Madagascar

About a month ago, I found myself thinking about Madagascar (I actually wrote most of this back then) at a children's home there.  I'm not sure how much I've written about it, or even talked about it.  That time was such a whirlwind anyway.  This trip was one of the best and one of the hardest I'd ever been on.

The trip was hard because every area seemed like a battle: spiritual, mental/emotional, and physical.  Our team wasn't very connected.  I rarely have nightmares, but I had them for a few nights.  Shortly after we landed, I just felt funny, not like myself, for no apparent reason.  I took no more than 2 showers the whole time I was there, and one of them was in lukewarm water that left me chilled to the bone and shivering for about 2 hours until I asked the Lord to warm me up (which He did instantly!).  And I got sicker than I ever remember being.  My head hurt so badly for days from a cold-gone-wild (which became a sinus infection and double ear infections).  I spent 2 days praying in tongues almost continually because I didn't know what else to do to deal with the pain.  Tracking down medication was difficult because people didn't realize I was so sick -- I told them, but I was calm and didn't stay in bed.  So I didn't look sick. 

When I heard that visitors always spent time with the boys but almost never with the girls, and that they wanted us to spend time with the girls, I determined to spend every day with the girls.  And not the 2 and 3-year-olds.  The 7-13-year-olds.  I understand why the boys got more attention.  Boys are easy when you don't know the language.  You can play basketball or some other active game.  It's easier to learn each other's language because of the type of activity -- to communicate what a "ball" is and to demonstrate "throw".  There are some activities you can do with girls, but it can still end up being more of a challenge without language.  By the time I visited, the older boys could navigate through English and the younger boys had some of it down, but none of the girls knew any English!  I certainly didn't know Malagasy.

But somehow, I have no idea how, it worked.  I was with the girls every day.  One day the team planned dance lessons and another day a princess party.

But I also joined in whatever play they had going on during the day.  To spin them around.  To watch them do gymnastics or dance.  To be there with them as they just went about their day.

Or to take pictures with them.  (Non-selfie pictures that I'm in were taken by the girls.)  When I was sick, I wasn't going to let how horrible I felt keep me from those girls -- our team had just spent 2 days in the rain forest, and I didn't want to miss another day with them!  So I went to the girls' house, feeling like I'd been hit by a truck, and for over an hour took silly selfies with a couple of them.  It was great!  I still have a couple hundred silly selfies.

 Early Selfie-taking

 After an hour (and 200) selfies, with increasing silliness

There were a few moments that pierced my heart -- memories that get me every time. 

They loved twirling and dancing and gymnastic moves, and would say in Malagasy, "Watch me! Watch this!"  Over and over and over, for the entire time I was there one day.  They so loved the attention.  And then thinking of God's heart for them, and how much He loved watching every move, every twirl, every attempt at doing the splits.

Another time, while watching one of the girls dancing, off to the side, during the princess party, I just sat back and watched her for a minute.  She is a naturally beautiful dancer.  Standing there watching her, I felt so much pride over her -- this amazing and beautiful girl with so much talent and potential, who could be anything and do anything.  And then having the thought: her mother should be here, watching her, thinking this, feeling this.  This little 7-year-old girl gave me a glimpse into what it is to be a mother.

The last moment was when we were leaving and saying good-bye to the kids, and I was surrounded by about five crying girls.  We were told that if they cried, we couldn't cry, because it made it harder for them.  I barely kept it together.  For the most part.  I don't know the culture or what happens after a short term team leaves.  Going to a place for 2 weeks is so different from living there.  But I do wonder what they thought, with my inability to communicate anything, about the fact that I (largely) didn't cry.  Did they think I didn't care?  And I pray that what I gave them while I was there is weightier than my leaving.

There are so many things could have kept me from spending time with those girls.  We were all tired after 3 months in Africa with no running water and a steady diet of beans and rice.  We didn't have a schedule, and I could have decided to just do my own thing.  I had some horrible days physically.  I could have stayed in bed -- and would have been absolutely justified in doing so!  But I wouldn't have 100 ridiculous selfies with these adorable girls.  During those two weeks, many people on my team began dreaming about home: their beds, hot showers, central heat or air con, comforts of the west.  It seems like it was such a little thing -- just spend some time with the girls every day.  I wasn't even there that long, just a few hours.  But if getting there was such a battle, maybe it was much more important than any of us realized.

I've learned phrases in over a dozen languages and had conversations in 4 languages that are not English, but I never did manage to remember a single word in Malagasy.  But in my mind, I can still still that little girl dance.