Beads of sweat rolled down my back as I stood in front of 19 Haitian kids in a cinder block, dirt floor room that was divided into two “classrooms” by a chalkboard. The kids, ranging in age from three to thirteen, were all dressed in pale yellow shirts and khakis as they stared up at me from their worn plastic chairs. It was our second day at this particular “school,” and I began to tell them the story of David and Goliath, one that I have told about 4 times in the past week and a half of ministry as we visit different ministries and schools. Honestly, I had used it a few times in my days of children’s ministry back home as well, so sometimes, it doesn’t feel like much of a miracle anymore.
But as I told it, I grabbed Chichi, a boy who smiles with his entire face, to be David, and my tall, over-the-top-on-command teammate, Tanner, to be Goliath.
As I took Chichi’s hand and had him pretend to sling a stone at Tanner’s head, the power of the story returned.
The imaginary stone flew across the tiny room in what felt like slow motion and made contact with Tanner’s head, and he somehow managed to gracefully yet melodramatically make his way to the floor of the tiny, hot room. The kids exploded with cheers, roaring with laughter as Goliath fell and David stood triumphantly. My little David was grinning ear to ear as he realized his victory over our makeshift, goofy giant.
We headed outside after our story time to play “Pato Pato Ganso.” Again, if I’m being completely honest, I was thinking that we would maybe make it through five minutes before we would be standing around awkwardly, wondering what game to play next. Half an hour later, the kids couldn’t get enough of the game that had been so overplayed in my childhood days. Each time someone was going around the circle, they waited with baited breath to see who would be deemed “GANSO!” And every time, they screamed, jumped around, and laughed deep belly laughs as their friends ran quickly around the circle.
Later, as we wrapped our time with the kids up for the day, they excitedly stood in three lines and sang songs to us to show their gratitude for our visits. I couldn’t remove the goofy grin that overtook my face as they clapped off beat and tried their best to keep up with their teacher who was leading their song. Everything they did was so full and rich (and adorable).
In the midst of this forgotten, off-the-beaten path section of town, with shacks made of mismatched scrap metal and prejudices from Dominicans, this cinderblock building houses the stories of each of these precious souls. They represent the hope of a nation that collapsed due to natural disaster six years ago, and even though most of them have seen things in their young age that I cannot even fathom, they live in this constant state of wonder. I look into their big, round, brown eyes and see the Father’s heart beating. There is so much potential for revival in this land, in the hearts of these families seeking refuge here.
These kids have inspired me to walk into every day overdosed on the wonder of Jesus. May the simple things never seem ineffective or silly. May I never underestimate that I can show Christ’s love through a timeless Bible story and game. May I never forget knowing that I have looked into the eyes of kids and seen my Father, and may that spur me on for His purposes.
