I slowly start going in and out of sleep as each one of my teammates alarms go off. It seems I am never ready to get out of bed. Sleep has come easy in Zalano, Honduras. Our room is extra dark and the hum of the fans grants me the comfort of home. I groggily sit up and for a moment stretch my aching muscles. Another day on the race. Contacts in, teeth brushed, yesterdays outfit, yep I’m ready! Most mornings I sit at the kitchen table maybe reading my bible app on my phone , or finding time to journal. Our ministry host has prepared us breakfast. Even if it’s just bringing cornflakes and milk to the table, it seems they are always serving us. Katy makes copies of the coloring pages and the pastor says “Listo?” which is spanish for “ready?”. We start our hilly 5 minute walk to the feeding program, usually all of us talking and joking about the day before. We step up on to the porch at the home of a woman named Eperanza translated as hope in English. The kids have already arrived and we are suddenly greeted with hugs and “buenas dias”’s. By now we have all learned most of their names and we respond with a “buenas!” or “como estas?!” We begin our program, act out a bible story, we color, and eventually help hand out the food prepared.
Today has really been no different from the rest. We’ve been doing what we came to do but I’m left with a feeling of something more. What more can I be doing? “I should have done better brushing up on my spanish”, I think. Maybe if I could just tell them more or understand them better. I could just explain better how much God loves them. I could better share the hope that is laced in the truth of the gospel. But I can’t. I can only live it.
As this dawns on me I’m struck with a thought. Shouldn’t this be what I am doing anyways? I have always relied on my words to express my beliefs and passions. What does that look like if I can’t say it?
This thought brings me back to one of my favorite memories of a missionary I met growing up. Her and her husband were staying at our house for about 5 days attending a conference we were having at our church. I couldn’t have been more than 6 or 7. All I remember about those 5 days is that I never left her side. I rode with her to church. I sat next to her at dinner. I watched her type her missionary letter and we made popcorn together. Honestly she’s one of the biggest reasons that I wanted to do something in missions. I’ll tell you one thing though, I don’t remember one word she said to me. Not one. But I remember she loved me. She wasn’t irritated with my presence. She gave me her true attention. She made me feel important. That is what I remember.
So I guess thats what this month is for me. It’s hugging the kids even when they have just spilled their drink all over me. It’s playing an hour long game of uno when you don’t feel up to it. It’s taking the time to listen to them even when you can’t understand a word they are saying. It’s being there faithfully, not just physically but mentally being present there with them. It’s letting them sit in your lap and play with your hair. It’s giving patience when you want to respond differently. It’s looking them in the eye and smiling when they meet your gaze. Truly, it’s learning to love them without words.
Maybe then 20 years from now, they’ll look back on the time when those American missionaries came. They won’t remember my broken spanish or our acted out bible stories done with minimal talking and translating. They’ll remember that we wanted to be there. They’ll remember our hugs. They’ll remember that they felt wanted and loved. And maybe, like me 15 years later, when they think of Jesus or Christians that’s what they’ll remember.
