eJournal

eJournal

Liberia

Kimmie's eJournal #9 (archived)

I have been home for almost two months now and the Bromley girls still burn in my daily memories.  I thought I needed to wait until I returned to Liberia again to continue my eJournals, when what is happening at home is actually very vital.

On the business side of things, I am seeking 70 (!) $1000 scholarships for the orphaned girls at Bromley.  The school is now out of resources. 

Recently, I read a letter from a girl who could no longer attend school.  She wrote that she needs to sell water before she eats and that she has been offered money for sex. She said she did not want to be on the streets as a prostitute and that if she could find a way out of this place, she would be glad.  It is very hard to imagine from our vantage point, but these are the horrific realities for girls who cannot attend school.

Please stay tuned to BromleySchool.org for upcoming student profiles so you can choose a girl to sponsor if you feel moved to do so.

We also have some grant proposals currently being considered for building staff housing to attract additional qualified teachers. 

These children are hungry to learn and view their education as a gift and an opportunity to change not only their own futures, but also the futures of countless others around them.  Without the proper staff to guide them, however, these goals will be impossible to achieve. Keep them in your prayers for these potential grants.

We are also planning a big fundraising dinner on February 9.  This promises to be an amazing evening with fine food, silent and live auctions and music. Please contact me if you would like to attend.

On the spiritual side… I miss those girls!!  I would like to raise enough money to return and complete our agricultural projects and, of course, to see my friends at Bromley.

I think of them daily, wondering what they are doing, hoping that they are busy learning and not feeling too alone.  In their letters, there is a recurring phrase, “Please, do not forget me,” sometimes repeated three or four times in one letter.

I think that they believe when there is someone out there who remembers them, who loves them, even if they are separated by thousands of miles, they are never entirely lost.

I am holding the handmade, white prayers beads that I bought in Monrovia.  They were originally intended as Rosary beads, but for me, they are a link to the Bromley girls.  With each of the 59 beads, I say a girl’s name in a prayer that strings us together. 

As I roll the little beads in my fingers, I remember their faces, their fingers in my hair, their arms touching mine as we sat next to each other on a hard, concrete step-- or sometimes they hauled a desk outside for me to sit in, then surrounded me.  The little ones would fling their arms around my neck and some would take my hand and gently touch the inside of my wrist where blue veins bulged up.  They would look at their wrist, then back at mine. 

“You know,” I would say, “our skin is a different pigment, but the blood flowing through our veins is the same color.”

Love for them flows through my veins and back to them now, and though an ocean divides us, I hope they can feel it.

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