Watching and listening to the Watoto Children’s Choir from Uganda singing Tuesday night at Trinity Presbyterian Church in Columbia was an unplanned mid-week treat. Taking along four African refugee children that Kelly has fallen in love with and seeing their reactions was equally amazing. What I expected to be a pleasant, mid-week diversion was, instead, an overwhelming — and profoundly satisfying — emotional experience.
Hearing “I am not forgotten, God knows my name” from anyone is a compelling statement. Coming from children who had been abandoned, the statement cut through my preoccupied heart, the dizzying busy-ness of the week and myriad cultural boundaries.
This is normally where I’d wax eloquent, but I’d probably kill the message with words too weak to convey the way this statement challenged me:
“You don’t have to be an African orphan to feel like you’ve been forgotten.”