Since my previous brief run-down of life at VoH one of the boys who has lived in the unit since almost the very beginning (he was the 5th child placed here) has left us to go back and live with his family in the Eastern Cape. Of course this is fantastic for him and it is what we hope for all of the kids here, but we all miss him terribly. I am so happy for him that he is where he belongs, with loving family that are so capable of taking care of him and each other, but also feeling self-centered and very sorry for myself - I know you're not supposed to have favourites but I did have a particular soft spot for little O, and though we knew he'd be leaving his family came to collect him while we were all out helping at a local community day so it was a shock to learn he had gone. Going into his room and seeing the little name labels on his shelves and above his bed today really struck me and I truly felt that I was grieving for him, mourning the loss of him. It sounds silly and like I said, selfish, but the knowledge that he is so far away and that I am highly unlikely to ever see him again hurt me.
I was releived however, to remember an image that popped into my head in church a while back. I can't for the life of me remember what the sermon was on, or what bible verse was read, (I so wish I could!) but I was thinking about one of the kids from the townships, Jack Lee, and wondering what his future would hold, and hoping through some twist of fate I would get to see what kind of man he will become. Dwelling on this, I had this image of a banqueting table laden with food, like the kind you see in films set in ancient Greece or medieval England, where they have a real feast and everyone has a place around this long table. This could be linked in with what was being said as part of the sermon, I can't remember, but anyway, Jack Lee was standing on the other side of this table grinning at me (a sight not often seen!). And I just had this sort of revelation that it doesn't actually really matter if I see him again in this life, because I will see him in the next life, in God's kingdom, or at least I will have the knowledge of what happened to him, if he was happy. Now I am no great theologist, and I'm not about to start arguing the theories of the afterlife and heaven etc, but this sudden thought that occurred to me gave me great comfort, and it still does when I think of O, or the other children here, or anyone else I care for for that matter. I know enough to say that our dreams are not always achieved, we do not always find what we think we want or need, (including miraculous reunions!) but I find strength in the thought that even if I am never able to return to Grabouw again, it will not be the end of the bonds I have made here. Not for the first time I am grateful for my faith and how it allows me to stare into the unknown and find comfort rather than fear.
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