Signs of hope

We were in a room with lots of chairs. The paint was fresh on walls and the floors had been scrubbed. We were late. The final prayer was being said.

We walked into a miracle. A local church has allowed itself to be stretched - and to open itself up to people with HIV. Not just some abstract thought - but real flesh and blood people. Children and adults. People who need to be loved in deed as much as in word.

The prayer meeting was the dedication of the latest shaping of love in this church. They have rented a small flat for three children and their foster mother - all who are living with HIV.

We have seen these kids grow up before our eyes. We have seen their bitter tears. We have cried ourselves. Now two are slender adolescents - and the third is entering a new phase as she crosses 7 years old.

We have seen this church be stretched to the breaking point. We have cried with them over the challenges and setbacks over the years. The path of love has been sown with stones.

But here we were - catching the fag end of the dedication service. Everyone was sitting together. People with HIV and people without it. Young and older folks. Living out a dream of a new beginning in this great dark city.

The rains sputtered outside. The meeting broke up into thanks and small clusters of talk as the biryani made its rounds.

How grateful we are to see signs of hope. How blessed to have been a small part in a small corner of light.

Just days before the flat was a dump. Willing hands came and scrubbed. Willing knees bent and stooped. Willing pockets were opened for the deposit and the rent. Willing heads talked through the many decisions to be made. Willing hearts loved. Love made tangible. A new home for this small family of HIV - within that larger family of this church.

Would that we would see so many more of these bright spots of light shining out across the grey wetness of our cities.