Last Sunday we got a taste of our first goodbye.
We went back to the Vision School and once again were greeted by the boisterous hellos of what feels like a million (but on that day was about 20) screaming, excited children. After the in between downtime where we played games and waited for the stragglers to arrive, we did our children’s program (we’re starting to fall into a routine: high energy songs with motions, Old Testament story of adventure and God coming through to save the day, Gospel, song, game) and then we gave the kids some biscuits (cookies) and got ready to send them home.
But, unbeknownst to us, this was to be our last day with these precious children, the last time we would see the first people we had ministered to, the end of our fourth and final struggle for new material and a game that was fun but manageable.
As a few of the kids got up to say goodbyes, one boy of around 10 started tearing up. These kids were so grateful for our presence, for us coming down to the slums and teaching them about the God who created them, who loves them, who has a plan and a purpose for their lives. At such a young age, it’s both humbling and inspiring to see such a maturity displayed as the norm, rather than the exception.
Later, as we our team was sitting with the adults who run the program, sipping Coke and munching on fried Korean vegetables, Paul, the YWAM ministry contact, told us a little of his story, and how he was saved because there were white people that came to his village and told them about God, and he wanted to listen to them and learn from them and become like them.
Now he’s a full time missionary.
I don’t know what’s going to happen to these kids. I have no way to stay in contact with them and even if I could, they are just the beginning of thousands of kids we’ll be seeing this year.
But it does makes me stop and think.
I hate the idea of short term missions because it’s so easy to feel like you’re wasting your time. Sure, you shared the Gospel, but when you leave, what was the point? However, listening to Paul makes me wonder if maybe there’s more to it than I can see at the surface level.
I wonder if, when we get to heaven, someone might run up and greet us and say, “you probably don’t remember me, but you told me a story once about a God who loved me, and now I get to spend eternity with Him here because you loved me enough to share the good news.”
