Posted: Jun 13, 08 5:37pm
Every July for the past 3 summers, I have spent a week in the mountains of Jamaica. It's not a vacation. I am not at a bed and breakfast, enjoying the mountain views. I am with approximately 10 other travelers, of varying ages, staying and working at a children's home. It is usually hot and there is not enough water pressure to flush the toilets. Often the water runs out completely. It is delivered by truck into a cistern down the hill. That uphill climb makes for bad water pressure. One year, people came in the night and stole the water from the cistern. That is an indicator of the kind of poverty surrounding us--the kind that comes in and steals water.
The kids are not all orphans. Most of them have families who cannot afford to care for them, so they live at the children's home. There are usually about 33 children in residence. There are maybe 4 adults who work there--the administrator, the guidance counselor, and 2 or 3 house mothers. The children are accustomed to running wild when they are not in school. There is little or no individual attention paid to them. Birthdays go unremarked upon. Usually, the older children keep the younger children in line when discipline is an issue.
So, what do we do there? Some of us do a construction project of some type, roofing, or putting up a new fence around the playground. The rest of us are with the kids--teaching them songs, doing crafts or coloring projects with them, reading to them and letting them read to us, working puzzles, doing simple math. We sit with them and we hug them and we listen to them. We pay attention to them.
Let me tell you about Morris. He lives at the home with his sister Kerry Ann. They are true orphans. They have the same birth date--June 14--and they are very proud to tell you that. But they laugh and deny it if you ask if they are twins. The other kids are quick to chime in with their own opinions on the twin issue, yes they are, no they are not. Maybe they are. Who knows? They were assigned that birth date because no one knows their actual birth date.
For the first 2 years I visited, I thought Morris could barely talk. He would say, "Yes, Miss" and "No, Miss", and not much else. One night dinner was very late, and we were all so hungry. We were given watermelon, and the kids were given small mangoes. I found some extra watermelon and gave it to Morris. He had patiently waited for his mango, but the girl did not hand him one. Finally Kerry Ann stepped in and said to give her brother a mango. She then looked slyly at me and said, "Morris does not talk," and laughed and laughed. It wasn't until the next year I understood why she thought that was so funny.
Because the next year, Morris opened up like a flower. Not only did he talk and joke, one morning he sang me all his favorite songs. He also turned out to be a very gifted artist and drummer.
I have many special memories of my friend Morris. Both he and his sister are unaccustomed to attention, and always look at me quizzically when I pay attention to them, as if to say, "Huh, why me?" They are the kind of kids who flinch when you hug them. They are gentle and genuine and funny. When we pass out treats to the children, Morris always very graciously offers me some of his.
On our last day there 2 years ago, I had left the building we women were staying in to go tell the men breakfast was ready. As I came outside, I looked over across to the main building where the kids live. And there was Morris, sitting in the dining hall window, dressed in his nice blue shirt for church, looking my way, waiting for one of us to come out. His face was like the sunrise as he smiled in joy at the sight of me. It lit my heart, and that light still burns.
Normally, boys leave at age 13 to go to a strictly boys' home. But the administrator, a woman with a stern outside and a hugely wise and compassionate heart inside, knows Morris would not do well in that environment, nor would he do well without his sister. They call Morris 'simple'. Last year I had expected Morris to be gone, but he was there, and I just learned last night, he is still there. The administrator had at first hoped to find a local family to care for him, but since that has not happened, they have decided to keep him there. I am eager to see my friend and his sister, these 2 children whom I told last year I would come back to see again this year. Because Kerry Ann always asks me, "You come back next year, Miss? You come back next year? No, you stay here, Miss, you stay."
Would that I could.
The afternoon we left last year, when I said goodbye to Morris, he started to cry. And my heart split in two. I asked God, was it wrong to love someone so that they feel this sorrow? And God told me, Love is never wrong. I asked God to care for Morris and his sister all the year through. God reminded me to go home in faith, that he cares for all his little ones. God sends me to be with his little ones in Jamaica for just one week a year, but during that time we plants seeds of love. And seeds of love are planted in us too.
I have neglected to mention the heat, the frustration, the exhaustion, the being dirty and sweaty, the harsh things we see, the social realities that are heartbreaking. I have neglected to mention all those because they fade beside the sight of one boy's smiling face, his tears, his gentle voice singing his favorite songs. I sat in the bus as we readied to go, and saw him looking my way. I did not know if he could see me through the tinted glass, so I raised my hand in a wave. He raised his hand back at me.
We only visit once a year but to kids who have nothing of their own besides the clothes they wear, one faithful visit a year is an abundance.
We go to love them, and they end up teaching us what love really means.
I hope to share more here about this year's experience, but also to provide a space for any other of you who have done mission work. Cinder is leaving soon on a mission trip to Hungary, and I hope she will relate her experiences here too.
How about you? Ever been on a mission?
