Dress Rehearsal: Nazareth Children’s Joy Home

Hope is always new and fresh. It always speaks in the future tense. It always calls us to imagine.  Imagine.

In a land where family is the definer of life, I never cease to be amazed at the strength of familial ties, the identity of a family name, the responsibility felt for others in an extended family, the focused face of a five year old little girl as she carries her sister on her back while their mom is heavy laden in the fields with 40 kilos of tea, a language where uncles are called father. I marvel at what the African family can absorb and what it reflects. It bends and flexes in the storms of life. It grounds and roots. It is first and foremost.  Imagine.

What then of the little girl who arrives on the doorsteps of the local police post – no note – no family – no name? What must her mother have felt, her father have hurt, to believe that what is first and foremost is not strong enough to protect or guard this child? What love must they feel causing them to relinquish even the family identity of their own flesh? Imagine.

Then imagine this little girl as she grows. No matter what she receives, no matter the accumulation of accolades, accomplishments or acquisitions, without a name it is as if she never filled even a small space of any real place.  Imagine.

Imagine, now, a place where she is welcomed to receive the identity of a chosen child. Where her future defines her past, not the other way around. Where dark pain is absorbed and bright joy is reflected. Imagine what those walls might look like, how they might talk.  This is right where I stand, at this very moment  – the entry room of the soon to open Nazareth Children’s Joy Home. Imagine.

So, as I stand, I pray that when she crosses this threshold, these walls will truly absorb all pain and reflect all joy. I pray that the mom of this home will welcome her with a hug as big as the sky and take her straight in to clean up for supper. I pray that as Jesus sits at table with her that he will tell her family stories and remind her that he knew her before she was formed in the womb and even then he loved her so very much. I pray she will smile and laugh and eat enough to almost bust and then go out and play. I pray that when night comes and she is tucked in, blanket right to her chin, kiss on her forehead, that she will dream of a life of dancing through tomorrows. Imagine.

Imagine… and dance…

by Jim Wood, Senior Pastor at First Presbyterian Church in Norfolk, Virginia.