger unless we do it for them and agree to give them the credit. Their communities fail them, by clinging to social norms that push children to the back of the line (only slightly ahead of dogs). And we, looking at all of these things (caretakers, schools, government, community) and knowing each is imperative to our efforts in its own way, feel as if there is no option but to fall short as well. It just seems impossible.
A few days ago Rev. Wikus van der Walt reminded me of why we are here, and why we persist against the insurmountable odds. We are Christian, called by a loving God to do His work wherever and whatever that work may be. Ours is not the task the measure the possibilities, but simply to hear and follow the command. And, as Wikus reminded me, we know it is God’s work precisely because it is impossible. God reminded me this morning that my task is to do none other than rely on His will and move forward with His plans – even though it means not knowing exactly what they are or how they will turn out. God reminded me that what seems impossible for me is always possible for Him (Luke 18:27).
God put snow in Africa.
-- Alec Zacaroli

A Ball with No Air

Aug. 15, 2011
In May, the Canzibe Mission took the initiative to launch with us an after school care program for orphans and vulnerable children who attend school nearby. 25:40 funds the program and has helped developed the model for the curriculum. It got off to a rocky start. Phila, 25:40’s OVC program manager in Canzibe, had gone to the two schools to inform the principals and teachers and invited the children and their caregivers to opening day on May 19. Canzibe Missionaries Wikus and Carina van der Walt had prepared a program with the teachers, Tumeka and Nolubabalo. The cook prepared lunch.
Nobody came.
But they pressed on and Phila visited the schools again the next day and miraculously the following week 40 children showed up. It has been busy ever since.
Tumeka is one of the teachers we hired. I met her in April and she seemed quiet yet compassionate for children. She had a rocky start, as well. The first few weeks of aftercare it rained and it was cold. The aftercare was meeting in the vestry of the church, which has no heat. In fact none of the buildings here have heat. When the sun is warm, the houses and classrooms are warm. But when it is cloudy, rainy, windy, the structures also take in the cold.
The children came to aftercare despite the rain and cold. Most of the time in the Eastern Cape if it is raining or too cold, nobody comes out of their homes. Most kids stay home from school because they know their teachers won’t show up. Life here is so close to the earth that the rain stops routine dead in its tracks. Yet the children kept coming to aftercare. They felt that this is something different, something good and promising in their lives without parents, a warm house, enough food.
Here on the mission, aftercare is something good and promising. The teachers love the children, they nurture them, they help them, they show respect and kindness and God’s love.
Yet the kids were slow to open up. Tumeka says that children in aftercare were like a ball without air, empty on the inside, unable to bounce, sitting down without help. Many children could not write the alphabet. Many did not participate in the games.
“Some were not interested in anything and my heart was falling apart when I noticed this,” Tumeka told me. One day a boy’s book fell out of the plastic bag he uses as a backpack and Tumeka helped him put it back in. She struck up a conversation about who he lives with. He just mentioned children and when Tumeka asked him about his mother or father, he just said no. “My heart was bitter knowing that the parents are not alive. Then I cried on my own wondering how is the situation at home. This child looks sad most of the time.”
Tumeka went through a serious bout of depression after this, but after much rest and prayers, she heard God calling her to stay and to help these children. The program picked up a bit when visitors came to help and train the teachers and children. Then Jay Rowley arrived in early July on behalf of 25:40 to help the program. He has done a great job organizing the teachers and putting in place a schedule for the teachers follow each day, with time for homework help, Bible lesson, tutoring in math and writing, play time, and a meal. He and Phila established a master attendance list and a system that politely turns away the students not on the registry. Word on the street and in the schools is that this is a good and fun place to come and all the kids want to attend. But because we have limited space and teachers, and because this is a pilot program 25:40 will replicate in other villages, we have to keep the numbers small.
Alec and I were there for two weeks at the end of July and early August and were heartened to see a robust program in place. The teachers are engaged, the kids want to be there and thirst for the lessons they are getting. We established a weekly chapel time for the kids, launching it last Thursday with the kids singing and marching into the church, more singing, and a puppet skit by the Zacaroli and van der Walt girls on Matthew 25:40. They read from the Bible and laughed and sang and prayed. When they returned to their classrooms, a group of boys spontaneously picked up dolls and put on the skit for themselves.
That day the atmosphere was so filled with warmth and love I could feel it in each of the kids. These are now kids who are like balls filled with air, who can bounce on their own. Tumeka is determined to help them now bounce in the right direction.
Amy Zacaroli

Going to the Dogs

Aug. 8, 2011
Since Sophie’s first trip to South Africa when she was 7, the dogs have captured her heart. In Hamburg, there are several dogs that follow us to the beach and play in the sand and keep us company. Wherever we are walking, dogs come out and bark at us when we pass or follow us. Sophie is in love with every single one of them. In Hamburg, the dogs are owned, fed, and looked after. She has named each one of them based on their characteristics and her whim. Jack and Howie are the family favorites, little Jack Russell terriers.
In Canzibe, however, the story is different for the dogs. Dogs are not so much pets here as either roaming or used as guard dogs. They run free, no spaying or neutering at 6 months, so we see a lot of strays. Those that do belong to a household may be starved and beaten so that they will be mean when strangers come. They are infested with ticks and mange. So last year after her first visit to Canzibe, Sophie came back with her heart sad and full of compassion for these dogs. She resolved to do something about it.
In preparing for our month-long trip here, Sophie went door to door in our Virginia neighborhood, explaining that she was collecting food, treats and flea collars for the mistreated dogs in Canzibe. Our neighbors and friends were more than generous. She packed two suitcases – one for her clothes and one for the dogs.
A few days ago in Canzibe, she and her sister Hannah and their South African friends Lara and Emelia packed a bag of goodies and headed out to huts and rondavels to find dogs that needed some tender loving care. We didn’t have to go far. Just down the road from the mission lives a family I don’t know very well. There were about 5 or 6 small children, one teenage girl. I didn’t see any adults. And about half a dozen dogs…
We explained to them in Lara & Emelia’s elementary Xhosa that we wanted to give some things to the dogs. Once we received permission, the girls carefully approached each dog to try to give treats and loving pats to each dog. One was so old and sick that she did not even get up and barely nibbled at the kibble Sophie gave her. Others ran away from the girls, cowering as they were approached, as if they expected to get beaten instead of petted.
When the teenage girl who lived there saw how much these white girls loved the dogs, she went into a tin storage shed and came out with a newborn puppy – only days old. The girls erupted in squeals of “awwww” and “oh my gosh” and “look how cute!” The teenager came out with two more in her hand so that three girls had a mewing, still-blind-from-birth pup in their arms. But when the teenager went back in for another, she came out holding a black limp pup by the neck. The mother dog had been laying on it and must have suffocated it. The girls almost melted in tears they were so upset. But the teenager was unfazed by this inevitable fact of life. She nonchalantly tossed it on a dirt pile.
We had a few more outings like this and Sophie distributed food, flea and tick collars and chew toys to 16 dogs in all. What I am so amazed at is that she is not afraid of any of the dogs, even if they bark and seem vicious. She approaches them gently, getting on her knees and talking to them softly, until they shyly come to her. She pets them, rubs their ears, checks them for ticks, and even removes the ticks. They flinch initially when she pets them, but most then just relax after awhile, basking in the only positive attention they may have ever received.
If Sophie doesn’t know her calling in life yet, I sure do.
-- Amy Zacaroli

What is Nurturing?

Canzibe Mission, Eastern Cape, South Africa – “You spend so much time with your children stimulating their minds,” Phila said to me one sunny afternoon as I was sitting outside doing a puzzle with Rebecca, our 6-year-old daughter. I didn’t really know how to respond. Phila, who is 22, is a young Xhosa woman who works for 25:40 at the Canzibe Mission helping us to implement our orphan and vulnerable children program.
I just nodded my head in agreement, feeling like she just stated the most obvious thing in the world, but wondering why she would say it in the first place. We started a very long and eye-opening conversation about parenting, youth, and schools in the Eastern Cape of South Africa.
When a baby here is born, his mom cares for him, nurses him, carries him on her back, wrapped tightly against her so that the baby feels warm and close to his mom. She loves her baby. She cares for her baby. She nurtures him. But I noticed there is very little face time with the child – no games of “This Little Piggy” or “Sooo Big!” Once a child reaches school age, the parents hand over the child to the schools.
Here the elementary and secondary schools are notorious for failing the students in so many ways – not with grades, but with standards. On paydays, teachers don’t show up for school. There is no such thing as direct deposit here and the teachers stand in line at a payout office to receive their checks. If it rains, teachers don’t show up to school because many of them have to walk and it is uncomfortable to walk all that way in the rain.
Administrative meetings and training sessions are scheduled during school hours so a principal and many teachers may be absent from school to attend these faraway meetings. If the teachers do show up, there is very little structure. Often students are unaccompanied in the classroom for hours while the teachers meet in an office for what seems like no reason. If teaching does occur, there are few resources to use. Often the blackboards are worn beyond use, there is no chalk, very few books, not enough paper and pencils for each student. And to top it off, there may be 60 students in one classroom.
But the parents here do not complain about the poor standards. There are no PTA’s raising funds for more books or smaller classroom sizes, or complaining until things improve. This is just the way it is and that is accepted and acceptable here.
I asked Phila if her mom ever read to her or played with her when she was young. And does she do that now with Phila’s younger siblings. She sadly shook her head and quietly said no. “She is very tired,” Phila said, sighing. She talked about how she cannot confide in her mom about anything in her life, especially with boyfriends and questions about how intimate she should be him. Her mom meets the basic needs of their family – shelter, clothes, food – but then that is all. Phila longs for a mom who stimulates, who listens, who nurtures, who sets standards.
Phila has befriended a woman in her life that she calls her aunt. She is a little older than Phila, maybe in her 30s. And she can sit down with this “aunt” and spill out everything that is going in her life, without judgment or disapproval. And this aunt gives her advice that is different than the advice Phila’s friends give her. I thank God for this woman and pray that Phila has chosen a role model in her life that will lead her down the right path.
During our conversation, a little girl named Zimi zoomed over to where we were. Zimi, shown in the picture above, is the youngest daughter of one of the two pre-school teachers at the mission. Even though she is only 3 or 4, can be a bully. Sometimes she does not play nicely with others and grabs and pushes and hits and wants her way at everything. She does not follow instructions and does whatever she wants. I know that her oldest sibling is lost and that at times their household has been chaotic because of abuse.

I called Zimi over and pulled out a very simple book I had brought from the U.S. with three words to a page and only one word is different on each page. I asked her to sit on my lap. It took her awhile to figure out that I wanted her back to me so I could wrap my arms around her and hold a book in front of her. Then we read the book. Phila translated into Xhosa the first time through but then Zimi understood the book and pointed correctly to a new animal on each page. We read the book over and over again. After awhile, Zimi fell asleep on my lap. It was if Zimi’s whole day is spent begging for attention. She is so wound up she doesn’t know how to turn herself off. But with a little positive attention and nurturing, her body and soul can be at peace.
Imagine a preschool classroom full of 20-30 Zimi’s. There are two here at the Canzibe Mission – and only one teacher for each class. 25:40 and the missionaries here – Wikus and Carina van der Walt – are trying to establish a structure for the classrooms, a schedule for the teachers to follow, and a curriculum of sorts for the children to learn basic skills that we believe preschool children should know. And also to impart to these children the stimulation and nurturing that Phila so longed for.
Sometimes I wonder if we will ever achieve this when the Xhosa culture itself does not demand or even understand our efforts. But the children understand – Zimi does, Phila, no longer a child, does. And that’s what matters. If in our work here we can focus on one child at a time and touch her in a way that directs her down the right path and stimulates her enough to stand up and be a leader, then we have succeeded.
- Amy Zacaroli

Taking things for granted

Aug. 6, 2011

Simple activities you and I take for granted are completely foreign to the Xhosa community in the rural Eastern Cape of South Africa – like reading to our kids, sitting down with them and working on a puzzle, lining up in the classroom before going outside, sharing.

My family and I are on the Canzibe Mission, the central church in this rural mission area of the Uniting Reform Church. The mission has a series of long rectangular one-story concrete buildings with tin roofs --- the missionary’s home, the church, the Masonwabe Preschool, a small shop with another room for the preschool, and a kitchen. In the middle of all these buildings is a nice green yard with a playground for the kids – two rope swings hanging from great climbing trees, a wooden jungle gym, swings made out of hollowed out car tires.

Kids are here all the time playing – from 7:45 a.m. when missionary Wikus van der Walt holds a short 15-minute Bible study before 8 a.m. pre-school. Even at 5 p.m. the older kids – many who are orphans -- are still playing after attending 25:40’s pilot after school program. They are free here and safe. They play with little supervision from the teachers. But it seems to work. There are often scuffles and tears, which will then call an adult to the scene. But mostly they are on their own. Even the youngest pre-schoolers at 3 years old walk themselves to the mission without adult supervision. Some come from as far away as an hour walk. They all walk themselves home in the afternoon – no kiss and ride line here, or a sign-out sheet to ensure that an authorized adult has picked them up. The teachers simply shoo them home, much like we would send a dog outside.

One of the first days we were here, I asked Rebecca, 6, our youngest daughter, if she wanted to come with me to one of the two preschool rooms and read the kids a book. She agreed and we chose one of the books donated to us before we left that we thought the kids would like and that she could read. We chose Dr. Seuss’s Hop on Pop. We walked into the youngest pre-school room and the 3- and 4-year-old kids were at a small plastic table sitting nicely in their little plastic chairs. The teacher was not in the room. So we greeted them and we sat down and Rebecca started reading them Hop on Pop. The kids were polite and listened and looked. The teacher finally came in and she began interacting with the kids at each page, laughing when appropriate and translating when needed. Most of these younger kids do not know English, which is only taught in elementary school at a very basic level.

I left the book with the teacher, who was very appreciative. But it has sat on the shelf since. In the other classroom, where there are 5- and 6-year olds, a roomy book shelf holds a dozen or so books, some in English, some in Xhosa. When I commented to the teacher that these are nice books, she smiled and said thank you. When I asked if she read them to her students, she said no.

The Xhosa culture is based on oral tradition – history is not even taught in the public schools anymore. Everything important to the culture is passed down through stories spoken by elders to their children. Reading and writing takes a back seat to an already poor-performing education system. The preschoolers do not know the ABC song or understand that letters make sounds. When I asked a little girl named Isiphele what letter her name starts with, she said 1. When I asked her what the next letter in her name, she answered 2, I suspect because often kids write “s” and “2” backwards. They do know how to count and they are very good at pointing to objects with their fingers to count. Yet, the concept of grouping sets is difficult even for the 4th grade students in the aftercare. Even these older kids in the aftercare have trouble writing words in a straight line on lined paper.

So we have come in here to help with the preschool and establish an aftercare center for orphans. But we struggle with where to even start. What’s really important? Learning their ABC’s? Basic math skills? Reading? Getting along well with others? Sharing? These are concepts that you and I take for granted by hard to understand in the Xhosa culture.

The answer we believe is first to teach them the Gospel – that they are special; that Jesus died for them and He is their friend and savior; that there is a hope outside their small rondavels where disease and abuse are rampant, where the schools fail them.

We are putting into practice a model for the aftercare based on the 25:40 logo of the child’s hand. Each finger represents a very important need 25:40 will try to meet for these children – nutrition, health, academics, skills training and a library. At the center of the hand is the most important element: The Gospel. Without God’s love and care in the palm, the fingers are detached and useless. If we can teach these children that they are loved and valued in a society that has cast them aside, then they will have hope and a way of life that will set them apart and take them further than they ever dreamed they could go.
-- Amy Zacaroli

Beauty and the Beast

It is so hard for me to reconcile the jaw-dropping beauty of the Eastern Cape of South Africa with the profound poverty of the people who live there.
I’m in awe of the dramatic, deep green hills and valleys nestled near the Indian Ocean. Cows and horses, sheep and goats roam freely, contentedly eating the green grass. The huge blue sky is as quiet as it is vast. There are no airplanes, no large buildings, only small rondavels and square houses dot the countryside, an occasional pole stringing electricity to a small village. The pace is so slow. We’re on Africa time – a blessing and a curse at once. A blessing because there is always time to stop and strike up a conversation with someone, to practice my Xhosa, to play Simon Says with a child. A curse because progress is painstakingly slow.
While I am living among this beauty, I ache for the children I see at school with holes in their sweaters, barefoot, eating lunch near a trash pile outside of a rusty shack, crooked on its dirt foundation. A thin little girl just stands quietly in the midst of playground chatter, waiting patiently for someone to finish eating so that she can use a bowl. She does not have one at home to bring and the school provides only the food – not the plates or utensils. I watch one girl absently eating her porridge out of a dark blue square plastic container, spooning it to her mouth with a ruler.
One of the four classroom buildings at this particular school is so dilapidated the gutters are broken, so that the adjacent green tank that collects rain water looms impotent and empty. I spy some children without shoes. I remember someone telling me students cannot go to school if they don’t have shoes. I ask Nkosana about this. He tells me that on the first day of school, a child who has none might borrow school shoes from another family. After the first day, no one checks.
At another school, at least a third of the students are not wearing a uniform. Likely they are ostracized for this. Lessons comes to a standstill because the Department of Education is visiting on the first day of February – at least two weeks into the beginning of the new school year – handing out school supplies to each child. They each receive two composition books, a test book, a glue stick, some pencils and a brand new blue ruler. Some struggle to carry the awkward load without backpacks. But I can tell they are excited and proud, yet possessively guarding the handful of school supplies they can call their own. This is their back-to-school shopping spree.
On my first full day in Canzibe, a grandmother and a 14-year-old girl come to visit Nkosana in the office. He is 25:40’s coordinator of Project 1504, the action plan we are implementing with Small Projects Foundation designed to meet the immediate and long-term needs of the 1,504 orphans and vulnerable children in the Ngqeleni District.
The grandmother is dressed in traditional mourning clothes – meaning her husband has died in the last year. The teenage girl is in her school uniform, her gray skirt ripped in the front at the seam. She carries her books in a yellow plastic bag from a local store, the handles broken. These two are barely related. It seems the grandmother’s husband was a cousin to the girl’s father. But right now, that doesn’t matter. The woman in mourning is this teen’s permanent caregiver. The girl’s parents have both died and she has spent most of her life jumping from relative to relative, leaving whenever she wasn’t treated fairly, common for orphans. They have come for help in getting a foster care grant from the government. This small monthly stipend will help the grandmother raise this poor, lost girl.
Nkosana checks their documents – affirming they have proper identification. The Department of Social Services is coming tomorrow for an outreach day, Nkosana tells them. They will set up just outside a local shop and help people apply for the grants they are entitled to but are not yet receiving. Go to them tomorrow, he says.
They leave and it is all I can do not to stop them and sew up the girl’s skirt before she heads off to a day at school.
And typical of Africa time, Friday comes and we get word that the Department of Social Services is not coming after all to this area. Sudden change in plans. It will be rescheduled.
So we wait.

--Amy Zacaroli

Nkosana

Nkosana had been praying for a job. For a few years he had none, but he came from a family of hard-workers and endeavored to find one in the rural, poverty-stricken area of the Eastern Cape in which jobs are scarce and intermittent.
A Christian man he met invited him to celebrate Easter 2008 at Canzibe Mission – a 13-hour drive from his home in the southern part of the country. Nkosana, a sweet-faced, patient Xhosa man of 25, accepted willingly. He stayed for a long weekend and then returned for good in January 2009. He serves as handyman and interpreter for the missionary, who is a native Afrikaner and whose Xhosa is sparse. Nkosana proved himself worthy, loyal, with a deep and caring heart, especially for the children in this area of green, dramatically beautiful hills dotted with rondavels. Nkosana’s first prayer had been answered, but now he wanted more – to be able to help the children, whom he found poor and hungry.
Even though he is not from this area of the Eastern Cape, he quickly immersed himself in the community and the villagers know him, love him, and are beginning to trust him, not an easy task among people who are reticent of outsiders. He plays soccer with the adolescents and takes pre-schoolers to an early morning prayer meeting before school starts.
He has a deep faith that is nurtured through his work with the missionary. He is taking college classes on the Bible, its history and interpretations, so that one day, if he wants to stand up in church and preach, he will have authority and knowledge to do so.
Nkosana’s heart is with the children. He tells this story. One day last June he was in Mthatha, the closest city to Canzibe. A 14-year-old boy named Themba came up to him and asked him for 2 rand. Nkosana noticed his tattered clothes, the holes in his shoes, the angry look on his face. Nkosana asked him, “What will you do with 2 rand?” And Themba said he would buy bread. Nkosana said to him, “I have bread in my backpack. I have an apple. And I have a sweet. I will give them to you. Plus I will give you 10 rand.” The boy was astonished at Nkosana’s generosity. Then Nkosana told him of the hope and promise that is in Jesus Christ. He explained to Themba that if he accepts Christ as his savior, Jesus will protect and provide for him and his family. Jesus will lead him to live in a righteous way – not to steal what is not his, even though he is poor and hungry. Themba seemed to hunger for what Nkosana said.
Then Nkosana asked him, “What will you do with that 10 rand?” a new Themba said, “I will take it home to my family. For we are poor and have no money and this will help my family.”
Nkosana likes to tell this story. He keeps a picture of Themba on his computer and tries to find him when he goes to Mthatha.
In mid-November 2009, 25:40 hired Nkosana to coordinate 25:40’s Project 1504, which has identified 1,504 orphans and vulnerable children in the wider Canzibe area. He will help ensure these children’s needs are being met – such as receiving child support grants from the government; being trained to grow food gardens; having school uniforms and being exempt from school fees; getting health care; and participating in after school care programs, which will provide help with homework, counseling, a safe place to stay after school, and a properly nutritious snack.
He is very well-organized, quite responsible and honest. Plus he has compassion for the children. He showed me a photo of children lining up for soup at a local school and pointed out to me a very small, thin girl in rags and no shoes. “Look,” he told me. “It is very cold. It is raining. The ground is muddy. And she has no shoes.” He just shook his head sadly.
Nkosana prayed for a job, one in which he can help children. 25:40 prayed for someone to help us with this project – to carry out God’s work for children who cannot help themselves. Our God is an awesome God, answering prayers – an ocean apart.
--Amy Zacaroli