I see you

I've been struggling.

I won't be going back to Huruma. I won't see Grace or Njeri or any of my kids ever again. And the thing that's been making me toss and squirm in bed is the thought that none of them will ever remember me. There is no way of knowing if there is any recognition on their parts. In their minds, I might just be a shadowy figure, coming and going. I can never know if I meant anything to them--and that has thrown me into some very low moods.

When I was saying goodbye last week, one of the last kids I saw was Viona. She is one of the few children in the special ward who can communicate with you, and the first time I discovered this was when I was dressing her before her afternoon nap and I said, "Hello," and she said it back. I nearabout dropped her in surprise.

I was delaying my farewell to Viona, opting to tickle her because her laughter kept my tears steady. Viona loves repeating what you say back to her, so I said to her, "I love Jesus." Instead of saying that back exactly to me, though, she looked up at me, smiled one of those smiles--so pure and good--and said, "I love you."

I didn't know if she meant it--if she understood what she was saying and who she was saying it to. Then I began to feel agitated, though not because I didn't think it was a genuine sentiment from Viona. I was upset because I wanted her to say she loved Jesus, for that was what mattered more, what was more pressing, more than her loving me or my need for her to love me in return. There's a part in The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis, where a woman in heaven tells her husband, "Yes, now I love truly...what we called love down there was mostly the craving to be loved. In the main I loved you for my own sake: because I needed you. ...I am full now, not empty. I am in Love Himself...We shall have need for one another now: we can begin to love truly."

In that moment, I felt all (or at least what my frail humanness can soak in) the goodness of my Lord. One, for Him to give me the gift of Viona looking at me and telling me she loved me. But even more so--showing me what truly mattered: that in all I have said and done during my time at Huruma, in some way, the mamas, sisters, and children at Huruma saw Him reflected in me. Showing me I can love freely, without needing anything in return. I need no affirmation of what I do or who I am save from Him because God looked upon me and said, very simply, "I see you, Denise, and I see all that you have done and will continue to do."

And that was that.