Loving Like a Child

The kids at Ngungwane Care-point in Manzini, Eswatini are teaching me a lot. They show me childlike faith and wonder. They make mistakes and fall and cry, but they are unashamedly growing and learning with every step.

There are times and ways that these kids bring heaven to earth. They have a short memory for bad moments and a long memory for good ones. They play hard on the playground equipment and with football (our soccer) and with each other. Sometimes they fall hard or knock into each other or someone gets a ball to the face. They cry hard, but never for long and after being picked up and dusted off, they are off to playing just as hard in no time. However, when something good happens—someone brings a bottle of nail polish, they learn a new game or song, they live a full day in someone’s embrace—they don’t forget. They keep talking about it or going to the person who has loved on them before. A few girls walked up to one of the racers, and asked about a Bible story she had preached on weeks before. Their memories for the good are so impressive. They keep their promises and expect you to do the same. And it’s important to remember that to them, a “maybe” counts as a promise. They are confident and bold in the way they demand your attention and love. If you are holding hands with two different kids, that doesn’t mean others won’t try to climb on your back or into your arms or hug your legs. They want as much love as a person can give. They don’t take themselves seriously. They are humble and innocent and just want to be silly and have fun and be fed and loved. They see every good thing as a gift and are so grateful and joyful. And so many of them just want to be held all the time.

They inspire me to be unashamed in giving and receiving love. They make me want to laugh at myself. To cry hard when I get hurt, but to move on and remember the good. They make me think before I speak, make sure I mean what I say and will follow through on a promise. They inspire me to push my capacity for learning names and kid’s stories, while also showing me that I can love deeply even if I don’t know or struggle to pronounce the child’s name. They make me carefully consider the privileges and comforts I have. They make me appreciate these things but realize that they aren’t necessary for life, and might even get in the way sometimes. I’ve learned that it isn’t bad to be bold and free in loving and wanting to be loved in return.

And I know I’m making it sound pretty ideal and fluffy right now. So, I want to share some of my questions and harder moments, too. I’ve learned that I do have limits for how many kids I can love at once. There are around eighty kids at our Care-point and nine of us racers. This isn’t a problem for the kids that want to play group sports or don’t mind sharing a racer’s attention. But those that just want to be held all day, sometimes struggle to share. And others that want to be held but haven’t gotten a turn yet can get jealous and angry. I’ve struggled when it comes to knowing who to love when, and when to set one child down so that I can love another as well. Another thing that is hard is that even though we are here for over six weeks, that is really not a long time in a child’s life and memory. I know that these kids probably won’t remember my name or maybe even my face after a while, but I pray that they remember being loved and fed and have good memories at the Care-point and know that they can come here for safety, fun, love, and a meal. And even though all these kids have grown up coming to this Care-point and know that the racers will leave eventually, they receive our love and love us back so hard. Their love for us really inspires me in this way, that they know it is not in person forever, but they don’t keep us at arm’s length. They want as much of our love for as long as we are here to give it to them.

   

And this brings me to my biggest struggle and a harder example of love. There are times when the kids at the Care-point reflect less of heaven and more of the fallen nature of our hurting hearts. There is one girl at the Care-point that I have built a very special but sometimes hard relationship with. (Due to security reasons, she is not pictured and I will just call her Honey here). Honey is a lot like the other girls in that she loves to play hard and love hard and wants to be held. Within the past few weeks, she starts the day by coming long before preschool classes start and runs over to me with a big smile. She always holds up her little arms and wants to be lifted up. I always do and give her a big hug. I love hugging her and playing hand clap games and booping her nose. The difficulties start when the other kids get there. Other kids want to be held or play or have me rub their back or even just hold one of my hands. But Honey doesn’t like to share. She starts whining or crying or arching her back to get my attention and both of my hands back to her. Sometimes she shares for a few moments, before realizing my attention is divided and she gets violent. Honey pushes, kicks, or even bites some of the other children or me. Sometimes the only way to deescalate this, is to either get between the two kids or put her down and walk away removing myself from the equation. This is hard for me, because I am here to love on kids, and I know that she must really need this love and attention that she is so desperate for.

In my mind, the Holy Spirit connected this moment to a struggle that I’ve been wrestling with all year. How am I supposed to love and by loved by people? I want to be intentional and pursue people. I want to know my teammates love languages, personalities, what makes them tick, how I can best support and encourage them. I want to love them well. But how often does this love, these beautiful friendships, get tangled up in insecurity, comparison, and a possessive nature. Suddenly, I’m worried if I’m showing too much love to this teammate and not enough to that one. I wonder if I’ve pursued one more then another. People are different, and relationships grow at different speeds. I can’t compare and I can’t force relationship. But comparison doesn’t just poison how I love but how I perceive I am being loved.

Obviously, I haven’t pushed, kicked, or bitten any of my teammates. But how many times do my thoughts roll with insecurity, bitterness, or possessiveness due to feeling like my friendship is being threatened? How many times have I misread someone’s intentions and assumed the worst? How many times have I not received someone’s attention or kindness, because I was busy feeling unseen by someone else? I can easily picture myself as Honey, getting jealous or pushing other’s away because I want someone’s attention all to myself… But that is putting my friend in a position they were never supposed to inhabit. The love of a friend—or any person for that matter—cannot be what gives me my worth and identity. The times that I have fallen into the thought patterns of insecurity and comparison have been when I’ve forgotten who I am and whose I am. They have been moments when I had gotten out of the practice of resting in the arms of my God and letting Him remind me all that He is and who I am.

• I believe I am loved (Jn 17:23).
• I believe I am chosen, wanted, and secure (Jn 15:16, Zeph 3:17, Eph 1:7).
• I believe I am an image bearer of God, a child of God, and a new creation in Him (Gen 1:27, 1 Jn 3:1, 2 Cor 5:17).

So, if I believe these things, why do I not act like it? Because I’ve forgotten. I so easily forget. Even if it’s not a forgetting of facts, but I let the truth grow cold in my heart and allow myself to believe the lie that maybe I’m not okay. Maybe I’m not loved, or God is not trustworthy. Maybe my worth is the actions that I do, the things I earn, the way that I love, the friendships that I have or don’t have. Falling back into believing these lies is as easy as drifting off to sleep. I don’t even realize it’s happening.

So, I have to go back to God’s arms. I have to rest in Him, and have Him remind me of His character and all that I am. Then instead of reaching after another’s attention or pushing someone else away, I can just rest in who I am: a loved child of God.