Miss, when will you come back? Saturday..?
It broke my heart.
There I was in a squatter community that was found only by an act of God, wondering how I was supposed to answer that question.
One of our teams had already been to this community and they definitely didn’t find it by following a map.
After walking around for awhile there was a curve in the road that went to the left. A little less distinguishable was a building on the right. There was a wall there that looked like it was part of the building. Little did I know what was on the other side.
I followed my squad-mates as they led me through this little tiny walkway and down an alley that led to a basketball court. A court that was soon FULL of kids.
I’ll never forget the smiles on their faces as we walked towards the court. Over a hundred kids quickly swarmed us as we came to sing songs, play games, and more importantly, tell them about Jesus.
If you’ve never been in this situation. Imagine what a jungle gym feels like on a sunny afternoon when the entire school is let out for recess.
In the blink of an eye we became living jungle gyms.
I know that, at one point, there were at least 10 kids hanging off of me and each of my squad-mates.
For nearly 2 hours we played that same game. They got off of us long enough to sing a couple songs but immediately clung to us again as soon as the songs faded.
We laughed. We giggled. We smiled.
I played basketball with some of the boys and showed them my mad skills. And yet again, they had more trick shots and plays than I did. I was less than impressive.
But they always passed it to me. “Miss! Shoot it! Miss! Shoot the ball!”
As I took shot after shot, each one that I made left them in a craze. And each one I missed they would say, “ah.. bad.. next time.”
They each individually challenged me to a one-on-one match up. They laughed when they dribbled it through my own legs or trick passed it over my head back to themselves and they ohh’d and ahh’d when I stole the ball from their friends.
By the time we finished, I was exhausted. Yet, the hours passed too quickly. I didn’t want to leave.
We started giving our final high fives, fist bumps and hugs, and that is when they asked me that question.
“Miss, when will you come back? Saturday?”
What do I even say to that?
“No, sorry. I am actually leaving the country on Thursday and honestly, there’s a chance that I will never set foot in the Philippines again.”
It’s the truth, but its harsh. And I couldn’t say something like that to a group of 7-14 year olds.
“I…uh, I don’t know…”
“You’ll come back right?”
“I…I’m not sure…”
“Will we see you again?”
“I…uh..I don’t know.”
I wanted to cry. These kids that I met 2 hours prior didn’t want me to go and I didn’t want to leave.
God, why? Why did you call me to this place? Calling me to this place also means calling me to the next place and that means that I have to say goodbye here.
It’s too hard.
We are in month 2 and I am already tired of saying goodbye.
God, why do you make it so easy to love these kids? …these people? …this place?
So here I am, after saying all those goodbyes to the kids we met, sitting on the patio at Kids International Ministry (KIM), and I am making the decision to trust. To trust that the Lord called me to this place. To trust that He is calling me to the next. To trust that He has given me the strength and the grace for the goodbyes. To trust that the staff here at KIM will continue the good work. To trust that those kids will remember the love of Jesus that we showed them. To trust that God knows what He is doing.
After all, it would be foolish of me to think that I am the only one holding up the Kingdom. God sees these kids, He knows their hearts, and He cares for who they are. He loves them more than I ever could. And that is the beautiful part.
