The Sweet Martha's jar in my Nana's kitchen was always full of smarties. The jar never moved. It stayed right to the left of the stove, and we all scooped smarties with sneaky hands and smirks on our faces. I think we thought we were smarter than Nana, but now I know that's impossible. There wasn't a safer place than Nana's kitchen nor a more familiar thing in all the world than that little glass jar. None of us grandchildren even liked smarties all that much, but we'd scoop them out by the handfuls. All of our little hands just kept scooping. I think Nana knew it had to do with something more than just smarties. I think she knew it was peace we were scooping by the handfuls whenever we were in her kitchen.
The exuberant cries of children echoed throughout the refugee settlement as Rich passed out hundreds and hundreds of smarties. Amidst the cries of joy, the world around me grew dim as I encountered this one particular child. The malnourished and traumatized little boy stared at the smarty in his frail hands, unsure of what to do with it. Tears fall from my chin and form puddles as I try to write about it. The real life encounter was impossible for me to process emotionally. It wasn't until I was back in the states showing iPhone photos to my brother in Houston that the ton of bricks finally hit. And it's still hitting. I encountered all of the sorrow of South Sudan right inside of this little boy.
The children in South Sudan long for peace. It's that simple. Then again, it always is, isn't it? Violence has forced nearly one million South Sudanese children from their homes. Violence has kept nearly two million of them out of school. More than a third of them are malnourished. All of this could be reversed by peace. And don't they deserve to scoop up peace in handfuls and thrive in it, just like I did in Nana's kitchen? Just like we all did?
Perhaps the peace that flooded Nana's kitchen was born of her silence and her prayer. After all, she would pray a rosary in that kitchen each and every morning before the break of dawn. In sheer silence, she'd end with a whisper as she begged God "for world peace." She may not have solved global problems, but the peace inside her kitchen solved problems in me. The peace inside her kitchen solved problems in all who gathered around her table. In the words of Mother Teresa, "The fruit of silence is prayer. The fruit of prayer is faith. The fruit of faith is love. The fruit of love is service. The fruit of service is peace." As we prepare to give our lives in evangelization and service to the South Sudanese, we invite you to join us in the place where it all begins. In the silence of your own heart, and perhaps even your own kitchen, please join us in praying for peace in South Sudan.
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