One of the greatest parts of living at an orphanage filled with about 90 kids is that there is always something to be doing, kids to play with, friends to make, relationships to be built, stories to listen to, and loved ones to care for. I’m slowly learning that if I am unable to offer anything of material or wisdom, I can at least provide them with my presence.
Often times, as I am walking to grab a chair with my plate in my hand, I have several girls shouting my name, pointing to the empty 5 inches beside them allowing me to sit alongside them for a 15 minute meal. I’ll enter the cafeteria to hear a boy say, “Sit with me today,” as he knows many others also seek my company with their rice and beans. But that does come with its downsides. I’ll have the girls disappointed that I promised the boys at lunch that I’d join them for dinner, or being sad that I have to share my presence with a different group of girls today.
Sometimes, that presence could even be a listening ear to another volunteer, a staff member, a short term missionary, or an intern who wants to share their thoughts and experiences throughout their activity in the orphanage. I had a long chat with a house mother a few weeks back. She was sharing with me much of her experience over the several years she’s been working here, giving me advice as to the best techniques to sharing love with the kids, and also providing inside information as to how the kids think, act, and respond to our actions and words. It was not only helpful for me to get an insider’s scoop of the personalities in the house a bit better, but it also helped me with my Spanish vocabulary, picking up new words and translating them to the American missionaries who were conversing with us.
Presence also includes noticing the little moments I can make a difference and choosing to do so. For instance, I was walking down to head into the office at the start of a work day. As I was about halfway there, I was filled with joy when I saw one of the younger boys skip his way over to hang his wet towel in the sun. He jumped over the start of the cobblestone road, missed the landing, and ended up crying on the ground with two skinned knees. I sped walked 50 feet down the hill to meet him there. In his tears, he lifted up the legs of his pants to show me a spot of blood. I put my arm around his back and suggested that we’d walk back to his house together. But, he was on a mission. He stepped up onto the brick wall, almost 2 feet high, to throw his towel over the railing. I stood by his side to help lift him up and help him back down. I walked him back to his house with my arm around his back, talking to him and wiping his tears to help him calm down a bit and take a deep breath. He entered his house and got cared for by his house parents without saying a word to me or recognizing my presence while I was with him for the last couple of minutes. Although it wasn’t acknowledged, I still felt like I made the right choice showing up a few minutes after the work day began.
A few hours later, I went to grab my lunch from the dining hall. I was facing the kitchen counter when I felt a tight squeeze around my thighs and heard a single word: Gracias. I immediately knew who it was, even before I looked back to see the wide smile gazing back up at me. I asked if he was ok, if he was taken care of, and if he felt better after his fall earlier today. The single smile, the pair of dimples, and the nodding of the head truly made me notice the difference of being present in a moment of need. This is why I do what I do and why I love doing it.
To quote one of the Guatemalan house parents, “It’s not about the workers. It’s about the kids. It’s not being focused on all the love and care that you can give to them, it’s about the love and care they give to us.” Loving and caring for them is the easy part. It’s when they are able to show that love and care for you, despite their past experiences, that makes all the difference. It is a true blessing to see and be a part in trust being rebuilt, whether its with me, a house parent, a friend, a horse five times their size, or themselves.
(har)Perseverance on a mission 