Great and Hidden Things...: Under A Mango Tree...

In a tiny village right in the center of Tanzania is a bright and sensitive twelve-year-old girl named Josephine. Alone. Standing over the graves of her mother and father realizing that for the first time in her life she really is truly…alone. No money, no home, no more dreams and aspirations, no one to cheer on her hard work at school, no one to dry her tears and comfort her grief. Alone. “What is going to happen to me now?” Knowing that without education she will live and die poor in that same village she makes a desperate attempt to find a way out. Josephine takes a bus to a nearby town. Terrified of the path ahead, she knows what she has to do; she needs to find a job so she can pay for school. By God’s Sovereign hand she didn’t find that job; instead she finds a tall, thin, white man with a kind smile. Josephine is terrified but with her head down she begins to tell him her story. Touched by her words, the single missionary decides to “adopt” Josephine. He pays her debts, the rest of her way through secondary school, even college.

Today I sit across the table from Josephine. She isn’t that terrified little girl anymore. She is a beautiful and spunky 65-year-old woman, with that same sensitive heart and a desire to have her story heard.

Mama Jospehine shared her story with such passion and detail that I felt as though I were standing right by her side as each memory was recalled. Tears filled my eyes as she told us of her husband abandoning their marriage because their son, Eric, was born mentally disabled. I was lost in her words as she spoke of the incredible love and devotion she has for Eric, her only family. I was angered as I listened to how hard she had to fight to sustain the life of her child. I sat silent as she described being once again, alone, when Eric died at age 33.

Mama Josephine spent the 33 years of Eric’s life caring for him and all the time growing her passion and relentless pursuit to (in her words) "fight for the rights of the disabled".

“When a child is disabled here in Tanzania they are either abandoned or if their family keeps them they all become outcasts. They are often refused medical care because (again, in her words) "they don't have the right to live...they are a waste of time".

Mama Josephine has worked faithfully for over 30 years training families to care for disabled children. After college she got a government job as a social worker and brought attention to the needs of the disabled. Not only did she do this for her job, this became her mission in life. She sold her home in the city and moved into a village where she heard of 15 mentally disabled children. “The insects and mice were my friends. They overran my decrepit mud hut.”

She began meeting together with these children and their mothers…under a mango tree. She sang and read to the children, loved on and trained their mothers, started marriage counseling, worked in lepers camps, began caring for the elderly and single mothers, continuing her fight for the rights of the disabled, and pointing a village to her Savior who gave her the ability to love and sacrifice in such a way. She recalled, “The entire community wondered why this woman wanted to live in the slums with us.”

She paused her story with a smile and said, “I wake up every morning thanking God for being able to live so long.” She sipped her soda, took a deep breath and looked right into our eyes…"I will not stop until I die."

I believe her words. I believe them because waiting at home for her are three precious little rescued lives; Neema, Rose, and Joel. We arrived at her small home, bought by the late-single missionary who helped her all those years before. Pictures of children cover her walls. Countless disabled children and their families; she points to them and says…”my family”.

::The rest of this entry is part of an email I wrote to my family after leaving Mama Josephine’s home:

…those 3 little ones in her home are about the most precious and happiest children that I have ever seen. Two of them were found on the street. Neema, the oldest, was caring for the younger one, Rose. She still can't stop mothering her because she kept her alive on the streets for so many years. She won't eat unless Rose eats, she won't do anything unless she has Rose by the hand. Neither can talk...I'm sure their years on the streets were more traumatic than we can imagine. They are around 11 and 6 years old now….

 …Days like today make me think that missing you guys (AS TERRIBLE AS IT IS) is worth it all…Our family has made the small sacrifice of not spending our days together. It hurts, but it hurts less when I stand in the home of people like Mama Josephine. Being here with her today I can’t help but think that maybe I have no idea what sacrifice really means…

MY DEAR LORD,

I depend wholly upon Thee, wean me from all other dependences. Thou art my all, thou dost overrule all and delight in me. Thou art the foundation of goodness, how can I distrust Thee? how be anxious about what happens to me?

In the light of Thy preciousness  the world and all its enjoyments are  infinitely poor: I value the favour of men no more than pebbles. Amid the blessings I receive from Thee  may I never lose the heart of a stranger.

May I love Thee, my Benefactor, in all my benefits, not forgetting that my greatest danger  arises from my advantages.

Produce in me self-despair that will  make Jesus precious to me, delightful in all His offices, pleasurable in all His ways, and may I love His commands as well as His promises.

Help me to discern between true and false love, the one consisting of supreme love to Thee, the other not, the former uniting Thy glory and man’s happiness  that they may become one common interest, the latter disjointing and separating them both, seeking the latter with neglect of the former.

Teach me that genuine love is different in kind  from that wrought by rational arguments or the motive of self-interest, that such love is a pleasing passion affording  joy to the mind where it is.

Grant me grace to distinguish  between the genuine and the false, and to rest in Thee who art all love.

~Puritan Prayer, The Valley of Vision~