submitted by Kathy Bergman

The Little Girl I Can't Forget

Two years ago I walked into a small village north of Arusha, Tanzania, with several of my traveling companions. A large swarm of African children greeted us next to the crumbling church which housed their Compassion project.

Excitedly, they shared their lives with us and entertained us with programs especially created for our arrival. Smiles were a plenty on the faces of the children who were being served by the Compassion project. They were starting to understand the meaning of the word "hope"and were actually beginning to believe hope could exist. You could see that by the look of joy on their faces.

It's easy to be overwhelmed when you are surrounded by such intense poverty. As I greeted each child in the name of Christ, I noticed one very young girl timidly standing off to the side. She was not a part of the project. Tightly held in her arms was a white plastic doll that was missing most of its body parts. Yet, this precious child loved this doll very deeply.

Ever so stealthily, she walked towards the crowd. She was a sad, shy little thing, unlike the boisterous, happy children at the project. She could not have been more than 4-5 years old. There was no adult with her. She must have heard the commotion down at the church and had walked by herself to see what was going on.

I tried to reach out to her -- to hug her in my arms, but she hid behind the leg of a passerby. Perhaps she had never seen a white person before.

God has forever stamped her precious face in my mind. I have a feeling she will be forever imprinted on my heart, as well.

Her little body was a word picture for Christ in my eyes as she tenderly hugged the broken doll in her hands. How often are we broken and mangled, just like that doll? How often are we overwhelmed by life's simplest needs, as this little girl obviously was? How often do we walk towards a glimmer of light we see down the road and refuse to allow another to love us? How often does God still embrace us with His strong arms of love even when we are ugly and broken in our sin?

I saw Christ that day. Not in myself, nor in my actions, but in the eyes of a dirty, ragged child.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to them. I have never seen heaven more clearly represented as I did on that day -- through the eyes of this one amazingly beautiful child.

Thank you, Father, for teaching me.

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