We’ve got lots of new kids at Amani these days. As usual, it’s been a joy to see hungry bellies become full, dirty clothes become clean, and kids who were sleeping on the city sidewalks just a few nights ago sitting in the classroom and playing on the playground today. At the same time, it’s been lots of work. When we typically get new kids, many of them have received schooling at some point in their lives. So while they may not be the best readers or writers in the world, they usually come in with some basic knowledge. This group, however, has been quite different. The majority of them have never been to school, and, understandably enough, they are quite starved for attention. They are also somewhat violent, to the point that in our starters class we need at least two teachers these days—one to actually teach and another to maintain the peace. I find myself using some of the same techniques and teaching some of the same skills to these kids as I taught last year to my pre-K students with autism—how to sit in a chair, how to follow instructions, how to appropriately get someone’s attention. And while it has been challenging and tiresome, most days there are some glimpses of improvement.

A couple of days ago I was on my way back to class from our morning break when I saw one of the new kids, Fanwel, sleeping on a bench in the dining hall. I nudged him to wake him up and told him it was time to go back to class. He opened his eyes, and the tears just started rolling down his cheeks. “I miss my mom,” he said. Not what I was expecting. And so, I put my books down, forgot about the class I was supposed to be in, and pulled him into my arms. We just sat there for a little while, and eventually I started asking him questions about his mom. Apparently she left home a few months ago, and no one knows where she is. Then Fanwel’s dad kicked him out. Fanwel started sleeping and working on the streets, and eventually he met Amani’s street worker who brought him to Amani.

Sometimes there are just no words. There is no explanation why anyone should be in this kind of situation, especially a child. Fanwel is 10.

I imagine the perfect day in America. I play board games with my family. I lay on my bed with my best friends, laughing for hours. I walk around Target with my sister, and then we drive my cute honda fit to Jason’s Deli for lunch where I can get a salad and ice cream and ice in my drink, and we talk about things like boys and books and movies and don’t think about how Fanwel is missing his mommy or how kids sleep out in the rain or why parents can’t care for their children.

And it scares me, because I don’t think that will ever happen.

Proverbs 24:12 says this: "Once our eyes are opened we can't pretend we don't know what to do. God, who weighs our hearts and keeps our souls, knows that we know, and holds us responsible to act," and I think it is true. No matter where I am or what I’m doing, I will always be thinking of Fanwel, of Charles, of Erick, Emmanuel, Joseph, Rama, Emiliana, Miriam, and so many others who have touched my heart so much. I've seen them, and helping and loving and teaching them isn't just something nice for me to do, but something that is my responsibility.

And while lots of times I just want to be like Fanwel and crawl into a ball and tell someone I miss my mommy, I am so thankful to be here. I wake up in the morning thankful, and I go to sleep thankful, and I am thankful most of the time in between. I have never been in a place where I thank God so much, where you can see Him working so clearly. Amidst all the pain and suffering, there is beauty and there is hope and there is life. I am blessed to be surrounded by it all.