The moment when being in Ecuador was no longer a dream, but a reality.
The time I stepped foot in Casa Blanca and fell in love, not only with the place, but also the crazy, wonderful hosts.
The moment Camp Hope became one of the hardest, yet most rewarding things I’ve ever done.
The old men and women with wrinkles that show a past full of hard work and even harder times.
The children playing in dirt among the fields.
The clouds resembling smoke, rolling over the mountains.
The stray dogs, roaming the streets, scared to look you in the eyes from fear of being neglected once more.
The hills, different sizes, shapes, and shades of green.
The buses passing by, honking their horns in hopes to pick up passengers.
The women dressed from head to toe in traditional wear while their lovers wear jeans and ball caps.
The men and women, tiredly carrying mystery sacks on their backs as they trek for miles.
The huge smile on the street vendors face when you go and buy her an ice cream cone.
The constant confusion due to language barriers.
The children in wheelchairs, helplessly waiting to be loved on.
The children running to you with their arms stretched wide, in hopes to be embraced.
The rainbow of colors laid out upon a small string, waiting for the sun to make them like new again.
The child screaming on the bus, wishing to be anywhere else.
The views that take your breath away and make you wish you could thank God in person.
The windy roads that make your tummy upset.
The taxi drivers that think they’re nascar drivers.
The men that whistle at you, as if you were just some dog.
The many tourists, hoping to fulfill some sort of dream.
The hikes that make your legs quiver and your heart rate go through the roof.
The nights spent staying up late with your team, baking cake and having strobe light dance parties.
The times you try to pray over a stranger, only to be rejected.
The looks from strangers because you’re covered in ink and have metal objects in your face.
The women carrying their wrapped up children on their back, begging for money because they can’t provide.
The chilled mornings and blazing hot afternoons.
The snowy mountain tops that seem so close, yet are so far away.
The marketers, desperately trying to get you to come to their shop and buy their goods.
The serving of food restaurants give, making you wish you had on looser pants.
The smell of fuel and burning trash, polluting the air.
The early mornings spent feeding the children.
The street food that you really want to eat, but know you shouldn’t.
The constant fighting over who gets to hold the new baby first.
The malls that are about as nice as the malls back home.
The many times people rip you off just because you’re a gringo.
The sketchy bus rides at night.
The dogs drinking dirty, sewer water in the streets.
The old men and women from the soup kitchen that will dance with you until their dying day.
The hardworking men and women in the fields.
The team feedback that isn’t always fun.
The three outfits you wear over and over again because it’s all you brought.
The listening prayers that make you say “oh shoot.”
The times your depression kicks in and you want to go home more than anything.
The times your team is there for you and helps you through the hard times, reminding you why you’re on the trip.
The time you make a friend on your treacherous hike because you both stop at similar times to take a breather.
The times loving people is the only form of communication you have.
The times your pissed at God and don’t understand why he called you on the trip.
The revelation you have when you get a better understanding of why God called you.
The pictures that don’t give the real thing justice.
The crazy stray dogs that chase after you even though you only wanted to be nice and pet them.
The dead bugs found in hostel beds.
The nights where the sky is painted with bright pinks and oranges.
The nights where you get to cook dinner and accidentally flip eggs behind the stove.
The time you get a cheap tattoo and it gets infected.
The clouds that are so low, that you’re standing in them.
The times your headphones are the only way sleeping at night is even a possibility.
The many dirty diapers changed, making you never want to have kids.
The moments where you’re so filled with the holy spirit that tears escape your eyes.
The trees that look like something straight out of a Dr. Who book.
The dogs that like to hangout on rooftops.
The many times you laugh so hard that you almost pee yourself.
The deep conversations with teammates, bringing you closer together.
The too short conversations with family back home over Skype.
The times you’re like packed sardines in buses, praying under your breath that it doesn’t flip or that the doors don’t bust open.
The strange smell that you’re unsure of where its coming from, only to realize it’s you and that you’re in dire need of a shower.
The crazy adventures in Banos, such as jumping off bridges, canyoning, rafting, and many more.
The introvert corner made during all squad month in hopes to find some peace and quiet.
The house dogs that would go along with you on your run.
The hosts that wouldn’t let you leave until you ate all the food off your plate.
The hair solons constantly filled.
The men, women, and children jumping on the bus, hoping someone will buy whatever it is they’re selling.
The blind men singing on buses, holding their hands out for any amount of change they can get.
The people who act like they only speak Spanish, when secretly, they speak English too.
The traditional, Hispanic music blasting on the buses, loud enough to leave you with a killer headache.
The police men kindly telling you to be careful when taking pictures due to people stealing.
The graffiti that makes you jealous of people’s artistic talents.
The walks with the children in wheelchairs up steep hills, that make you realize just how out of shape you are.
The hole in the wall restaurants where you can get a feast for $2.50.
The days where dry shampoo is your only hope.
The kids who want you to push them in the swing until your arms fall off.
The chaotic screams of kids, bored out of their minds.
The frustration of wanting to be alone, but not being able to.
The joy of putting smiles on strangers faces.
The random dance parties with the kids.
The blind twin that loves music and is going to be a rockstar one day.
The kid that thinks it’s funny when he rips your hair out and spits his food out on the floor.
The sound of rain hitting the roof late at night.
The BA Tia’s and their hearts for the kids at For His Children.
The way the kids from each ministry have stolen my heart.
The way Ecuador has stolen my heart and made me realize what it’s like to be uncomfortable in every way possible, yet still find a way to choose joy.
