This event occurred on a Never Ending Garden trip with
Heart for Africa in Swaziland , April, 2006. 

I think I noticed her because, typically, the women came and watched or helped us plant, curious about these white people who had come from far away to work in the dirt. But this woman remained sitting on the grass near her adobe hut. She coughed repeatedly, a bad cough. I could tell by her languor and the expression on her face that she did not feel well. She looked about 40 and seemed tired, discouraged, beaten down by her illness. We were told that her husband had died two years ago. I wondered if she had AIDS. (I found out later that she does.) This was our third day planting and we had seen the family remnants of those who had died of AIDS—orphans, widows—but this was my first contact with someone who was clearly ill.

Without thinking about it, I walked over to her. “Can I pray for you?” I asked. I expected casual acquiescence and so was surprised by her emphatic yet gentle, “Oh yes!” I asked her name: Thembisile (Tem SEE). I placed my hand on her shoulder and prayed a short, simple prayer. Ilona, a team member, told me that the woman's daughter had asked if we had any aspirin for her mother and said she had some Ibuprofen in the van . I went and got a couple of Ilona's tablets along with some water and crackers. We broke the pills in half--a whole tablet would probably be too much for her body to handle. I walked over to Thembisile and gave her the pills, water, and food. Then, I suddenly felt overwhelmed by grief. I didn't know what else to say and I didn't want Thembisile to see my feelings. I walked over to the garden where the team was finishing up. My heart was aching, my eyes were tearing up. I felt an angry, frustrated, sadness and I turned to my team for comfort: “I can't stand it,” I heard myself say, “I can't stand to see these beautiful people wiped out by this horrible disease.” Thembisile saw all of this; she must have known what was going on. I calmed down and walked back over to her. Her son, Lazarus, 23, asked me if I could help him get a job. He was responsible for his younger siblings and in Swaziland work is hard to come by; typically, getting a job first entails a three month probationary period. Even then there is no guarantee. I wondered whether Heart for Africa could hire him. I told him I didn't know about a job but I would ask. I walked on with the team to the next garden.

But I couldn't let go. Joyce, our Swazi facilitator suggested we call Jabulani, a Heart for Africa employee and church elder we had come to respect. A quick cell phone call brought Jabulani who “happened” to be only 30 seconds away delivering supplies for the gardens. I met him and told him about the woman and the young man needing a job. “Can we do anything for them? I feel so helpless,” I said. We went and spoke with Thembisile and Lazarus. Jabulani asked questions: had she been to the clinic? was she taking medicine? He told Lazarus he would check about the possibility of a job. After a few minutes we said our good-byes. Thembisile then looked directly at me and said something in SiSwati. Her son translated, “She said, ‘Don't forget me.' “ What was left of my heart broke right then. This woman whose suffering had touched my core was appealing to me. I put my hand on my heart and with passion responded, “I will NEVER forget you.” I don't remember ever having promised anything with so much conviction. (I recently discovered that the name “Thembisile” means “promised”.)

Now here I am three months later, back in my comfortable middle-class American life. I feel the sadness and confusion that many feel after returning from sub-Saharan Africa : the crisis of AIDS, hunger, orphans is so overwhelming—what can I possibly do? Sometimes I feverishly look for ways to help; at other times I don't want to think about it—it hurts too much. I get angry because some people react to my sharing about Swaziland by saying, “I couldn't stand to go and see that kind of suffering.” and yet sometimes I don't want to feel the pain of it either. In all my sorting out, I have not forgotten Thembisile. I have pondered what it means to remember her. I think that's a good question from three perspectives: hers, mine, and most importantly, God's.

What did Thembisile want when she asked me not to forget her? I think she was asking for practical help, yes, but I wonder if it was also a cry from the heart: call me to mind after I die—don't let it be as if I had never lived. Care that I suffer! I want to matter.

From my perspective, it would be impossible not to think of Thembisile from time to time—it was, after all, a memorable experience. But what good does it do Thembisile—and the millions like her in Africa —if I occasionally call her to mind? Remembering must mean more than that.

So I go to the Lord: show me what my promise to remember really means! The Scriptures tells us that God himself remembers the Thembisiles of the world:

“. . . the needy will not always be forgotten, nor the hope of the afflicted ever perish.” (Ps 9:17, NIV). But God's promise not to forget involves much more than just a mental act. His promise to remember is accompanied by two things: action and empathy.

God's remembering of us results in him acting on our behalf. The Psalmist says that instead of forgetting the helpless/troubled/grieving/victimized/ fatherless/afflicted, and the oppressed, the Lord sees, considers and helps. He hears, encourages and listens; He defends (Ps 10). The Lord's remembering is worked out by doing “marvelous things”, by saving. (Ps 98:1-3). The action which accompanies his remembering is very practical: “He provides food for those who fear him; he remembers his covenant forever.” (Ps 111:5). We too are called to show we remember by acting on behalf of the poor, needy and afflicted (Gal 2:10).

But there is more. While faith without works is dead, works—even good, self-sacrificing works without love are nothing (“If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.” I Cor. 13:3) We may write a large check in order to assuage our guilt and then dismiss the poor from our memory. Yes we must send money—it is desperately needed but if we listen to the Father's heart, we will go beyond that. God's remembering involves emotions —because he “remembers that we are dust” (Ps 103:14) he is compassionate, gracious, slow to anger. (vs. 8,9) We too are to be emotionally engaged. We are called to relate to the poor with our wallets and with our hands certainly, but also with our hearts. I cannot turn my head or stop up my ears, or close off my heart to Africa 's cry for help.

How do we engage emotionally? By identifying with those who suffer, being willing to feel what they feel. Isaiah says of the Lord: “In all their distress he too was distressed” (63:9). Jesus is able to sympathize with our weaknesses, because he loved us enough to become what we are (Hebrews 4:15-16). In Matthew 25, Christ identified himself with the “least of these” (vs. 31-46), explaining that we will be judged by whether we fed the hunger, clothed the naked, cared for the sick, because “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.” (vs. 40). Jesus so identified himself with the suffering that he said in helping them we help him. We are not to maintain an emotional distance from the suffering. Hebrews 13:3 says , “ Remember those in prison as if you were their fellow prisoners, and those who are mistreated as if you yourselves were suffering.” When I suffer I experience it deeply. If I love the Lord with all my heart, and my neighbor as myself, how can I refuse to share the emotional pain of those who suffer? Emotions are an essential ingredient in relationships—would we praise a parent who provided for his or her child's physical needs but felt indifferent towards it? Emotions are also important because they motivate us to act, they help sustain our motivation when the work is long and difficult.

It is easy to think about Thembisile but I must remember her in other ways as well. I remember her by sending money, by praying fervently and often for her, by telling others about her and the needs of her people. And I remember her by being willing to feel emotional pain on her behalf. There is something else I will never forget about that day I met Thembisile. When Jabulani and I walked away from our visit with her, he said to me, “I know you feel helpless, but you did help her.” I didn't believe him—her need was so overwhelming. I had done nothing. “No—you did help her,” he insisted. “Just the fact that you cared about her and you shared her suffering was like medicine to her.” Jabulani's words were medicine to my heart; I dare to hope that he was right.

We are called upon, in Jesus' name, to think about, act on behalf of, and hurt alongside our suffering brothers and sisters in Africa . Thembisile, I will NEVER forget you.

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