Several years ago when I first met my friend Danielle, God began preparing my heart for the trip of a lifetime and relationships that would forever change the way I see and define love. He planted a seed in my heart that could only be watered and grown in a tiny little country called Swaziland, Africa.

I wrote about it some and desperately attempted to convey my feelings about the trip in a few published posts but really struggled to share the things I so intensely wanted to. So I kept them in the drafts folder and continued to write...but more importantly? Continued to pray. About what God wanted me to share and what He wanted to keep between Him and I along with that tiny little country I fell head over heels in love with.

Before committing to the team and trip, I scoured the Children's Hopechest website for a child to sponsor. There were several children in need of sponsorship, but no matter how much I prayed about it, I felt God saying, "just wait."


Hearing those words frustrated me beyond belief. "Just wait?" I want one now. I want to have a sponsor child to meet when I arrive! Looking back, I cannot believe how selfishly ignorant I was being. Oh, how I wish I had realized that this part of the story -- this chapter -- was not about me. Oh, I wish I had realized that it is never about me.

After travel delays, switched flights, and layovers in places I never expected to be (Amsterdam and Ghana, HOLLA!), we arrived in South Africa. I got to shower for the first time in days and eat something other than airplane food (which would make any American giddy). As I was getting out of the shower, I'd realized I hadn't even shampooed my hair because I was in such a hurry to get out. I wanted to get on the road so we could get to the guest house we'd be staying at for the remainder of the trip. I wanted to be one step closer to meeting the children I'd been praying for and about for so many months. "Just wait," He kept whispering to my spirit.


The first day was a whirlwind as our team got to know one another better, crossed the boarder to Swaziland, and got settled into the guest house where we would be staying. I spent a lot of time praying that night before sleeping like a rock and waking up to what I remember being the best day of my life thus far. Finally, our first day at the carepoint had arrived.

I vividly remembering pulling up to the carepoint and watching the children run to the fence to wave -- so full of joy and anticipation at the thought of meeting us, holding our hands, and sitting on our laps. It was so evident that these children loved without restriction. They were not choosy or stingy about whose hand they were holding or whose hair they were stroking. Though I'd never been to Swaziland before, there was something oddly familiar about the immense love, unexplainable peace, and overwhelming joy I felt being there.

That's when it hit me. Interacting with the children and watching the children interact with each other reminded me so much of the elaborate love of our Father in Heaven. Their innocence reminded me of the perfect, sinless sacrifice that Jesus was. My heart was broken, changed, mended, and filled over and over again that day and in the days to come. God was evident in each and every moment.



It was that day that I met my sweet Nontsikelelo -- a petite 10 year old with the most beautiful smile, sweetest laugh, and passion for school. She clung to my hand and side for majority of the day and shared her story with me. We talked about family, school, her dreams, and everything in between right down to discovering that we both shared a love for the color yellow. "It is so bright," she said. Oh, sweet girl, how bright you are.

The next day, we spent more time with one another and continued to enjoy each other's company and encouragement. Around dinnertime, we said our "see you tomorrow's" and went our separate ways. Just as our team was about to leave, Nontsikelelo came up behind me, tapped me on the arm, and handed me a piece of paper. "I have almost forgotten to give you your letter!" she said.


As she ran off and started down the path to go home (wherever home might be) I unfolded the piece of paper she had given me as tears began to stream down my face. Her words. Her handwriting. Her drawings. Her thoughtfulness. How worth it being obedient to "just wait," felt. How present God had been and continues to be.

In the days following, Nontsikelelo and I continued to laugh and sing and pray together. She brought some of her schoolwork to show me, I got to show her pictures of my family and friends here in America. As our time together came to a close, saying goodbye made me weep as I have never wept before. As we hugged one last time, she whispered, "I have been praying for a special friend for so long. You are my special friend and I love you!" Though the two of us are from what seems like two entirely different worlds -- and though those two "worlds" are so incredibly far apart, God's care and perfect will brought us together in a way that has forever changed and deepened the way I breathe, live, think, and pray.