My team and the other team we are staying with, Lavished Warriors, have been working in three schools in zone 18, the poorest zone in Guatemala City. Nathan, our ministry contact, took us to a home nearby to pray for a family. The father had become violent and abusive, and was eventually driven from the home. We linked hands from the front door to the back door and prayed aloud for protection against his return.
Nathan can’t be there to protect the family at all times. So he puts his trust in God. He entrusts them into God’s hands, protection, and care. Similarly, I can’t be there for the children I teach when they go home. I can’t follow and protect them, so I have to put my trust in God as well.
That’s something I have struggled with.
My prayer for the past few weeks has been that I would be the hands and feet of Jesus. I’ve been asking for His eyes and His heart. I want to see every moment like He does and feel the same passion He has for the children. And that’s exactly what He has done for me.
The first day I truly started seeing the kids like Jesus, I was blown away. Our second fourth grade class is usually the class that requires the most patience, and it was during this class that God broke through. I stood at the front of the class, taking time to study and look at each kid’s face. I had to focus all my energy on not crying in that moment.
I was overcome with an
indescribable love for them.
I could barely breathe.
Since then, I have fallen more and more in love with my classes every day. I have found so much joy in being apart of their lives. I love hearing their giggles and watching their faces light up. I love the way they stand up and greet us when we walk into the class. I love how eager they are to learn. I love their curiosity over every little thing. I love how they pronounce all of the words we teach them wrong. I love that they find so much happiness in a simple game of tag. They have absolutely stolen my heart and I have had no plans of getting it back.
I am so madly in love with these kids that it hurts.
Every day, I walk into our fifth grade class and am instantly filled with happiness. They are easily my favorite kids and we have become a little family. There is one girl who catches my attention every single time. Her name is Sharon and she has the most beautiful, bright green eyes. They draw you in and hold you there, captivated. The beauty of this little girl isn’t something I can put into words. How my heart breaks for her isn’t something that can be put into words either.
She is going to be incredibly gorgeous as she grows up. I can’t bear to imagine the things that have or probably will happen to her. I can’t imagine the ways she could be used and abused. She deserves more. I want her to have more. I want all of the kids to have more.
They don’t deserve to be stuck in this cycle. They deserve the love of Christ – a love so fierce that it covers and mends and protects. A love so incredible that it brings you to your knees, overwhelmed with a sense of worth. A love that consumes your entire being.
I want them to feel and know that love.
I want them to know what I know.
My heart cries out for them.
At church one Sunday, a group of young girls sang and danced in front of everyone. They were singing about Jesus and the joy He brings. I couldn’t stop thinking about all of my little kids up there. I wanted them to have the same opportunity as those girls did. I want them to have a church to go to on the weekends. I want them to know that there is more to life. I want them to believe in something more than what they have been told their entire lives.
It’s been hard for me to have all these desires, but only be able to teach them. In public schools, I can’t openly start telling them about Jesus. I don’t get the opportunity to blatantly point them to God. I feel like I missed something. I feel like there is so much that can still done.
I feel overwhelmed
with a sense of urgency
to get them out
and show them more.
But classes are over now, summer has started, and I don’t get to see them every day. There’s an optional summer school starting in November, but who knows if my kids will show up. It physically pains me to know that this part of our time here is over. I feel like a part of me is missing. I can’t even pray for the kids without breaking down and sobbing. God allowed for them to steal my heart and now He’s allowing for it to break. I knew this would happen, but I didn’t expect it to be this messy.
Handing my trust over to God has been a battle, but it’s no longer in my control. God has to take care of them. He has shown me His heart and love for His children. It’s a passionate love. It’s unlike anything comparable in this world. God has also shown me that He is a good good father.
Fathers don’t abandon their children.
Fathers pour out their love without even being asked.
And I believe God will do all of this and more for these children.
It hurts. It actually hurts like hell. But they will be in my prayers and they will be in God’s hands. There’s no one better to trust. There’s no one else I want holding them, protecting them, and guiding them. I pray that God puts people in each of their lives who point them on the right path. I pray He breaks the chains of abuse, gangs, and violence. I pray He shows them that there is so much more to life. I pray His blessing and favor over them.
I pray I was a light to those kids. I pray God used me to make a difference, and even if I don’t get to see those results, I trust that He has a plan and is working it for His good. God, I’m giving them up to you. Take care of them, Father.
