Not Forgotten

One of my most poignant memories from my two weeks serving at Good Shepherd’s Fold Orphanage in Uganda involves a beautiful worship song called “He Knows My Name.” You may be familiar with it; I had heard the song many times before myself, but never before had it sounded as beautiful as it did that night in the chapel on the hill…

Most every night of the week, except during exam weeks when they are busy with their studies, a group of youth gather in the chapel for devotions. Around nightfall, under a canopy of twinkling stars, the children begin their slow saunter from their identical brick houses where they live with 9 “siblings” and a house mom. Down the winding dirt road that meanders through middle of the compound; past the huge maintenance barn; past the new school that’s under construction; past the long building that is divided into a clinic on one end and the directors’ offices on the other; up the flower-lined path into the airy chapel.

The children trickle in at a very leisurely pace; the first few to arrive arrange a tight square of pews at the back of the chapel near the heavy wooden doors. A few of the older children enter with droopy-eyed toddlers on their hips who have no doubt refused to be parted with their older “siblings” this particular evening.

After a few minutes of low-key talking and laughter, some of the youth drag over several large wooden drums from various corners of the room, and, as they begin to methodically pound out a rhythm, the group’s chatter quickly dies down. Hands flying over the drums, eyes closed, faces upturned, they begin to sing:

He knows my name

(Yes, he does)

He knows my every thought

(And he sees)

He sees each tear that falls

And hears me when I call

(He knows my name)

The chorus rolls forth over and over and over again in typical African style, their vulnerability and strength converging into a melody so sweet I can taste it. And every evening, I sit on the hard wooden pew, the fresh night breeze drifing across my face, and fight back tears.

These children have suffered so much in their short lives: HIV and AIDS; wars and famine; abandonment, neglect, and abuse; the deaths of mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters. Displaced and alone in the world, yet somehow with hope still alive in their hearts.

Just a small group of orphans in nowhere, Uganda, convinced that no matter how things may look, their Abba daddy in heaven has not forgotten their name.