Freckles

I really like my freckles. I do. I always have. I think they're quite unique, and I've enjoyed collecting them along the way as I've traveled to different parts in the world. They're kind of an unofficial souvenir and a piece of my life's story that I can look at each day. I have Czech freckles, Greek freckles, Costa Rican freckles, and now, South African freckles.

On our first day in Sweet Home, I started to talk to a girl named, Zimkhitha. She was about 9 years old and attended one of the township schools, so we could communicate in English (which is refreshing to find in the township). We spent most of our time together just chatting, laughing, and singing songs. She wrapped my arms around her, so that no one else could disrupt our one on one time.

At one point, she looked down at my arms. She made a disgusted face and said, "What are those?" At first, I had no idea what she was talking about it. Then, it dawned on me. She probably hasn't seen freckles before. I explained to her what they were and how I get them. She still turned her nose up at what I said because my freckles were apparently still really weird. I was going to comment further about how we're all unique and have different markings on our body when I noticed something. I looked at Zimkhitha's arm and saw two scars, both about 2-3 inches long that looked like they came from a knife.

I stopped. Questions flooded my mind. Is that what I think it is? How did she get those? Was it an accident or was it intentional? Who would do that to a child?

Suddenly, any sort of discussion about how unique we all are just didn't matter. Just like how the freckles on my arm are unique, so are the scars that she wears on her arm. They both tell a story. She didn't need me to remind her of that. It wasn't my place to drag up anything from her past. So, I let her make a face again about my freckles, and I continued to hug her and sing songs with her again.

I never thought that my freckles would be a reminder to me of the things I saw in South Africa. Now, when I take the time to stop and look at them, I see a new piece of my life's story, and it includes that day I spent with Zimkhitha. It's my new outward reminder to pray for the children in Sweet Home.