I was showing them photos of themselves from the last time I had been there.

Although he told me over and over, I just couldn’t remember how to say it. Scott, how do you say “I will miss you”. Eventually, he wrote it down for me and I read off of the sheet as best I could while tears streamed down my face…

There is something about the boys home we visit. When I enter into those gates something floods over me and the rest of the world fades away. They come from all over; abandoned at birth, beaten in the jungle, from parents who just can’t afford them, left in the streets, sold, abused, starved or from parents who become incarcerated. They come wounded, afraid and even in chains (literally). I can only imagine the amount of fear and loneliness they harbor, and when I go there, for a few hours, I have the the opportunity to show them that they aren’t alone. And to show them that they are loved.

We enjoyed every minute with those boys. Brice ran around with several of them and I… well, I spent most of my time going here and there, wherever they asked me to come so that they could show me the puppies, or how fast they could run, or how high they could jump. Sometimes I just listened. I listened to them excitedly tell me about all sorts of things in a language I can’t understand. I held their hands and did my best to tell them that I loved them and that they are “muy especial”. I could have stayed there forever.

As we were wrapping up our visit the director thanked us for the beds we brought (we purchased and delivered five bunk beds so that each boy could have his own bed and not have to share or sleep on the floor), and when we asked him what else they needed he talked about how Christmas time is the most difficult for them. He said that Christmas day is the worst day of the year. Despite the grand meal that is prepared the boys all sit at the table and cry. All of them. The adults do what they can to liven the mood with music and dancing around, but the room is filled with lonely tears…

I saw those tears. Leaving that orphanage was so hard to do. There is one boy, 11 years old, that my heart fell in love with. He was wearing a necklace that had the name “Jesus” carved into it. I held it up and told him that he was special, that Jesus loved him and that Jesus was very important… for him. It was the best, and only way that I could communicate that message in Spanish. He buried his head into my shoulder and hugged me as tears streamed down his precious and beautiful face. It felt like forever that my arms held that child, and letting him go… was the most difficult thing I had to do all week.

Te voy a extranar…