Sometimes I feel like everyone who follows me on Instagram is living this eleven month journey literally right alongside me. They get as much time with these people as I do — a glimpse into their lives, maybe a little bit of their story — a snapshot. They get a snapshot of how the Lord is working in and through these people, as do I.
I am sitting under a tree with a handful of women from the local village and three of my teammates. This tree is the only one in a giant field tattered with color, only this color doesn’t come from native flowers or exoctic plants, it comes from the trash, the Chiky wrappers, the empty bags of Taquis, and the smashed cans of that thick nectary Mango juice. Next to our studious little circle kids are yelling, screaming, playing, and competing for the attention of their surroundings. A little body characterized by the softest brown eyes marked with curiosity peeks at me from around the lone tree. I motion towards the empty space on my right side and she gently lowers herself into the dirt beside me. The Bible studiers are discussing things like heaven and hell which prompts my little friend to begin to share her fears with me.
“I don’t want to go to hell!” She says, her eyes flickering frantically.
Her sister runs up next to us and plops down half on my leg and half in the dirt and expresses her fears as well. I start to share with them that we don’t have to go to hell because we have a friend named Jesus who sacrificed His life for us and made it possible for us to have eternal life with Him in heaven when the big sister stops me, looks me straight in the eyes, and says, “I see the devil. . .” my throat goes dry and there’s what seems to be complete silence in the middle of all the chaos “…in the movies.” She finishes. But I don’t know if I believe her last three words.
I start to share with them about the hope and joy we have in Jesus and that we don’t have to be afraid and — “Ven, chicas!” Their mom calls them home and they are run towards her, leaving me mid sentence, mid thought, mid spiritual battle…they run half of the distance between our tree and their mama — stop — run back to give me a hug, and then disappear in the trash tattered horizon. This image will stay crisp and distinct in my mind for a long time. Just a snapshot, that’s all we get.
I don’t understand why those girls had to run home in the middle of our conversation, or why I only get to visit Judith in the jail four times this month, or why I never got to say goodbye to my buddy Hector in Honduras. Why do we only get these snapshots of time with people?
I was re-telling my snapshot woes to my friend Abby last week and she shared with me about her friends who are foster parents. She told me how some people wonder why they keep fostering when they know from the start it’s not a permanent gig. The foster parents’ response was, “We keep fostering kids because it’s still possible to give them a glimpse of what a healthy and whole family looks like, to show them real love, Christ’s love, cause that might be the only glimpse they get.”
So in the midst of my questions and my sadness, something compels me to say thanks. Because we DO get snapshots…how beautiful is that? My instagram feed isn’t just full of adorable pictures of children, it’s full of their stories, their hopes, their dreams, our shared experiences. It’s full of snapshots.
And our Jesus uses snapshots. Each day I’m learning to trust that snapshots can indeed be enough time for Kingdom to happen right before my eyes.
