When traveling around the world to spread the love of Jesus, you come into contact with many children – many, many, many children.
Countless names, countless faces, countless moments. It’s really hard to capture every encounter with a child and commit it to memory, even with pictures, even with keeping a journal, even with others to remind you. Some people might think that after awhile one would become dis-sensitized to these children, their circumstances, the poverty and destitution that we witness around the world… that with so many children who are hungry, wounded, neglected, in need of more… that you couldn’t possibly see them all as unique individuals, remember each of their faces, recall their names, pray for all of them to the One who created each child and desires so much more for their lives than what they are experiencing. But you can. I do.
For me, the children that I have the opportunity to impact on the World Race doesn’t fade away from my memory; instead, my interactions with all the children in these third world countries are what haunts me, what brings me joy, what leads me to tears, what makes my heart melt, what brings me closer to God.
**These photos were taken in the village of 42 Houses, where our team spent our mornings three times a week loving up on the lost.
I’ve always loved children. As much as they can exasperate me in any given moment, I still find my deepest sense of joy in imagining a whole new world with a kiddo, in playing rough and tumble, in the soft and sweet-smelling cuddle of a lil’ nugget, or tunket. The passion of play and working with children has only increased into a brighter flame as a result of this journey.
After seven months in seven different countries, I’ve fed, bathed, taught, scolded, played with, cuddled & loved a large amount of small sprites..too many to keep count, hundreds. In each country, there is at least one moment, if not many, where myself and my team are swarmed by a stampede of children. They tackle us, they jump into our arms, follow us around, and love us without restraint, giving us their affection without abandon.
My teammate, Kaila, captures these moments marvelously.
“First, one spots you and sends out signals to the rest. They leap into view in twos and threes, inevitably forming into a pack that starts out walking but always picks up speed and flat-out runs toward you. You can hear the rumble as the stampede draws near; bare feet slapping the red dirt, an excited roar pouring out of thirty little mouths, the occasional angry shout as little bodies elbow each other for a better position. Their curls bounce in the wind and their teeth are bared in fierce grins of pure joy. As they reach your group they divide and conquer, each honing in on their favorite target. One leaps from a few feet away and somehow lands with all four limbs wrapped around your body and a little face pressed into your neck. Another scrambles up the back of your legs, clinging to your back and wrapping wiry arms around your throat. A third wraps around one of your legs, tugging on your hands and laughing with delight when you allow one to be claimed. You finish walking up the road in a kind of slow shuffle, being squeezed and tugged and chattered at excitedly in Khmer, which you don’t understand.”
… Read the rest of her blog as she continues to vividly capture the experience of ministering to children in the villages. Kaila’s Blog: When Children Attack
Playing with children in the villages fills me up body, mind, and soul. The experiences I have in my interactions with these children are treasures that I take with me wherever I go. The perfect pleasure of playing with children in need of love and care is priceless.
I love the moments when they lean against my legs, arms wide open, vulnerably stretched to give and receive love from me. I love every time they look at me with a smile that transforms their dirty ‘world-wizened’ faces into unadulterated innocence that illuminates their eyes, and vibrates from their entire being. I love when they grab my hand and trust so freely. I love when they clamor for my eyes and ears and voice to pay them mind and I have the honor of giving them my undivided attention, affection, and interaction.I love celebrating in the small victories and joys that are worth more than gold. I love shining the light of Jesus in what seems to be god-forsaken hopeless places, and becoming a tangible taste of love and hope.
I want to tell you a story about a little girl named Nyng. (The correct spelling and pronunciation of her name is unknown).
We visited the village of 42 houses approximately nine times during our three weeks in Kampong Cham, Cambodia.
My teammate Kristen and I noticed this little sweetheart from the very first day. She instantly pulled the strings of our heart. A little girl between 1-2 years old. She stood apart, observant from the outside. Watching from the fray but never involving herself in play. She lacked expression of any sort. In our three weeks of interaction, we witnessed only a few small sparse smiles. She did not speak. She did not cry. She did not react to seemingly anything, (ex: I bathed her our last day in the village, and as I undressed her and lathered soap on her tiny body and poured a bucket of well water over her head, she didn’t bat an eye, there was no acknowledgement of what was taking place). Any of us could hold her, she was indifferent to it all. And it broke my heart.
*A thought I wrote down after one morning at the village…
“I would make her mine if I could. If only I could set free the little bird imprisoned within. She’s there, fully aware. Standing on the outside looking in. Disconnected. Apart. I want to deeply connected with her and all of the children like her. I want to be a safe place for children to blossom and grow… These lost children are my passion.”
The day of our last visit to the village reared its ugly head around the corner. I knew I would have to say goodbye to 30 plus children that I fell in love with the moment I laid eyes on them and our hearts connected. And I felt, as I do each month, that I just want more time with the children/families – it’s never enough.
I found Nyng right away and lovingly carried her up into my arms. She curled up into my embrace without so much as a glance my way, a peek of pleasure, or a hint of resistance at being found by me.
I was determined to love her outrageously well, praying for a break through, praying for God to show me the light that I know dwells within her. I hardly set her down during the 2.5 hours we were there. I gave her food, I bathed her, and I took her to visit my friend Som (an older paralyzed woman in the village that I built a lasting friendship with during our visits there). I sang her songs, ‘You Are My Sunshine’, I whispered I love you, (Nom Selah Neh in Khmer) in her ear, and I prayed big dreams, protections and blessings over her.
And then… I sat down in the grass with her in my lap and pulled the necklace out from underneath my shirt that had an attached container of bubbles. (Bubbles, crayons, a stress squeeze star, and a distraction wand were ‘musts’ on my WR packing list – must be the Child Life Specialist in me. 🙂
And as I blew bubbles for her, with a few attempts of her own, the bricks of her interior barriers began to crumble. She ran after the bubbles, she frog leaped in the air, flailing her legs, she smiled when one landed on a piece of grass and she was able to gently pop it with her finger. My heart rejoiced to see her play for the first time, to engage in activity with another human being, me. I had multiple hair ties so I brought them out and began to place two lil’ pony tails in her brown curls. She twisted her fingers around one of the bands, her own. Another child ran up and snatched it from her. She cried out, showing frustration at the injustice of something being stolen from her. More bricks came tumbling down. And my heart rejoiced. After protecting her from the older children who would take advantage of her, I gathered her up in my arms once again to take a gander at the games the other children and my teammates were playing. A few boys had made a kite out of a weathered plastic bag, and there was just enough breeze that it was making its way through the air, a delight to those who held the string guiding it. Nyng’s eyes fell upon the kite in the air. And SHE SPOKE. My heart leapt within me. This sweet girl, this beloved child, spoke. Her words in Khmer were quiet, and I had no idea what she was saying, but it didn’t matter. Her eyes searched farther and her fingers reached towards the road, a truck passing by. She uttered more words. With each intelligible world that she spoke, my heart leapt higher! “Kristen, Kristen, she’s talking, c’mere!” I exclaimed, calling out for my sister to come near and witness this victory, this small miracle, this answered prayer. Kristen and I REJOICED with smiles, laughter, hugs and kisses. To anyone else, we were just making a joyful raucous over a child speaking in a language that we couldn’t understand, making a big deal out of nothing. But to us, those spoken words were a symbol of walls falling down, of chains being broke, of doors being opened, and of hope being restored.
As she continued to babble at the smallest of things – something on the ground that I couldn’t detect, the dragonflies flying around us – my heart continued to leap and jump for joy, higher and higher, exalting the King who created this precious princess, this daughter of His that He deeply loves and cares for. God has not forgotten her, He has not forsaken His child.
And neither will I. I will not forget the lost children that I have found in each country. I will not forsake the hope that I have for them, the blessings and desires that I pray for them. I will not stop loving each and every child that I encounter, even if I can’t save them from this broken world. Because for me, the small victories are more than enough. One word, is more than enough. One word, one look, one touch, one moment with a child is all I need to see that the Lord is good and that His love endures forever.
