When I was 17 I went to this obscure village in another country. It was a life-changing experience and the seed to fight for the voiceless and to eleviate poverty flourished. I met my peers who did not have a fraction of all that I took for granted - such as parents, school, pocket money, a home, a fridge, a tv, police, hospital, clinics and a country which I could go out any time of the day and not be shot dead.
Seeing how my peers survived even with the lack of basic amenities just made me wonder the fragility of one's securities.
When I left the village and bid farewell to newfound friends, we sobbed like someone had died. They knew and I knew that the next time we ever met again was in heaven or some other place not in this lifetime. As months went by, correspondences via snail mail dwindled, postal services were unreliable and the last we heard that village was burnt down after an attack.
It has been years ... but 1 month ago, I got in contact with one of them whom I met there when he was 11. He is now in another country living out his passion as an artiste.
I thank God for His hand on my life all these years. More so, I realise God never abandoned me in my times of despair and when I thought I wasted my time not pursuing my passion. In fact, it was within His plans to mould me to who I am today.
By God enabling me to get in touch with my dear friend whom I never thought I would meet again reminds me of His faithfulness in times of my faithlessness. It reminds me of never giving up on God because He is God. It reminds me that my big picture is just a tiny speck in God's BIG Picture. It reminds me that I should clear out my cupboard more often as the younger me may have left some surprises for the older me :)
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