I nod, sleepy, trying not to doze as I look out on a pool of black, inquisitive faces patiently waiting, waiting, for things to start as they bake in the hot sun
I hear mamas caring for babies out back.
Someone is pumping water from the new well to the right of where I sit.
I feel a drop of sweat meander down my back even though I have a seat of honor in the shaded porch of the school.
I watch the children, trying to focus on each individual child’s face instead of the nameless group. I notice the musical instruments these Zambian kids have fashioned out of bottle caps, wood, string, and cardboard.
It’s hot and I’m nodding, nodding. The faces blur as in slow-mo my eyes close and then I jerk awake, lifting my head again. It’s the story of my life. Striving to pay attention. To not miss the God-moments. Continue reading
