I remember sitting across the table from him and wondering what his home life looked like. He didn’t interact with the other kids the way most kids did. He was hesitant. He was loud at times. He would fight, become distant, and never really smiled much.
As I sat there, I felt God asking me to be “fully present.” In that moment, being “fully present” was to ask Carl questions, listen attentively, give him eye-contact, and encourage him. I kept thinking that serving children best was to be in constant activity with them, whether that be running around playing tag or building a tower with blocks, but God kept bringing me back to the phrase, “fully present.” So I sat there with Carl and began to form a friendship with him.
That was our first interaction.
The following day I made an effort to say hi to him. He was incredibly shy and acted like he had never seen me before. Trying to be okay with his reaction to me, I put myself in his shoes and imagined a new set of missionaries who visited my public housing apartment complex to play with me, be nice to me, and then eventually leave. Although that picture was a hard reality to face, I knew it to be true. My heart was to love the children, to love Carl. But I was just another face of someone who wouldn’t stay.
“Fully present.”
Again I knew God was asking me to continue loving Carl unconditionally and reaching out to him. And so I tried my best. I played games with him, gave him piggy back rides, let him sit in my lap so that he could focus during Bible study, took selfies with him, danced and goofed around, laughed and spun fidget spinners. We did a lot together.
There is one day in particular that stood out to me.
I was walking with some of the children back to their apartment so they could get their swimsuits for our afternoon pool time. Carl wanted to come with us and I said sure. As we were walking, I reached out my hand to him and he grabbed ahold of it. I thought this was sweet and was thankful that we had overcome the “stranger” phase of our friendship, but there was something that happened later that really shook me. Once we got to the apartment, I let go of his hand and helped make sure the kids got their things. Once everyone was situated, we started heading back. As we were walking, I felt someone reach for my hand. It was a small, tender hand that seemed confident enough to reach out. I wasn’t expecting any of the children to do this, especially Carl, so it came as a total surprise when I looked down to see that it was Carl who had put his hand in mine. It was immediate. This rush of love hit me from out of nowhere. Of all the times I had extended love to Carl, this was the first time he extended love to me and I felt so blessed by it. His hand reminded me that being “fully present” will bear much fruit.
Sometimes I get to taste the fruit of my labor. I get to see it with my own eyes. That’s what happened with Carl this past summer. I saw a little kindergarten-age boy learn how to smile with all his pearly white teeth showing. I saw a serious and prematurely grown-up boy let his walls down and start laughing, even if it was at my silly dance moves. I saw an unruly boy who struggled with obedience learn how to be okay not getting his own way and still enjoy himself. I saw Carl for the sweet boy that God had made him to be, in spite of the most difficult days when I wanted to let him give in to his typical ways.
I miss Carl so much. I think about him on occasion and wonder how he is doing. My hope is that he will know who he fully is in Christ. I want him to know Jesus one day and to share his smile with those who don’t know God.
Being home from D.C. has shown me how long-lasting relationships can be. My job was to serve. My calling was to be “fully present.” I came home from my summer with a multitude of experiences and relationships. Oh, how grateful I am to know that Carl was a part of it all.
I miss you Carl.
-cel
Comments