Surely the hardest part of this job is saying “No” to kids who really want to stay at the church after school, but whose parents are not willing to put in the extra effort for them to be here.
Last night we walked two girls home whose mom has not paid anything after a week of their staying at Nuestras Semillas. Joselyn, a 3rd grader, warned us that her mom “is usually not home when we get there.” She wasn’t. So today I had to almost push them out the door, reassuring them we love them and want them to stay, but we need the support of their mother. It hurt my heart to do so. But the idea of Nuestras Semillas, Our Seeds, is that the parents work together with the church; we cannot raise them ourselves.
Walking with the girls in search of their mom brought back into perspective the real neighborhood of Ciudad Nueva. Living on “Main Street” in Ciudad Nueva and walking daily back in forth between the safety and warmth of my house and the church soothingly numbs me to the reality of the kids whom we are serving.
They too walk to and from their schools on Main Street and the church halfway up the hill. But after lunch at the church they continue up the hill, carrying their heavy backpacks and pulling younger siblings along during the heat of the day. Their feet get dusty when the road ends; they have no running water to wash them well. Coughs echo between houses, the whole pueblo sick from cold, dry air that penetrates the makeshift walls of their homes each night. And it’s not even winter yet.
Even though we are living in Ciudad Nueva and daily interacting with these precious children, we can easily forget the hardships they face when beyond our reach. I’m trying to remember so that when I greet them, I greet them with all the love I can tangibly give them.
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