Broken

Sometimes I forget the kids have a past.  I forget they aren't all smiles and hugs.  That their families, teachers and Kampungs may have hurt them.  And its when I learned how true this is for two members of my family here, my heart broke.  Literally shattered in two pieces, or maybe even just a million little fragments.

I know the real stories of two people of the forty at Jireh Home.  Of the things that  haunt their hearts   And it was something I wanted to know.  One of my goals at the the beginning of the year was to hear each kid's story in whatever language they wanted to tell it in.  Knowing just two, that is the absolute last thing I want.   Perhaps ignorance is actually bliss.

This place, this home, this family, is a safe place.  The kids arrive here anonymous to each other.  For the young ones, maybe they can forget whatever may have scarred them amongst the love and camaraderie of a huge, inclusive, loving family.  The older ones, well I don't know.  Their problems manifest in the clothes they wear, the studying they don't do, the moodiness.

Some of the girls and I:  Broken souls healing together

To think that this could have happened, and probably did happen to more of the precious kids here.  That they could be so deeply scarred.  To think, to know that, just breaks my heart.  Into pieces.  And I pray that we can find grace together.  That somehow, we can find true peace and love together in God's daily gifts of joy.

I am learning wait patiently for the Holy Spirit to use that grace, peace and love we find together to sew our broken hearts and souls back together.