humbled. overjoyed. in love.

I was serious when I asked the Lord to humble me this summer. He took it seriously too.

There have been countless moments where all I can do is laugh. Laugh at the humor of the situations the Lord brings me to. Laugh at the words I say incorrectly. Laugh at my overall failure to understand someone speaking to me in Spanish, and the looks on their faces when they realize I don’t speak Spanish—bless their hearts.

The other week, a sweet woman approached me at the grocery store. She was talking to me in Spanish, and though I typically can follow a conversation pretty well, she was talking so fast that I am confident I looked like a deer in headlights with a big cheesy smile, not having a clue what she was saying. I could tell she was talking about my skirt, but I also could tell that she was telling me something important and not just complimenting it. Before I could say anything, she walked away with a smile, so I said “gracias” and smiled back.

Later on, I told Melissa and her aunt about this incident and how I didn’t know what this woman was trying to tell me. Her aunt then told me that she knew, and that the lady was trying to tell me that my purse pulled up my skirt in the back when I walked, revealing a lot more than I ever intended.

That’s one way to reinforce my need to practice Spanish.

The residents don’t seem to mind my broken Spanish. Most nights I spend outside the residents’ dormitories, where some of the older ones stay up later than the rest and hang out. I was talking to a big group the other night, and when I couldn’t think of the word I wanted to say, I said “Ah, mi espanol es no bueno” and laughed. Geovanny, the handsome and bright young man who is unable to speak, threw his arms up, smiled, and pulled me in for a hug. This was his way of acknowledging the truth in that statement, but letting me know he didn’t mind.

I’m falling in love with these beautiful people more and more each day. I’m falling in love with their free spirits and their hearts too big for their little bodies to contain. I’m falling in love with their ability to love so unconditionally. I’m falling in love with their joy that floods out of every ounce of their being, and their ability to find that joy so easily. There is so much to be admired in these children of God, so much that I can only hope rubs off onto me after spending so much time with them this summer.

I wish I could tell you everything about every resident. I want to tell you about Xiomara's tremendous belly laugh when you dramatically pretend that something minor hurt terribly (i.e. bumping heads during a hug). I want to tell you about Vladimir, the boy with autism who runs laps in the same grassy area all day every day, and without being asked, stops running to voluntarily push residents in wheelchairs to lunch, even though he doesn't eat with everyone else.  I want to tell you about Midgeli, and the way she runs to you yelling "mami!", and rarely lets you walk away without a surprise pinch on the butt. I want to tell you about Anita, and my overwhelming mix of anxiety and joy as she comes around, not knowing when she will next give a hug so big that takes us both to the ground (I'm almost out of fingers to keep track of how many times this has happened), but I adore her too much to not want to spend time with her anytime she is around. I want to tell you about every single person out here. My heart is yearning for all of my family and friends to get to meet these people who are stealing my heart, one day at a time.

I. Am. In. Love.

The next sequence of pictures tells a story that was too sweet to not share. Anita was sitting on the bench on a morning that there was a party being thrown, and she turned around to find Melissa and me behind her. Her smile tripled in size and she scooted her way off the bench to come dance with us, beaming and practically screaming with excitement the whole way through.

This is Bri, a special education teacher from Illinois who has been a part of the Hogar family for several years. She was only with us for a few short weeks, but it was so sweet to see how much the residents lit up when they saw her. 

Nahum brings out the best in us ;) 

Humbled. Overjoyed. In love. 

treasures in plastic bags

This morning I sat with Vilma, a 53-year old woman with Down syndrome. She had been sitting alone, and welcomed my presence with a smile and a tiny giggle as she pat the concrete ledge beside her, saving a spot for me. She is non-verbal, but does not lack any means of expression. She pointed to a plastic bag sitting by her feet, cuing me to look inside. As I started to peek inside, her smile doubled in size, as she was clearly excited to show me the contents in the bag. What I found is not what I expected. Inside another plastic bag, wrapped in even more plastic was a bar of soap. I smelled it, and she rubbed her hands together as if she were washing her hands, and then clapped and laughed because she was so proud of her bar of soap. She then wanted me to keep looking, to which I found more miscellaneous, mostly dysfunctional objects. But they were her treasures.  I expressed my deep, intense interest in her bar of soap and other treasures, for this woman portrayed a strong sense of confidence that she needed to hold onto.

This was not the first plastic bag of knick knacks I’ve seen around the orphanage. Another girl, Margoth, carries a bag almost identical to Vilma’s. Both are plastic, ripping on the sides, and full of unrelated objects—ripped up newspapers, broken and worn out make-up bags, and empty water bottles. Margoth carries her bag around as if it is her child, never letting it out of her sight or hands. Many afternoons, I find Margoth sitting in a chair outside her dormitory, taking objects in and out of her bag with no apparent motive. At first thought, I wondered what it was about these bags that was so special. They seemed so insignificant. Then it clicked. The contents in those bags are really the only things they can claim as theirs in life. They share clothes with others. They share rooms with 4-5 other girls. They share shoes, bedding, most everything. Nothing they have here is truly “theirs”, so when they receive something that is, they cherish that item. And therefore, it is significant. It is significant and meaningful to them and there needs to be no other reason than those as to why those bags are so precious.

The Lord gave me a beautiful analogy (those who know me know I’m a sucker for analogies, and I love when the Lord gives me a new one to dwell on). We are nothing but the plastic bags. Often times we are broken, falling apart, and worn out (sometimes even dysfunctional :)). But the Lord holds us like a child. He never loses sight of us. He treasures us. He wants to show others the beauty He sees in us, and He never grows tired of displaying His prized creation. We belong to Him, just as these plastic bags belong to these women.