Fera watched her sister walk down the path. She knew when Aida came back she would be tired and angry, but she would have food. She dragged Labison back into the hut. It was almost dark and the hunger pains shooting through her belly would be easier to bear if she was asleep. Lunch at the orphan project on Saturday was a distant memory by Monday evening.
Screams broke the silence of the night. Fera jumped from her mat. Flaming grasses fell from the ceiling, smoke filled the tiny hut making the air impossible to breath, as she grabbed for Labison, a neighbor raced into the house snatching them both from the flames.
Fera huddled at the edge of the yard as the sun rose. She shivered in the early morning air. Another day.
Deserted by their father, the children did whatever they could to survive. Aida sold her body to men from nearby villages for a little money to purchase food. Fera took care of her little brother while Aida was away. This went on for months. Then the house burned down.
Two weeks later they came to the Grace Center, anger and fear written on their faces.
As I fed them breakfast my heart cried out to Jesus, “Can pancakes and hot cocoa heal such broken hearts?”
Labi, Fera and Aida, I see God’s fingerprints of grace in your laughter and your smiles. I thank Jesus that he has healed your broken hearts.