baby steps

Today, as usual, I went to CNI to work and play with kids for four hours of my day. Exhausting, beautiful, saddening, laughable, inexplicable. The Lord painted for me just little pictures of children's lives today and gave me little ways to connect with so many precious kids.

Little Cindy floats up and down in her polka dot dress, attempting to reach the next part of her hopscotch course. Hearing me call for her to come over to me, she runs and buries her face into my arms for a hug, giggling into my neck. I really just wanted to tie the back of her dress.

As Miguel enters the classroom, it looks to be a day where he is willing to learn. He slides into the seat next to mine, facing the desk and I breathe a sigh of relief. Until I begin to speak. With my words of hello, he covers his eyes from the world around him, curls up his legs to his chin, and it's as if I can see his mind shutting off into himself. His mental disabilities left undiagnosed, I can't label his mind. But I can pour love and loving discipline into it with the hope that tomorrow he will give me his toothy grin when he thinks I'm not looking.

Danesi' talking voice is a violent scream. Her walking pace, a crisp stomp. Her daily expression, a harsh scowl. This morning is no different. She momentarily shakes my eardrum with her greeting and stands so close I can feel her belly against my forearm. I return the greeting in the same manner. And with that, a grin sneaks up before she can tell it to stop. It's too late, I know she's happy to see me. She follows me for a while and uses taking a picture as an excuse to give me a hug. I debate pointing this out, but remember that she may only be 11, but her appearance tells me she could win a fight. Be it verbal or physical.

I hand out toothpaste to the 106 kids brushes that a thrown into my face after lunch each day. I wait for the green Buzz Lightyear brush and the pink one that tags along behind it. It has yet to make it's appearance. Walking outside, I see it's owner, swinging with his cousin, pink toothbrush girl. It only takes me yelling his name. Arnold. He sheepishly grins, grabs her hand, as they follow me back to where their toothbrushes wait for them. And tomorrow, it will be the same.

Little steps. Little glmpses. There are deep heart issues that are shown in the simplest things. And then there is the resistant to brushing their teeth, and I can just smile. And remember that theses kids are just kids too, even though their burdens are far heavier than I am capable of holding for them. And Jesus whispers to me, "I am Healer. I am Redeemer. I've taken their place. In me, all things hold together. I am enough, beloved."