Thru the Darkness

Looking at the muted reflection on the dark lens, the children of K'Village sitting on the benches under the canopy outside our house stir memories. As I gaze, I hear them. I see their smiles. I smile. I hear their giggles. I giggle in my heart. The children. Always present outside our house. Playing. Laughing. Waiting. They're not noisy nor in the way. But they're there. Waiting for us to play with them. Tease them. Hug them. They don't get many hugs, you know.
I can hear them singing. Ah, one of the most precious sounds I've heard. I remember the night I sat alone in the darkness of the African night -- praying, weeping, struggling. At the point the turmoil seemed overwhelming, I heard the children outside my window singing: "Alleluia, Alleluia." An angel choir. God's voice of reassurance comforting my heart. It is likely that I will never sing that song again without hearing the children . . . and weeping.