“Spice Girls!” The usual call carried through Bella Goose, the coffee shop attached to our hostel. “Our ride is here!”
One by one all eight of us, 7 Spice Girls and our Squad Leader, piled into the bright red songthaew, affectionately called a ‘sun-cow’ by many on the squad. We slid onto the now familiar aqua-coloured seats. The truck grumbled to life as we began our daily journey to Wildflower Home.
As we rolled through and out of the city, we each prepared for the day in our own way. Some by having casual conversation with a teammate, some by listening to music and spending some time with the Lord, some by sitting quietly and watching as the landmarks we now recognised slipped past.
It felt like a normal day, the first sign of anything being different came shortly after we arrived on the farm.
“No dirt today.”
Such a simple statement, but it carried more weight than expected. We had been carrying wheelbarrows full of dirt to the back of the ‘banana garden’ to raise the ground to a level where it wouldn’t flood in the rainy season. The rhythm of grab a coffee, move dirt, eat lunch, rest, move dirt then go home had become so easy, so comfortable, that the news took me off guard.
No dirt today. Not on our last day.
We spent the morning mostly in the daycare. A distinct feeling of melancholy had settled over my heart, tamed only by a sense of peace that we had lightened the load for the women who lived there, if only for a little while. The slow morning passed far too quickly, sitting with the children pleasantly interrupted by some of the women occasionally coming over for a moment or two. The team eventually moved over to the new building, recently finished to house more than the 10 women and their children who live on the farm already. We took a team photo, printed it out and taped it in their guestbook, surrounded by heartfelt notes from all of us.
The ladies who live at Wildflower Home made an incredible impact on us. I don’t believe the words any of us wrote that day are enough to express any of our feelings towards them or that place. Providing a refuge for women escaping from dangerous or unfavourable circumstances, such as abusive relationships, being rejected from their family for ‘dishonorable’ reasons such as divorce or pregnancy out of wedlock, or any other manner of situations, Wildflower is a haven. The little farm contains 2 fishponds for catfish and tilapia, chickens, ducks and geese, over 50 pigs, vegetable gardens, 2 mushroom houses and some fruit trees. Almost everything they eat is grown there organically by the residents, and this has the added bonus of teaching the women life skills to provide for their families when they choose to leave. They also learn other skills to support themselves such as sewing, soap making, tie dying and more.
The are so resourceful, resilient and joyful. Watching them work so hard to learn how to better their lives is inspirational to an indescribable level. Working by their sides, laughing with them, sharing meals and doing life together created a bond that couldn’t be conveyed in a page, or even a book full of the most heartfelt notes.
But we tried. I can only hope that the words we wrote in their guestbook will serve as a reminder, and call to mind memories of the times we shared.
The afternoon was much of the same. Everything felt slow and quiet, sad but sweet, like the last drops of honey trailing out of the bottle. I suppose it was fitting then that one of the gifts they gave us before we departed was a small bottle of local honey. They also gave us each a hand-bound notebook, soap they made themselves and a handmade card, but not before they had first bestowed us with a beaded necklace, and one of fresh jasmine flowers. As much as I had been keeping it together all day, I couldn’t anymore. I cried.
Looking around that circle of sad smiling faces, the wave of emotion hit me in a way I wasn’t entirely expecting.
I didn’t weep. I probably could have, but I didn’t. There was something I found, at least in retrospect, too sweet about that moment to feel too sorrowful. I’m not saying there’s anything sweet about leaving people you’ve grown to care so deeply about, but there certainly is something sweet about the gift of a hard goodbye.
At the beginning of the World Race, I was afraid of getting too close to people, because I know that I wouldn’t want to say goodbye. It would hurt. It would hurt, and I knew it, and I was scared of it. But now? Now I realize that for how hard it is, for how much it hurts, for how much I still don’t want to willingly put myself through that, I know now that it’s worth it.
I know that it’s worth it, so even when my heart is breaking because I have to say goodbye I can still feel the joy from having the opportunity to know these amazing people in the first place.
Of all the lessons I learned during my time serving at Wildflower Home, this was probably the most profound and the most difficult. As I stood in that place, surrounded by nothing but love and the scent of jasmine, I finally realized how good it feels to have your heart broken because you loved without limits or conditions, knowing that it was temporary.
I finally learned what it feels like to love like the Father. I’m still learning to live it out, but after getting a taste of it I only want more.
