Loving the one in front of you - sometimes it hurts

In my last post I mentioned we have a 15yr old boy coming to do soccer training with our boys every week or other odd jobs to earn money for school fees and food. He’s genuinely sweet and a diligent worker. He turned up yesterday as expected only to tell me that as he finished school he found out his HIV+ sister who’s been in hospital for three weeks has just died. Could I help him get to her at the hospital? He would then go with his uncle to their village a few hours away for her burial? After agreeing to help him get to the hospital I asked if his mother was also going. No, she’s already in hospital where she’s been for the last two weeks (still kick myself for not knowing that) – also HIV+, unable to recognise her own son and now unable to even talk. She’s totally unaware that her daughter has just died. After digging deeper I found out that there’s no-one else living at home it was just the three of them and since his mum’s been in hospital he’s been on his own. His uncle is his only other relative in Kampala. The only food he’s been eating is the one meal a day he gets at schools on weekdays.

Some things are just wrong. This shouldn’t be his story. He told me he didn’t know what to say when his headmaster told him about his sister. No words would come. I hugged a boy who’s had to grow up too quickly – a poor substitute for a mother that can no longer offer comfort. I told him to come visit as soon as he’s back from the village. I don’t have a plan – yet. Preparing dinner a short while later, fighting tears, praying for wisdom. Unable to talk it through with Pete as he’s in Northern Uganda for a week and his phone coverage is pitiful. Josiah suggesting he just come live with us if he needs to. Some days I think I can actually feel my heart aching. Yet even on these days I’m thankful we’re here, maybe even more thankful. Even though this shouldn’t be his story - through letting him in our gate we are now part of his story and he doesn’t have to bear it alone. A story I pray has a happy ending.

Learning to take time to love the one in front of me. Whether it be my own family, the lady I buy bananas from, or the boy at my gate. Some days it brings joy, some days it just hurts. Every day it’s what we’re made to do.