We left the church and began to walk. We found yet another unfamiliar setting. As we rounded the corner, the scene dramatically changed. Small houses pressed up against one another, tiny streets filled with garbage and children yelling as the played. Many eyes gazed upon us. Thankfully, we are getting used to being noticed.
Maria knocked on the door. “Hello!” She said forcefully in her sweet accent, hoping to see movement past the 8-foot gate. Within the next 60 seconds, a small woman came to greet us. As we stepped over the barking dogs and garbage, we quickly greeted one another with a kiss on the cheek. “Bienvenidos,” she welcomed us to her humble home. As her and Maria conversed back and forth, with many gestures and smiles, I felt a small presence standing behind me. As I slowly turned, she stared up with her mouth gaping open “muy alta, muy alta!” she repeated as she pointed to my abnormal height. She has never met a woman where she had to make the back of her head touch the top of her back, just to see the woman’s face.
Recognizing the uncomfortability, I almost instinctively bent down to meet her face to face. “Hola, como se llama?” I asked with a gentle smile. As she turned and skipped away, she said under her breath, “Fernanda.”
I returned to the conversation, trying to catch as many Spanish words as I knew to make sense of what they were saying. We prayed over this small woman. We asked God to protect her family, her home and her soon to be born baby.
As she walked us out the 8-foot gate, we kissed goodbye. “Bendiciones,” we proclaimed over one another. As we walked to the neighboring house, my small friend returned.
She grabbed my right hand with both of my her hands. “Como se llama? Como se llama?” she asked in a very excited manner. Bending down again, “Taylor” I told her. As most of the locals here do, she turned her head sideways with a confused look. “T-a-y-l-o-r,” I said, trying to slowly sound it out for her. I have great practice at doing this. She smiled and repeated, “Chayler!” I smiled and shook my head, “Si, bueno.” From that point on, she would not let go of my hand. We returned to the church and Fernanda came with. Swinging my arm, giggling and pulling me forward.
If you know me well, you know how much I appreciate hygiene. Sounds funny, especially for a missionary to say. My hands especially (because in other countries, your hands are your eating utensils) must be clean. And as children grab my hands, I can feel the months and months worth of dirt, food and much more. But on this day, something extraordinary happened. God used Fernanda to teach me about Himself, as a Father.
Fernanda grabbed my hand and held it tight and guess what happened. I held back even tighter. Her smile, her laugh, her grip brought an overwhelming sense of joy to my heart. I had an unexplainable peace and excitement to be in contact with this beautiful daughter.
How dirty are my hands as a sinner? Dirty enough to deserve death on a cross. Years worth of shame, pride, guilt, lust, you name it. They don’t deserve to be held by anyone. And even so, Jesus REACHES for my hands. He washes them completely clean, every single morning. He restores, He cleans, He redeems.
As I think about Jesus’ walk on Earth, I love picturing Him playing with children. He makes a point to not only spend time with them, but to put them on His lap, listen to their stories, play with them and hold their dirty hands. He does not pull away. He grips tighter. He bends down to meet us, face-to-face, in our most disgusting state. Wow. That is a King I want to serve.
The Lord is revealing more of himself and myself to me every single day here. In encounters with broken and lost people, experiences with the church and through the hands of the dirty children. He is in it all. What a blessing it was to leave that neighborhood with dirty hands that day. Fernanda and the rest of the children learned about the parable of the lost sheep and I learned about the hands of my Savior. Both revealing the beautiful love we are offered every morning. No matter how dirty, how lost or how broken, His desire is to pull us closer when we come to him. I pray my heart mirrors the heart of my playful and joyful King, that walked this earth. And as I continue to be a part of the ministry here in Chile, and beyond, I hope my hands are grabbed and held by many, many more.
