"Why am I afraid to love?"

I wrote this entry last night...

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"Why am I afraid to love?"– Ken Medema

Am I afraid of losing what I give in love?
Am I afraid of giving what’s not wanted?
Am I afraid you’ll use me if I pour out my heart?
Why? Why am I afraid to love?

Am I afraid of loving only for myself?
Am I afraid my love will be untaken?
Am I afraid that somehow you will turn me away?
Why? Why am I afraid to love?

Am I afraid of pleading? Am I afraid of bleeding? Am I afraid of crying? Am I afraid of trying? Am I afraid of dying? All for love? All for love?

Dear Jesus, love me now, again I pray.
Hold me close to your breast and let me stay.
Let perfect love work in me casting out my fear.
Teach me not to be afraid to love.

Am I afraid of pleading? Am I afraid of bleeding? Am I afraid of crying? Am I afraid of trying? Am I afraid of dying? All for love? All for love?

Dear Jesus, love me now, again I pray
Hold me close to your breast and let me stay.
Let perfect love work in me casting out my fears
Teach me not to be afraid to love, no, not to be afraid to love, you know how hard it is to love.

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This song brought tears to my eyes tonight as I listened. Ken Medema has quite a way with words, he seems to put my thoughts into words in a way not many other songwriters do (sometimes I don’t even know they’re thoughts - which is probably why I have tears streaming down my face). Geez louise, this is one wise blind pianist, let me tell you. This song also has a good bit of meaning for me in relation to my childhood. Mr. John sang this song on the Redeemer Church choir tape I think…way back in the 80’s, I was maybe 9 or 10 at the time, and it has always struck a chord in me from what I remember…and here in Africa it takes on a whole new meaning, on so many different levels…

This morning I found out that Byamukama James, the “blinker” I blogged about a few entries ago, died yesterday afternoon. It was a surprise because he looked no different to any of us yesterday morning than any other morning, and evidently in the afternoon he suddenly went into respiratory distress and died within two hours. He was HIV+, was trying to recover from Kwashiorkor, and had been started on TB meds the day or two before he died…now can you imagine why it took every ounce of energy in his body to blink? Am I afraid of pleading/bleeding/crying/trying/dying on behalf of these kids? All for love? It hurts, but they hurt more…

The latest heart string tugger is a little 8 year old named Sureka Jackson. He’s developmentally delayed (most of my heart string tuggers are it seems), has strabismus (his eyes are crossed most of the time), and is WAY underweight…like under 10kg…TINY little guy and pretty shy it seems but sooooooooooo very cute...I caught the series of shots above of him sitting outside of the Peds ward today from my seat across the yard at the World AIDS Day celebration (which I learned today was actually celebrated elsewhere around the world on Dec. 1st, but seeing as Bundibugyo was in the throws of Ebola at that point there was no celebrating going on here then, so it was postponed until today).