Yesterday was our last day of ministry at COVi (Centro Opcion de Vida) in Ecuador. As we walked in, the kids ran over and greeted me with love and hugs yelling, "Tomas, Tomas!” At least three kids wrapped themselves around me even before I could reach the entrance. I was overwhelmed by the affection. It was my day to pray before we went inside to start our day; and while we did, some of the kids joined us while others made faces and popped in and out of our prayer circle. This was a typical start to our day. We've spent the last three weeks with these kids—playing with them, serving them lunch and snacks, washing dishes, scrubbing bathrooms, mopping, painting a classroom, gardening, planting vegetables, more cleaning, and so on. We did whatever they asked of us to the best of our abilities, and it was something different every day, with the exception of some regular tasks. But that day, they took out some bikes and I got to just watch over them as they rode around the park, making sure they didn't go too far and they let each other have turns. The day went on, and after we served them lunch, the kids brushed their teeth and grabbed their stuff running out to go to school.
Here in Ecuador, the younger kids have school in the afternoon while the older kids have school in the morning. COVi is a place that provides them a safe haven to hang out before and after. As the kids were leaving, some said "Hasta Manana!" meaning, “See you tomorrow,” not knowing that we wouldn't be returning the next day. One of the boys, though, stopped and gave me a hug before running off like he knew and told me he loved me. As they ran off, I prayed. I remembered the first day of ministry when we were tilling up the dirt to plant vegetables. The kids were playing, running around and climbing tall trees with this fearlessness that only exists as a child—a childlike faith, that anything is possible. The pureness of heart and the hope and joy they held made me think about how, when we get older, that changes. We get exposed to the harder things in life that give us pain and we lose ourselves to the “reality” of things, convincing ourselves we need to be “realistic.” We become defensive and put up walls to protect ourselves from those things but failing to realize that we’ve just become more cynical and fearful than anything. We surround ourselves with things that we feel comfortable with and find security in, allowing these things to define us and ultimately place us in a box. We lose hope. We lose faith. We settle. We don’t climb trees any longer, but we put on a tie and go to work in our cubicles just waiting for our next break. We give into addictions and quick fixes, never wanting to truly admit that. We lose ourselves. We forget how simple life really is and what living really is like, what joy really is, how to believe. My heart breaks. To know these children come from broken homes and poor backgrounds, that they will be exposed, if not already, to even harsher realities than we can imagine. Yet there they go, still so filled with life and hope.
I think to myself, “What have I really accomplished here?” In the last three weeks what did I really do for them? I would be leaving the next day and would not be there for those crucial moments, never to see them again. What have I done to deserve the love and respect of these children? One of the kids made me a card the day before and wrote “Te Amo Tomas,” meaning, “I love you Thomas.” I didn’t spend any more time with this kid than the rest, nor did I spend much time with any of them at all. I was more focused on accomplishing the tasks given to us than building relationships with these kids because it was hard to communicate with my limited Spanish, and I have to admit it is tiring to play with them all the time. But the Lord still showed me His love and grace for me through this. He humbled me and showed me that I didn’t need to speak to show love or build relationships with them. That just being there was enough. As a male figure, to be present, for them to see we were there working, playing, cleaning, planting, serving, and so forth for them. Our ministry contact told us that they don’t get many male volunteers and the majority were women so my teammate Kurt and I being there as young men was a good thing for them. The boys could rough house with us and they would have an example of a strong male character that was present in their life that was rarely shown otherwise. God also showed me how much He loved these children and placed a peace in my heart that He has them. He would be with them throughout their lifetime and would guide them. So I continue to pray. Thankful for the last month with these kids and excited for the next month in Peru. This month has been a month of blessing, identity, rest, and new experiences. Greater things are yet to come.
