In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been slacking with my blog
writing.
I could make excuses. I’m busy (true). I’d rather spend my
free time watching Friends (which I do). I forget (true). Writing isn’t really
my thing (true).
But I think the real reason is that this place is becoming
home. And words can’t really effectively describe home. At least, my words
can’t. But maybe faces can.
I spend two to three days with these women every week. I’m
their “boss.” I’m the scary white lady who shows them the difference between a
good purse and a not-so-good purse. I discipline their kids. I distribute
paychecks. I tell them off for not coming on time and for wasting glue.
I’ve shared my story with them. I’ve cried in front of them.
I’ve danced in front of them. I sing in front of them. They see my good days
and my bad. They know my dreams and my fears. I hate hiding behind a mask. They
see my true colors, my real face, every day.
Every day, I lead Bible study. Every day, at the end of
Bible study, I ask for prayer requests. Nearly every day, it’s silent.
Until today, when I asked them individually, away from the
group, what to pray for. And the masks came off.
“I want peace in my home. It’s not a good place.”
“I want peace in my life. I want peace with my husband.”
“I have headaches.”
“I want to provide a home for my siblings and their kids.”
“I want to get into college. After college, I want a good
job. And I want my family to stick together.”
“For the last few weeks, I’ve been angry.”
“Angry with who?”
“Angry with myself. Angry with God. I feel far away from
God.”
“Pray that God will fight for me more than this.”
“What does that mean?”
“The devil is attacking me in my home.”
After ten months of praying, countless sleepless nights,
hours and hours of inventory and budgeting, teaching myself how to sew bags and
scarves, planning Bible studies and opening up my soul to them, finally, the
fruit shows.
These faces are the real story of why I came, why I’m here,
and why I’m staying.
