I have a little brother in Cambodia. He is special, not just to me, but to God. From the moment I saw him, God put him on my heart – He put us together.
The first day we walked into the orphanage, I saw him, smiling, playing off by himself and knew I had to go play with him. I picked up a ball and started tossing it back and forth with him. He smiled up at me and giggled and he immediately had my heart. We spent the rest of the afternoon together, playing, walking around, doing whatever he wanted. That whole day I was amazed by this kid who never had anything but a smile on his face.
Later that night we were teaching English when he walked in – smiling as usual. In the excitement of the day I didn’t notice how different he was, the way the kids treated him, but as he walked into the classroom I could tell that the kids didn’t want him around. Some laughed at him, some just ignored him, but he was quickly shooed outside and sent back to his room. After class, we walked out of the classroom and there he was, standing, waiting. He grabbed my hand and walked with me to the gate, smile on his face. Simple love.
This happened again the second night. Class began, the older kids came 
in, sat down, and began talking. About five minutes later, my little friend poked his head around the corner curiously. Shyly, he gradually took little steps into the classroom. Again, the kids began yelling at him to leave, but this time I called him over before he could be sent out. I asked what his name was. He didn’t understand. “Carl,” the kids said. Or at least that’s what it sounded like. The kids pointed back and forth between him and me, “Carl,” they said pointing to him, and then pointed at me and said, “Carl.” I tried to explain that we have the same name – I don’t know if he understood or not, but I knew this was not coincidence. Whether he understood or not, he knew something was special. He knew I was his friend. (I would later be told that his name isn’t Carl, though it sounds similar. For the sake of this blog, and to protect him, I’ll call him Super Carl.)
Early that next week we got to take the kids to the beach. As soon as we got there all the kids jumped out of the truck and ran into the water. I began to walk down to the beach, but I stopped and looked back to see Super Carl sitting by himself under the gazebo. I walked up and asked why he wasn’t in the water with the other kids. The people who worked at the orphanage told me he gets scared because he falls down in the water and can’t swim. I reached down, grabbed his hand, and we began to walk to the water. With each step closer to the waves his nervous excitement rose, spilling out in a mixture of giggles and steps backward, but little by little, we made it to the water. Scared at first, he quickly became more and more comfortable. By the end of the day he was even putting his face in the water. Eventually the time came for us to have to leave, but before we did, the kids were all given an “ice cream sandwich” for the ride home. As I stood under the gazebo, drying off and gathering my things, I felt a little tap on my back. I turned to find Super Carl standing there, ice cream in hand, offering to share with me. I looked around to see all the other kids happily shoving ice cream into their faces, then looked down to notice that Super Carl hadn’t even taken a bite yet. He wanted me to have the first bite. Simple love.
From that moment on he was basically my shadow. Every time I would
walk through the orphanage gate, he would see me, smile, and begin walking toward me. He would grab my hand, take my water bottle from me, and walk me wherever he wanted to go. And I gladly followed. Almost every minute at the orphanage that wasn’t spent teaching (and sometimes during) was spent with Super Carl – just playing, walking, loving, just being around one another. Sometimes we would spend the entire day just walking back and forth from place to place in the orphanage. We would walk from the swing set, to the soccer field, from the laundry area, to his room, to the kitchen and back to the swing set. When we would arrive at our destination, he would look up at me, say a few little squeaky words, and point at something. Then he’d smile and nod his head, laughing at his little inside joke before grabbing my hand and leading me off to the next landmark. Simple love.
Sometimes I make following Jesus incredibly complicated. I get caught up in doctrine, theology, and the “right” answer – or maybe just answers in general. While it is important to challenge myself and expand my mind, that is not what Jesus requires. What Jesus requires is love like a child. He asks to be included in our daily adventures – to grab us by the hand and walk with us – whether to the beach or to the swing set. He wants our friendship. He requires simple love.
Super Carl is special. He is full of joy, constantly laughing and smiling. He is simple and pure. He is able to forgive, regardless of circumstance. He loves supernaturally – purely, freely and unconditionally. Super Carl is also mentally handicapped. He will probably never be able to leave the orphanage. Because of his disability he is misunderstood, cast out, and looked down upon. He is usually at least a little bit dirty, his speech is rarely comprehendible even to native speakers, and to put it plainly, his pants are all over the place. He is difficult to take care of and keeping track of him is a full time job – especially for a staff of 8-12 women for 75 kids. Because of this, few will get to see Super Carl in the way I was, the way I do. I don’t understand all that happened in the time I spent with Super Carl. I can’t begin to estimate the impact, if any, it will have on him in the long run – but I wholeheartedly believe that God was at the center of every interaction I had with him. So as hard as it is for me to not be able to do more, in spite of such a tough situation, God is at work and holds Super Carl close to His heart. I’m just blessed to have been able to play a part in that.
