In January, I was on my way to my desired destination, Romania. But, first I had to make my way through Central and South America. Four months came and went more quickly than expected, so many great memories and many laughs. For the most part, the first three months of ministry were easy to say goodbye to.
In month four I arrived in Chile. My passion for others returned. My heart opened. Everywhere I looked, there was beauty: the culture, the people, the scenery only increased my love for Chile and it’s people. As quickly as I fell in love, it was time to pack up and go. I was convinced, Chile would be, my favorite month on the race, nothing could top it.
In January, I prayed for God to change my heart and to open my eyes to see His people the way that He sees them. When I arrived in Bolivia I started to pray that prayer with expectancy. I knew from the first night, meeting ten boys, this would be the month that prayer would be answered. I could never prepare for the pain I was about to endure.
In Bolivia, I found myself surrounded by ten hilariously unique boys. I felt like I was at Royal Family Kids’ Camp. An organization I had been a part of for many years. Kids in the foster care system have a huge place in my heart. Now, miles away from my beloved camp, I found myself placed in a home in Bolivia for these very same kids.
Every morning at the breakfast table, I would, find my seat, mix up my instant coffee and listen to the, not so quiet, worship music filling the silence. The boys would come and take their seats. Without fail, there would be, JoJo on my left and Gerado on my right. Devotions would start, coffee, tea and pan (bread) soon to follow. As breakfast came to a close, the boys would leave, not without first thanking us for breakfast and excusing themselves from the table. The chaos of leaving for school would follow. I would sit, finish my coffee and watch, as the boys would scramble to find their backpacks, always leaving time to check their hair as they ran out the door. My teammates would mock but inwardly smile at this behavior. As they filed out the door, with protesting, we would hug and kiss them all as they left for the day. An overpowering silence would soon consume the house.
While the boys where at school, we spent our day at an after school program run by the church we attended. We would serve the kids lunch, often their only meal for the day. After lunch we would help them with their homework.
As the day came to a close, we would grow anxious to see our boys. We picked them up in our 12-passenger van. Often filling it beyond its intended capacity. On one trip we had 27 people and 2 mattresses.
On the weekends the boys had chores. When the checklist was complete, they had free time that they filled with sports and more music. As night fell it was time for pepoka (popcorn). I introduced them to kettle corn. At first, they resisted, but after trying it they were hooked. With popcorn and tea ready, we found our spots on the couches and our movie would begin. Thank goodness for English subtitles. I loved these nights of all being smooshed together eating popcorn like one big family. In three weeks, the house didn’t just feel like a home, it was my home, a home that I never would have found without leaving the States. I now have ten boys I call family.
Bolivia has been filled with laughter, joy, pain and sorrow. Every boy comes with a story some shocking most nauseating. Each boy has found their own way of how they will deal with that pain. For some it is being dishonest, others have turned to huffing paint thinner after class. Whatever it looks like it is all equally heartbreaking.
For the first time, my dream of becoming a mother became incredibly scary. The month opened my eyes to what I had put my own parents through, throughout my High School and College years. I had only known these boys a couple of weeks and my heart broke for them. I could not imagine what I would feel if they were my own sons. It hurt so much to have them lie to me. I couldn’t help but call my parents and apologize for everything I had put them through.
Our last day in Bolivia was an emotional roller coaster. Words can’t describe it. We stood in front of the boys with our hearts in our hands. Through broken words and tear-streaked faces we tried to tell them how much they truly meant to us, how they all individually changed our lives forever, that God loved them and had not forgotten them. Every boy took their turn to express how they felt about each of us. You should have seen the puddles of tears on the floor.
Ten boys showed me a deeper love then I every thought possible. God broke my heart for each one of them. He gave me a glimpse into what it feels like to be a mother. He showed me; what unconditional love looks like, how much He loves me, when I pray with expectancy, He will show up. I now know, when I pray, I need to be sure that it’s what I really want. I asked to see these boys the way that God does. I asked for my heart to be broken for them like His is. I got everything I prayed for and more. My heart shattered in La Paz, Bolivia.
Thank you for allowing me this opportunity to realize that my heart once again is capable of love, reminding me of my dream of being a mother, showing me God’s vast love for me and others. I needed this opportunity and experience to remind me of who God intended me to be.
In August, I will be in Romania, the place I felt I should go when God first put “The Race” on my heart. My heart is now burst wide open and raw. I am both excited and apprehensive of what God has in store for me in my remaining months on the field. Thank you for all your prayers and support
