
Have you ever looked into the eyes of an innocent child and seen hopelessness, hunger, desperation? A little over a year ago I stood in the red, African dirt of Mozambique and stared into the face of hunger itself. The balmy night was quickly darkening, and I had wandered from the safety of the well-guarded compound hoping to share my dinner with one or two of the village children who I had befriended earlier in the week. But instead of finding a few of my new friends, I was flanked by a small group of children, all pressing in on me, calling out for me to fill their empty bellies with food. I quickly realized that I had made a mistake in leaving the compound, but it was too late to turn back. Looking helplessly at the little children gathered around me, I was seized with panic. I obviously could not share the little bit of food on my plate with the entire group of children. I did not have enough to go around. What do I do? The desperation in my eyes matched their own as I stood paralyzed with indecision. They needed me to help them. I had the power to ease the pain in their tummies, a pain that I could never understand. A few of the more assertive children started shoving their tattered plastic bags up to my plate, forcing me out of my paralysis. I quickly began scooping food into their bags, praying for enough for each child. But the fear that there would not be enough was too much for the children, and they began to push and pull and fight each other for the food. Most of the food ended up in the dirt, and the children scraped and scampered for any dirty morsel that they could find. One child that I will never forget grabbed the edge of my paper plate, and with his tiny, dirt-encrusted hands, nervously scooped the few remaining grains of rice into his mouth. It was too much. I could no longer hold back the grief that I had been building inside of me. I just stood looking at the children, hot tears streaming down my face. In desperation I turned imploringly towards my Mozambican interpreter, wanting for him to make the reality of their hunger go away, to say something to convince me that this wasn't really happening. It was too horrible to be real. But he had no consoling words for me. Pointing to the huts in the surrounding village, he practically wailed into the darkness, "Momie, these people in the village, all around us, they are suffering. They are hungry. They have no food. They are suffering Momie." Yes, I see. They are suffering.
The image of those hungry children has been seared into my heart and mind. I think of them often, when I am hungry, and when I am satisfied. I cannot forget them. If you are not doing something to help feed the hungry, please consider this worthy ministry.
http://www.fruitedplains.org/: (following copied from the website describing the ministry)
"How we serve: We serve by first building relationships with various churches and community leaders in Kenya. We believe that it is these leaders who are better suited to know the needs of the people in their local communities and villages. We assist by deciding together the best ways to help the local people become self sufficient. We then provide the financial assistance to meet this goal." (Exerpt from the website 2/1/09)
(I discovered Fruited Plains through a fellow missions student who knows this couple personally. You may notice that the last update was dated 8/2008. This is because they have recently had a family crisis and have been unable to update the site, but the ministry is active and making a significant impact in the area. Feel free to email Mike and Michele for the latest update on all of th work that they are doing.)