I have an extra child tonight...

I have an extra child tonight.

I'm writing you from South Africa tonight with the perfect view from my couch: an almost-4-year old in a big-boy bed with "L I F A" hanging on the wall above him, and a long-legged little lady sprawled out in borrowed pj's across my red sheets.

Nandi's spending the night with us tonight.

There are so many versions of so many stories about Nandi. And about her mom.
None of them start with "Once upon a time..." and none of them are worth repeating.

Nandi's been showing up at TTH feedings since before I even got here. She's one of those kids that everybody notices, knows her name, and knows there's a story behind.

I don't know how old she is. But I know better than to measure her age by the way she carries herself. Or by the way she's learned how to use those long legs. Or by all the hard-knock life lessons that flicker through her eyes. It's only her childlike, ear-to-ear grin that betrays her when she gets shot by a water gun, surprised by a new pair of shoes, helped into a warm bubbly bath, or takes her first ride in the front seat of a car that show she's younger than her life experiences say she should be.

Nandi carries a lot of labels with her. She's a "runaway". She's been found sleeping in graveyards and in the doorways of strangers. Her mother's been an elusive figure in a Lifetime movie kind of story. I always notice the weeks when Nandi doesn't come to the Dwaleni feeding.

I've started building a relationship, slowly but surely, with Nandi's family.
(Background for those who know how much I love little Kevin and his family: Kevin's mother is Nandi's mother's sister. They live in the same plot of land.)

I found Nandi's mother and auntie waiting for me at the feeding program when I pulled up this week. Through a translator and deep burden, they explained Nandi had been gone for a week. Some of the children at the feeding knew where she was. It was too far to walk and they needed my help.

Absolutely.

A 10-person car ride later, we had our girl back. She climbed into my car looking like she was made of stone. Her mom wept all the way back to the feeding. This was a mess. And, by the icy emotions chilling the summer day, I knew it would only get worse in their house tonight. And we'd probably be looking for Nandi again tomorrow.

So, I asked if Nandi could come to my house tonight.

I explained that we were family, and we would take care of our kids together. And maybe tonight, Mama Nandi needed to rest with an extra helping of peace knowing her girl was safe. I wrapped my arms all the way around Nandi's slender frame and cracked a joke about how tight I would hold her all night long.

Instant relief.

And somehow, within moments, we were worshipping together at a neighbor's house, sharing snacks, and I had a lap full of sleeping babies. All was well. We became family.

There was a birthday party on base for 5-year old Caleb tonight. Our yard was filled with children, laughter, good food and swimming. For one night, Nandi was not a "runaway". She was a giggling, beaming, delighted little girl who was only running from the splash of a water gun as she passed off her new shoes to me so she go faster. 

I've been running away from God all week.

He used the f-word to me.
Rosa - don't freak out.

He called me to be a foster parent for his Kingdom. For the "least of these".
Foster parent... that's the f-word.

He asked me to love them with full-throttle Mama Love... all the way, every single day. To make their families stronger because of it. And to trust Him in all the moments - even when they go back home.

I've been running away from Him all week because it gets a lot more personal when they have a bed with their name on the wall. And when you've said ni-night prayers over them. And when they've bathed in your bath bucket. And when they call you Mama. It felt like all this love was backfiring.

I said "God the Father... I'm mad at YOU." I let that Abba-God have it.
And He whispered right back that He gets it.

Christmas is coming. What sometimes seems like a commercial holiday is really a sparkly hoopla over the beginning of the most personal and painful parenting experience in the story of Creation. And that He said it was worth it.

It's worth it to be a foster parent  and let my kids go home, so His kids can come Home. So me and the mamas and babas and gogo's and babies can all go Home together- fully adopted, fully sons and daughters of the King of Kings! 

We are learning together what His Family looks like. Our Family.

Today Mama Nandi learned that, no back-story required, she's not alone. And she's worth being taken care of. Today Nandi probably had her first-ever real bedtime routine. After fearful uncertainty and wiggling, she's sleeping hard and peacefully. Today Lifa learned that there's still room for more and that he'll always matter. Today I felt the most satisfying kind of exhaustion I've ever felt and decided that getting to feel this kind of love and be a part of this kind of family really is worth it.