In July my parents came to see me for a few days, and we spent them catching up and doing ministry together and just hanging out. One of those days my dad decided to ask me some hard questions I’d been trying to answer on my own, and he helped me get to those answers. One of those questions was something along the lines of how I had been feeling on the race – how it affected me thus far. I told him I had been really disappointed in my experience on the race lately because I had read blogs and watched videos about previous racers who were “wrecked” by the things they had seen and the people they met and after seven months, over halfway through the race and after already encountering many heartbreaking things, I had yet to feel “wrecked”.
He told me that it’s pretty rare that someone has a “mountaintop moment” – a moment of complete wreckage and heartbreak and change in your outlook on the world, etc. but instead, it was a bunch of little experiences that stack up on top of each other one by one that add up to the big change in the end. He reassured me that it’s completely okay to not have a mountaintop moment, because they aren’t the only avenues of change in a person’s life.
I went into that conversation feeling like I was getting in the way of my own change, like there was something wrong with how I saw the world and the people in it, and I left feeling like a normal human being. I was ok with not having a mountaintop moment. (Thanks, dad).
That conversation happened about 3 months ago.
Today I got wrecked.
Crying-on-the-floor-eating-honey-straight-out-of-the-jar-trying-to-talk-to-my-friends-through-shaky-breaths wrecked.
All because of a little boy named José.
For the past five days, my team and I were in the jungle mountains of Bolivia, working with an orphanage stationed on top of one of those mountains. It was gorgeous, the workers were incredibly kind, and the kids were every kind of lovable. There are six different houses that have 8-12 kids in each, with two tias to help look after them. The kids eat, sleep, and otherwise live in these houses with their own little “families”, but they all interact together in one way or another (school, church, chores, etc) everyday.
We got there the evening of September 27th, and that night we joined in with the kids for a night of “cancha”, which is basically just a night where the kids get to stay up late and play soccer and tag and every other game they can think of. I met quite a few of those amazing kids that night.
The next morning as we walked to breakfast, a little boy I hadn’t met the night before comes running up to me with his arms outstretched and a huge smile on his face. I (obviously) scooped that little pile of sugar up into my arms and asked him what his name is, how old he is, is he Spiderman, all the important questions.
His name is José, he is six years old and very excited about being seven, and to my utter shock, he is not Spiderman.
We sat there for quite a while, him telling me all about how he wants to be seven and pretending to fall so I would grab him and scoop him back up. That is the moment when my heart was completely stolen, folks.
He found me again at lunch, where he discovered google translate on my phone and continued to speak into the microphone incomprehensible sentences, and then get adorably upset when it didn’t understand him.
For the next few days I spent as much time as I could with that little bundle of pure giggles, eating meals with him and getting my flower doodles called “feo” (ugly) with those giggles close behind.
Our last night at the orphanage was a night of cancha.
Y’all, I want you to picture this next moment, because my heart couldn’t handle it. As I walked out to cancha, I heard my name being shouted from across the soccer court. I looked up towards the noise and discovered a chorus of my favorite little humans (José included, obviously) shouting for me to come to them. Lord, help. I can’t handle this much love.
Almost my entire time at cancha was spent with my sweet little José, from complaining about not having any water and laying across my lap dramatically, to jumping on the trampoline and smelling stinky feet, to running from tickle monsters, to getting told not to eat the grass “food” Brittany was trying to feed me because it’s actually trash.
That kid stole my heart so freaking quick and I don’t want it back. That little giggle has become one of my favorite sounds.
After he was told it was his bedtime, I knelt down in front of him and told him I wouldn’t see him the next morning because I have to leave. In response, he took off his little string necklace and put it on me, and then very lightheartedly said “ok, caio” and walked into his house.
And thus: the wreckage.
I have been to other orphanages. I have played with other kids. I have done these exact same things multiple times before and not been wrecked at all. Why this orphanage, this particular experience, this little boy hit me differently, I’m still not quite sure. I think it was God loving me through one of His best guys.
What I do know is I cried on the way home, and after I got home, and a little as I write this. I know that I’m going to tie that string necklace around my wrist and never take it off. I know that I would give anything to see that kid again. I know that I did feel so. unbelievably. loved. by that little boy, and it left me wrecked.
And I know that God is so, so good.
Today I got wrecked, and to be honest with you, it hurts really freaking badly. I haven’t really been able to stop crying. But I wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything.
Thanks, God.
I HAVE A LITTLE OVER A MONTH AND A HALF LEFT ON THE RACE (WHAT!?) AND I STILL HAVE FUNDRAISING TO DO.
DON’T BE SCARED TO HIT THAT DONATE BUTTON AND HELP A GIRL GET WRECKED MY MORE EXPERIENCES STILL TO COME.
Peace and love and lollipops. ????
