So recently my mom asked me why I hadn’t written a blog about Colombia yet. It’s a good question. This month has been super hard. My team leader, coffee buddy, and good friend headed home this month. First let me say I am proud of him. He followed the Lords call back home but that didn’t make his leaving any easier. I miss him a ton and with him leaving it means team changes and as much as I am excited, I am just as sad. Anyways, the day after Ma asked me about my blog something happened. I realized then this was my chance to tell a story.
I walk into church on Sunday and sit next to Katrina and like any other church service I am ready to sing my heart out. As I am singing out my sweet friend Chiriqu comes and sits in front of me. She turns around and kisses me on the cheek. By this point her whole family is surrounding me. She hops in my lap and proceeds to snuggle into me. She is safe and you can see on her face she’s happy. I look to my left and there stands her mom. Acting like nothing is wrong. Acting like life is perfect. But it’s not… Suddenly I am overcome by anger. I want to scream and yell at her. I want her to know English so I can truly get into her brain. I look up to the sky and say I know you’ve called me to love but I can’t. I can’t love Chiriqu’s Mom. I can’t love her.
Let me back up and tell you the whole story. The other day a group of missionaries came to see the ministry I am working at to see all of the aspects of this nonprofit. During their visit, we went to a house that the church recently built. We climb up “stairs” that are muddy and filled with dog feces up to the house. Knock on the door and who answers but sweet Chiriqu. She says her mom will be there to greet us in a second.
Her mom opens the door and we head in. The rest is a nightmare. I walk in to a stench I never want to smell again or even describe. To my left is a large trash heap up to my waist. The floor below is covered in trash and who knows what else. To my right are other children trying to sweep the floors of trash and broken dishes so we don’t see the mess. Above me are torn and stained clothes. I smile and quickly walk out.
As I walk away from the house I need to know more. I need to know the story. My heart breaks but I need to know more. So I walk up to my squad leader and tell her how hard it was to walk into that. She proceeds to tell me more of the story.
Years before the older children were in the after school program. They were made fun of by the other kids because of how bad they smelled. So Pastora went to their house to talk to the mom and teach them hygiene habits. She found the house a disaster and black sludge ran through the trash filled floors. The kids often slept on the trash and rarely had any clean clothes or anyway to wash up.
Then the church stepped in to help. They built this family a house in about 2 weeks. Once a week Pastora would come in and tell the mom to clean and she also taught the older kids how to take care of the younger kids. Hygiene habits were taught and toothbrushes were bought. But nothing changed. The older kids gave up on taking care of the younger because it wasn’t worth it to them.
So here I am with a sweet child with rotten teeth and smelly clothes sitting in my lap. She’s snuggled up and singing out to The Lord. Next to her is her sister with a young brother in hand. In front, more of the family. Beyond that I see the mom. Someone who is clearly capable of taking care of these kids. She’s no older than 40 years old. These kids can have a bright future why is she hindering it? I cannot stand this women.
So as I am looking at her I realize that I am a hypocrite. Who am I to say I am the hands and feet of Jesus when I can’t even love this woman? How am I a missionary if I cringe when I see this woman? How can I say I love hard when I can’t love if it’s this hard? I am loved by the father even for my sins. But, why can’t I love this woman? I look into the eyes of Chiriqu and see a beautiful future of laughter and love. But when I even glance at her mom, I cringe in bitterness.
After worship my team is asked to stand up front while we are thanked for our time here. I look the mom straight in the eyes and start to pray. In that moment, it all makes sense. I am angry at her but I still love her. I love her because she is a child a God. I love her because she takes care of my sweet friend. I love her because I am called to. I love her because God loves me through all my crap so I am called to love her through her crap. My heart is suddenly changed and when I open my eyes I smile a little brighter.
So that’s a lot. But I hope you take away two things. First, to love is hard. And loving like Jesus did is even harder. In those moments I got a little taste of what it’s like. What it’s like to love someone unconditionally. To love someone when everything in your bones tells you it’s a bad idea. To love even when times are tough. To love even when you don’t agree. Its easy to love the little nugs (children) who are just going through life with arms wide open. But the hard part is loving people who’s hearts have been harden by this world.
Second, stories matter. I am a firm believer of story telling and telling our own stories. I believe we were put on earth to do so. So here I am telling a story of my sweet friend Chiriqu and what she means to me. I also share with you a story of my heart changing. Out here on the field, I hear/see so many stories and some, like this, just seem too hard to share. But they need to be shared. So I will share it.
