This past week, we’ve focused a lot of our time on the orphanage here. This orphanage is like no place I’ve ever been before. My squadmate, Allison, describes the orphanage like this:
“As I entered the orphanage gates, the feeling of death rushed over my body. How can one place be filled with so much darkness? Weeds infest most of the grounds; feces cover the floors and walls; mattresses and clothes are so soiled it seems laundry has never been done; the bathrooms are so unsanitary no human being should be subject to such conditions; and the smell of urine is so strong I nearly became sick to my stomach.
Then I noticed the children: they were wearing the soiled clothes; their poor feet were dirty, bruised, and infested with bug bites; lice entangled their hair; somber faces and hopeless eyes were written all over these children. How have they become so neglected and unloved?�
Apparently, there used to be about twice as many kids as there are now but many of them have run away. It’s hard to realize that the kids that are there aren’t necessarily there by force. They’re there because the alternative is worse. They know something worse than life at the orphanage. Something worse than this orphanage that makes me sick to my stomach just to think about.
When we first came to the orphanage, the darkness there was evident. We’ve been back the past three days, cleaning. And as we’ve been cleaning the physical mess, we’ve been speaking life and truth over that orphanage. And it’s powerful. I took a break from cleaning what my teammate Amy and I like to call the Death Closet, it’s more or less a concrete hole that used to be a shower that seriously makes you think about the possibility of dead bodies. I took the break so that I could push Lydia on the swing — the swing that no one used before we cleaned the playground up. I played the same game with her that I played with the little girls I used to babysit — you stand in front of the swing and jump out of the way at the last second. And she laughed just like Chloe and Abi used to laugh when we played it.
Here’s the thing though – I don’t really think things like rotten mattresses and garbage is enough to keep a kid out of a playground that has a working swing. As we cleaned the playground on Thursday, we prayed over it. We sang worship songs over it. We laughed with each other as we cleaned it. We cleaned it because we love Jesus and because He told us to love our neighbours and to look after orphans (trust me, I touched some things that I never would have without Jesus). And I think the darkness that kept the kids from enjoying that swing had to leave.
I watched a handful of the kids playing a silly game yesterday as well and as I laughed with them, I wondered why I felt so strange. And I realized that it was because I hadn’t seen them play and laugh like that before. Shortly after, I noticed Elsa sitting off to one side, the look on her face pure terror. Her feet and hands were tense and it was hard to even look at her, wondering what she was seeing that could communicate so much fear. I didn’t know what else to do, so I walked over and held out my hand. And as she took it, the fear in her face left.
Because here’s the thing, Jesus lives in me. I’m kind of a broken mess but God is not and He works through us in spite of our shortcomings. And at that moment, God wanted to hold Elsa’s hand and He just happened to use mine to do it.
I don’t think He has for a minute forgotten about the beautiful kids that live there. I see Him in them when they pick up a broom and help us sweep, or machete the weeds better than we could ever dream to. When they patiently teach the gringo to count to ten in Spanish and offer high fives for getting it right even though I am twice their age and I should obviously know how to count to ten. I see Him when my teammate Michael brings them oranges, and they make sure everyone gets some. God hasn’t forsaken the orphanage nor has He given up on it. God is still sovereign there and satan’s darkness doesn’t stand a chance.
So, all that to say, please pray. I know this blog is a jumbled mess but there is so much to say that I’m having a hard time keeping it organized. Please pray for these kids, because it matters. Prayer has power. Please pray for us as we minister there. The idea of leaving in two weeks is overwhelming. Pray that we could empower the kids and show them the love of a Father that never fails, a Father that never leaves them. Pray for people to be raised up that will fight the corruption that goes on here, that the kids would have healthy food and clean water. Pray for the workers that they would have a supernatural love for these kids. Pray that someone will fight for them and tell them that they’re beautiful and loved. Prayer matters and these kids are so incredibly worth it.
