Two days ago was our last day of ministry. We cooked rice and beans for the children, a staple meal. Easy. As the children started to arrive in the slow trickle that has become the norm, we played with them. We knew this was our last time to be with them so we poured into them with everything that we had. I made a new friend, Marlon, who sat on my lap and danced with me when the music was on. I received the dirt that he inevitably heaped onto me, and he received my camera to take pictures with.
As 4:15 rolled around, the team and I prepared our goofy skit, something we have found to be a huge hit among the 12 and under crowd. An active funny skit with a short but sentimental message. As we finished up, Anita, our contact, invited any of the children to speak to us with her as our translator.
The first person to speak to us through Anita was the mother of one of the little boys I was especially fond of. She had tried to speak with me previous weeks, but the conversation was limited due to my knowledge of Spanish and the Nicaraguan trend of never fully finishing words. So on our last day, she spoke and was understood. She thanked us for taking the time to come and invest in the children. She told us that we, in the short amount of time that we were there, had taught the mothers how to better love and care for their children. She thanked us for loving all of the children so well.
After a few more very sweet words, we served the children their meal. As they finished their meal, we grabbed handfuls of candy to throw to them. A celebration of the time we were able to spend together. As we ran out of candy to give to them, we were bombarded by hugs and kisses. Little hands pulling our arms and clothes to get our attention so they could say goodbye and go eat their candy.
As the children said goodbye and headed to leave, the mother of my friend, who had spoken to us earlier, came over to me. We had only interacted twice before, both times very briefly, but it was no secret that I was especially fond of her son. She walked up to me and threw her arms around me. I hugged her tightly and then began to pull away, but she looked into my eyes and clung to me again as she began to weep. We stood together for a long time, I just held her while she cried. I had no words for her as we stood there like that. Nothing to say to comfort her, or bless her. I just held her. Eventually she pulled away, dried her eyes, expressed her love and gratitude to me, then left with her son.
I was completely blindsided by this woman's affection. I had no idea that my team and I were impacting her so intensely. We came, fed, loved. That was our job, and that is what we did. We did not realize that our actions were affecting the people who watched us so deeply. It is difficult to know that as we leave the children of the slum with full bellies, they will become hungry again and we will not be there to help them. But to know that we made an impact in the hearts of these people rather than just their stomachs is a blessing and something that I will carry with me.
