"a doctor!" she said. all smiles, as she's looking down at the table we are sitting at, rubbing her pointer finger across the wooden top with a flower behind her ear. i sit across from her silently, eyes blurred while studying her face, and can't imagine that i only know a fraction of His love for this little one.
today, Zula told her life story to me for the first time.
. . . . .
nearly three weeks ago she came bouncing into my life wearing a tattered yellow skirt and a brown shirt, that at one time, was meant to be black. she started frequently holding my hand as we walked and, quickly, became attached to me by the hip. we gave each other wild flowers that we would pick on our walks to the park, just because they were her favorite. all signs of pain from her reality were masked by little girl songs and dances and giggles as we quickly became the best of pals.
weeks later, she is still the first to welcome me at the front gate when i arrive. she's still the one snuggling up to me in silence during every prayer, and that seven-year-old heart of hers is the reasoning behind that wonderful giggle each time we catch one or the other peaking.
i hold her close and try to force away the thoughts in my mind that are full of anger and hatred towards the unfairness of her situation. leaving innocent, and helpless children to fend for their own is just not fair.
. . . . .
both of Zula's parents passed away within the last two years. her grandmother, with not much to her name, took her in...along with her other four siblings. she has 2 brothers and 2 sisters, who all range from about 3 years-15 years, Zula being the third born. a few months later, the grandmother passes on, leaving them here on earth with no family except for their brothers and sisters.
these 5 kids are currently residing in a small, covered area on a property belonging to a woman a few villages away from where she grew up. of course, she would not be much of a caretaker to American standards, considering she doesn't provide food or education for the children, but i am glad that the woman was nice enough to offer up a part of her home to help the best way she can.
right then, Zula's book is lying infront of me with pages turned. now she sits here with a pen in hand and starts onto the next page in her story.
so here we are, sitting in an office with a social worker and myself. the mask is removed now and from behind it, I finally have seen where she had been.
twisting the flowers that we picked earlier in the day on the table, she sits quietly. the little girl i once thought i knew, the one who sings pretty songs and dances when there is no music and giggles when i get frustrated was once a broken hearted little girl who has cried at night and screamed into her hands and pounded her fists on the ground wondering why this was happening to her.
after speaking to the social worker about Zula's story, i wanted to know some personal things about her. what does she like to do? what's her favorite color? does she like sweeties? i finally decided on the question i wanted to ask: "zula, what do you want to be when you get older?"
so here i am. wanting to take her in and show her love and friendship. wanting to pick flowers with her forever and help her to forget the horrible past she had been through. but unfortunately, there is only so much i can do to help her right now.
i just hope one day, she will find someone or something who makes flowers grow in even the saddest parts of her.
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