Eyes: The Window into the Soul

The seven layers make it difficult to fit the stethoscope close to their heart, but I finally reach it. Yep. It's still beating.

I look at their eyes. Not much to say since we speak different tongue. But, with kids you don't always need to speak. I quickly whip out the best tools I have..my hands and my smile. And we connect

The eyes have so much to say. Outside there is a deep engrained sadness that speaks of the years that only a grandmother should see. The deaths of family, friends and the hardships of life for themselves. And yet, they are only 1...8...17 years old. The mouth, somber. "Eh" they answer for yes anytime a question is asked to the translator. That is it.

But the hands slowly venture to the infamous belly, and a smile creeps onto their face as they can't hold the laughter from the tickling machines. We finally connect and not a word is spoken. The eyes soften, and I realize that through all of their pain that they have endured in their life, the child can still be found with a simple smile. I hug each one profusely wishing I had a way to make their eyes show the child they deserve to be. But I settle for the simple smile and wave as I attempt my sesotho.

Dumale abuti (hello, little boy)!

Eyes.

They are the Window into Our Souls.