The bright, colored buildings are just as happy as the children living in them. There are bright shades of blue, yellow, green, and pink, all in a combination of patterns which bring life to every building. Although these children that live here have little, they live thankfully, as if they live in abundance. They have no knowledge of the little that they all have. During the day the children are out of their assigned homes, and they are out playing. Their laughs ring throughout the hills.
The hills are green and alive, much like the people here. At night the music resounds through the rolling hills. If you listen very closely it joins the coyotes in their song. The children’s temporary parents allow them to come to our camp for a night of worship around the bonfire. We sing songs in Spanish and songs in English. The worship is always so alive because there is something about being all the way up on that mountain that makes you feel like there is a God, and that He is tangible.
In the morning everything that was outside for the night is layered in dew. Every morning this mist of water is new. By the end of the day the dew had vanished, and its presence was dearly missed with the hope of it returning. The flowers wilt and grow weary, but in the morning they stand tall and refreshed by what the new day has brought. Perhaps this is why the people here are so hopeful that one day they will get their little will be a reality of more.
About a mile out is the center of the poverty stricken city. In the heart of the city there is a brightly shining, blue-and-white-striped lighthouse. The lighthouse is right above a small chapel. I believe that the lighthouse carries the responsibility of leading all of the people to what is most important. The light of the lighthouse shines for all to see. The most interesting part about the lighthouse is that it does not just shine on Sunday when everyone attends church, but it shines throughout the long nights of the week.
Whether visitor or resident, attendance to the chapel is always encouraged. Every single Sunday all of the children and their “parents” are at church. All of the families are dressed in their Sunday best, which varies from jeans and a T-shirt with no holes, all the way to tuxedos and fancy dresses. The chapel is so beautiful in the way that it rejects the American standard. The congregation is unaware of the mismatching floors, the broken chairs, or the poor and often failing sound system. They are untouched by the need for vanity that the church in America is so fixated on. That is where the honesty of their worship shines through.
It is strange that somewhere that is so different from home could feel so much like home. The people are unlike anyone that I have met. They do not speak the same language as I do, but I feel such a deep connection with them regardless. When I come here, I find myself. When I come here I find God and I can feel His presence with me, so I find myself. As odd as all of this sounds, the lack of almost everything brings you to a place where you are able to see something, something that is bigger than myself; possibly the way I find myself is being lost in loving these children that live here. Then as soon as I feel like I have found myself, I never want to leave, but that is when I must leave so that I can lose myself and experience the joy of finding myself once again.
