Being a morning person is not a part of my DNA, it's just not. Apparently my chromosomes include a strand of my-body-likes-the-wee-hours-of-night. However, living in Mali has forced me to detach one set of DNA and pick up a new one called get-your-butt-out-of-bed-early! Or in easier to understand language - I have been trying to get up early when it is still cool. This way I'm not trying read my Bible while attempting to keep the sweat pouring off me from staining the pages.
The alarm sounded before the sun came up and I just rolled over. The nights sleep had not been deep and my body longed for more rest. But the air was cool and I wanted to at least have a few moments sweat free. But the morning just didn't cooperate. My mind drifted as I read the Word. My heart was just disconnected. The events of the day before lingered in the back of my mind and the frustrations that had plagued me were still holding on.
The morning went on and I suddenly found myself rushing to try to get ready to leave for language class. As one thing after the other, nothing of importance or great value, piled themselves on my shoulders I was just done. Frustrated, sweaty, and in a royally bad mood I slammed the door behind me and set out to find a taxi.
As I walked out of my yard gate and into reality I put my head down and trudged to the street. Being careful not to step in a puddle or on the unknown substance of trash that cover the reddish dirt I could feel my heart getting a little harder with each step. If there would have been a mirror in front of me, my mouth would have been a tight, emotionless line.
It was in this attitude, in this mind set that Papa God reached down His big hand and embraced mine. Only the hand that held mine was not an engulfing fleshed covered hand of the Creator God... it was a tiny brown hand of a child, gently tucked into mine.
I had never seen her before. She did not say a word. This tiny, precious little girl simply ran to meet me half way between my gate and the road, she looked up into my eyes and took my hand. No one prompted her. She didn't come running at me yelling the typically "white person, white person" greeting of a child. The combination of her silence and her intentionality hit me in my core.
She walked with me, hand in hand, almost to the street and then she let go and walked the other way. I didn't turn around in fear that she may never have been there in the first place. I hailed a taxi and drove off to school, my heart softening with every turn of the tires.
In the moments of quite yet deeply rooted fear and frustrations, God has a way of getting my attention. That morning, He used a little one to remind me that... He is near, He hears me, He sees me, He loves me, He has a plan for me and His plan includes little ones like her because HE loves the littles ones more than I ever could.