She walked up the stairs and into the room, towered over by the other moms and older adults. She stood proudly at 3 feet, scanning the crowd for a place where she would go unnoticed. Once she settled into a spot against the wall, she looked with wide, longing eyes as the other kids danced to “Father Abraham.” What caught my eye? This three foot warrior was holding a baby. A baby over half her size that she had to keep adjusting against her chest so that he wouldn’t fall down.
Against her desire to go unnoticed, I knelt down to her level and asked her name. No response.
I asked how she was. No response.
I asked if this was her brother she was holding. A small nod.
I asked If she wanted to dance. Another even smaller nod.
I asked if she wanted me to hold her brother so she could dance. A firm shake of the head.
This charade went on for about twenty minutes. Her exhaustion was far outweighed by her desire to protect her brother, which I admired. But I know God didn’t want me to quit. God wanted this little girl to have rest just as much as I did.
Eventually, I wore her down. She didn’t hand her brother to me. She didn’t ask for help. But as he was falling out of her arms, this time she didn’t readjust. This time she let me help.
For the next hour or so, we got to watch this little girl be a little girl. This isn’t to say that she ran around with the other kids, dancing and playing with balloons. She was still timid. But she was able to rest. She was able to stand with other little girls her age and watch as they knocked a piñata down. She was able to eat the cookies we handed out and receive a balloon. She was able to go with one of us to collect candy once the piñata was knocked down.
She was able to be her age.
Our experience with Panama has been quite opposite of this experience: culture shock has been at a low as we’ve been working alongside many Americans, spoken a lot of English and haven’t seen much poverty. Our last day of ministry with this group of kids was vastly different from what we had come to know Panama to be. God opened our eyes to the poverty and need that exists everywhere we go.
More importantly, He allowed me to help this little girl to open my eyes to the love and care He has for each and everyone of His children.
