A week ago we received horrible news from Uganda, "It is unbelievable that NAKIKANDWE ROBINAH is dead!!!", was written in a late-night text message from Pastor Fred.

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Kay Charlotte met Robinah her on her first trip to Uganda in 2005. She was so very shy, so soft spoken, but oh so sweet. She sat in the corner and looked out the window while the other children in her classroom went over to greet Kay Charlotte. So Kay Charlotte went to her, and in kind, motherly affection, with gentleness, she coaxed some beautiful, bright, open smiles from Robinah. She was right in between our own kids' ages, and when Kay Charlotte saw that her home wasn't healthy for her, we agreed to sponsor her at Bright Hope Primary School founded by Pastor Fred.

Over the next several years we were able to visit Robinah at Bright Hope. She was a middle of the pack student, but it was clear that living at school was good for her. She and Taylor hit it off easily. She smiled shyly at Levi, and called him, "River". She received hugs and affection from Kay Charlotte. With me, it was hard for her to meet my eyes, and she seemed to shrink back. I got the impression that men had not been kind to her in the past. I didn't press her, and made myself content to smile and bless her from a distance. Over the years we received photos and letters that showed her progress.

Two weeks ago, Robinah learned that she had passed her exams, and was accepted to a secondary school in Masaka, three hours away. We had just made arrangements to help with her expenses.

Robinah was fifteen years old when she died. We don't know much, other than it was sudden and unexpected. We thought she was past the age of vulnerability. She was buried in a simple casket near her family's home on Thursday, February 25th. Her funeral was attended by hundreds of her schoolmates, and much of the community.

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When we got the news, we couldn't believe it. We thought there must be some mistake. When we got off the internet call with Pastor Fred, we broke down. We thought her future was assured—secondary school meant a chance at breaking the cycle of poverty. She was on her way. And now she is gone. So we grieve. We've cried. We've lost sleep, and we've struggled with the "why" and "how" of this. We know understanding won't help, but, ahh! It is so unfair. We had such high hopes for her, and we thought our help would make a difference. Although we know it did, I guess we thought there would be more.

Of course we aren't lost in despair. We see hope. Robinah knows Jesus. We gave her a Bible and her teachers told us she would read it in her bunk with the flashlight we gave her. We're told she had a growing understanding of faith. So we have faith that she's in the presence of God. I believe she's fully restored now. She's receiving all the love from the Father, warm and safe in his strong embrace! Finally, she knows who she is, and whose she is! And isn't this the point of the sponsorship that we gave her, that she would know the love and acceptance of our Heavenly Father?

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Today we know more painfully that life is precious. We are faced with how fragile it is, and how quickly it can end. I'll be honest. I'm tempted to withdraw. I want to lean a way from deep connections. I'm not sure I can handle more loss. I don't want to be vulnerable. Yet, I recognize Holy Spirit's whisper. He's telling me to go ahead and feel it; feel the loss deeply. Somehow in doing that, I can identify a little with the Father that has lost so much more. And Holy Spirit is whispering that it's right to remain vulnerable. It's right to risk in this way, because it's in this kind of unguarded weakness that connection can be made.

Through this I'm also reminded that I don't want those that I love to ever wonder how I feel about them. I never broke through with Robinah. I didn't get to represent God in that way to her; I guess Heavenly Father saved that for himself. But I do get to represent Him to others. And so I choose to lean in and be more intentional with the people I love. I encourage you to do the same.