Hope Road

A particularly vivid memory of my time in Peru came into my mind today. I don’t know what brought it there, but its poignancy compels me to write about it.

During our second week in Peru, we were working with a church team from Texas. As a part of that trip, we made a couple of “shoe visits.” The organization I went with specializes in delivering shoes to orphanages, and even though this wasn’t strictly a “shoe trip” where that was the sole focus, we were still able to pass out shoes at a couple of homes. I can’t describe what a privilege that is. The absolute and literal servanthood of putting new shoes on children’s feet is an unutterable privilege.

One of the homes we visited that week was a boys’ home, for about ages 8-14 or so. I wasn’t too excited about this visit; it wasn’t that I was dreading it, but I have always had trouble relating to the male species and I wasn’t thinking that I would be too effective in ministering to this particular gender and age group.

Boy, was I wrong. We drove two hours from Lima to get to the home. It was near the ocean, but the beach where we ate lunch was dirty. The sky was gray. And the desert land was unfailingly brown and drab wherever we looked.

As we entered the home, the boys were delighted to see us. They were not perfect boys by any means. Most of them had been sent there by the government for various reasons - abandonment, delinquency, etc. Quite a few of them were special needs, another group I do not feel qualified to minister to.

Yet they touched my heart almost more than any other home we visited. I can’t even describe it, I really can’t. They were in that awkward stage of boyhood, becoming men yet unsure of themselves. Some of them were still so little, so young. A few of them understood my broken Spanish better than the others. They looked out for the other boys, kept the slower ones where they needed to be, and were patient and kind with me.

We had to find all of these big shoes for them, and help them take off their ratty old ones so we could put new ones on their feet. Their smiles were huge. Some of them didn’t want to put their new shoes on; they wanted to save them for special occasions. They hungered for affirmation, for smiles and for hugs.

They told me their stories through our translators, and my heart yearned over them. They didn’t want us to leave. As the bus got ready to leave, they lingered at our windows. Two of them talked to me and held onto my hands through the window, and asked when I was coming back. I didn’t want to let go of their dirty fingers. As the bus pulled away, I felt so sad. The translator who was sitting next to me said, “They are breaking your heart.” And they were, oh they were. In such a good way.

I haven’t expressed this as well as I should have. I don’t know how else to say it. I can’t describe the impression they made on me. I so did not want to leave them there, alone and yearning for affection and attention in the middle of the desert, while I flew back to my privileged country and life. I didn’t get any pictures that day. I was just too busy doing other things. And I’m glad I didn’t bother, but at the same time I wish I had some portraits of those young faces.

That day made me want to adopt so badly someday. I yearned to take those boys under my wings and mother them. How they blessed me! And how I want to bless them. I will never forget them, or how God surprised me with how wonderful that day was, even though I was not expecting it. I can only pray for them now, and hope that they are well.

Filed under: Christianity on October 2nd, 2007