I Love Little Boys
Let me restate that. Little boys capture my heart.
I don’t really like babies. I don’t particularly want to hold yours, or coo at it. My feminine heart/uterus doesn’t ache when a brand new baby strolls by in its mother’s arms. I know this is decently blasphemous, and I’ll probably catch a lot of flak for this, but I just don’t. I absolutely want to have my own babies one day, and I will definitely adopt… but I’m just not the kind of girl who fawns over tiny, drooling, peeing, screaming, messy bundles of joy.
I like teenagers. I get along with teenagers. I love their drama, and I love that everything in their world is their WHOLE WORLD. I love that they are old enough to have deep conversations about important things. Teenage girls in particular are the group of people I have felt a calling toward for a long time. Turns out, I love American teenagers. It’s really hard to have deep conversations, or to understand the ins and outs of a teen growing up on the streets of Honduras. As much as I enjoy having broken and hilarious half-English-half-Spanish-totally-misunderstood-conversations with the teenagers I’ve met so far, I’m finding that it’s just a difficult bridge to traverse- to understand and to love them well.
I’m finding now, however, that I really tolerate young children. Surprise! At least, it’s a surprise to me… a SUPER surprise. I told you about my sweet Anderson, who I love so much. The other night our squad was enjoying some worship and sharing time around a bonfire, and Anderson found me, crawled into my arms, and fell asleep. It takes a lot of trust to fall asleep with or near someone you hardly know, and even though the night was cold, my heart was so very, very warm.
There is another little boy who has captured my love. At a ministry up north in the mountains, a 2-year-old boy (whose name I cannot share, so we’ll call him Oscar) has stolen my heart. The first day we were there, around naptime, Oscar was sleeping on a chair opposite me in the family room. He woke up, rubbed his eyes, and then walked straight to me, his teeny arms reaching for me. I picked him up and he instantly fell asleep. He stayed there for another hour, just breathing and sighing, and every once in awhile his tiny hand would twitch on the back of my neck. Heaven. The day after, when we came back to the ministry, another teammate reached out to pick him up and he said, aloud, “No!” He then ran to me, and as I picked him up, he smiled and patted my cheek. These are just things you can’t make up! Later that day, after missing his nap due to some serious outdoor playtime with the other little boys and my teammates (I was helping cook dinner- pupusas, mmm!), I walked outside for a break, and sweet Oscar came running to me. Before I stood completely up with him, he had fallen asleep, and remained there until lunch was served an hour later. After lunch, he crawled back up in my arms, and slept again.
Sweet boy
While I may not know their language well, and they certainly don’t know mine, they do understand the language of touch. They understand love when their little backs are rubbed, when their boo boos are kissed, when their sweet little chubby faces are caressed. They understand love and comfort and being delighted in. In a world where goodness and kindness and gentleness are rare and hard to find, they recognize it. In a world where they fight for themselves, they treasure moments when they can let go and just be held. And when they smile at you, your life, your world, changes.
Look at that face!
I’m not sure what is happening in my heart, and if anything I thought little girls along the way would capture me…but no. It’s the little lost boys of the world who have taken me hostage. The little boys without mothers, without fathers. The little boys without family, but full of hope and joy and laughter anyway. A little boy’s laughter may be the most beautiful sound in the world, and it’s something I now fight for.
There's no place I'd rather be…
