This is a blog I wrote on Thursday, March 27th, 2 days before my team and I had to leave the orphanage in Caranavi, Bolivia. I had just spent the month learning how to love a new country, culture, and new people, and these are a few of my thoughts on leaving when the month was up.
As my team reaches the end of our time here at Casa de Esperanza, every time that I think about leaving the precious little faces that I’ve come to know and love, my eyes wale up with tears.
The first week of this month was incredibly difficult. Although I was enchanted by the appearance of the people and by the land, I did not want to be in another new place. I disliked the fact that I just had to say goodbye again to another group of people who I had come to know and love when leaving from the Dominican Republic. I disliked the fact that by coming here I was setting myself up to do it all over again. And I disliked the fact that we were coming to an orphanage, where I knew there would be a ton of children who would steal my heart like nothing I’ve ever experienced before and who would possibly even let me steal theirs and at the end of the month we would be left wondering what to do with the soar spots in our chests. So for the first week we were here I felt out of sorts. On top of going in and out of altitude sickness on the way here and my body short wiring from the change in culture and food, my heart was a little hard from another experience of leaving and anticipation of the next one to come.
Fast forward through the month and through those awkward first days in house number one, the house where I would go every day to sit at a table and help kids with their homework, or to sit on the floor of the front porch while one of the kids climbed all over me, or to try and have a conversation with the Tia’s whose language I do not speak very well at all. Fast forward through the moment when drool dropped on my face from Peniel who was laughing too hard to keep her spit in her mouth while she was riding on my shoulders, or the moment when David leaned over and layed on my lap while I gently rubbed his back and played with his hair and ears as a way to comfort him and to let him know that he is loved, or the many lunch times when Samira yelled across the sena for me, “Sabrina, vin a mi mesa!” Which translates, “Sabrina, come to my table,” as she signaled for me to come eat lunch with her and the rest of house number one during our group lunches in the outside dining hall.
Fast forward to now, when I can’t believe that the month is nearly over already. I am thrilled to get away from the mystery food that has been preventing me from being at 100% the whole month but I would keep eating it if that meant I would get to spend more time with these kids. Fast forward to this evening when my team and I were sitting in the house of Caesar and Ana, an incredible couple who is on staff here, and I was barely interested in the homemade meal in front of me or the conversation that was going on because all I could think about was how Caesar said that the kids always hurt after groups who come here leave and how he asked us to please not forget about the kids. Fast forward to tomorrow night when we are doing a program of songs, testimonies, and games with the kids as one last attempt to leave them hungry for Jesus and to also let them know that they are important and greatly loved when I’ll be choking back tears because I know that it is our last night here and that there is a good chance that I’ll never see any of them again on this side of heaven.
This month started as one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do in my life only to end as one of the most gripping experiences I’ve ever had.
So as my team and I pack our things and go into town for one last shopping experience in the open markets of Caranavi, I’ll be trying my best to allow God to be alive in me so that I am able to give everyone around me Jesus even though the anticipation of the upcoming hurt is making me want to retreat.
