I am writing this blog during the final leg of our journey from Guatemala. We are currently in mid-flight from Houston to Dayton, and there is a beautiful sunset outside my window to enjoy. I am almost home.
Home. It’s such a powerful word. It is so easy to take for granted and not consider how precious it is…until we live without it for a while. But when we go without it for a few days, we begin to realize how wonderful it really is. Home.
This morning our team said goodbye to the kids at Hermano Pedro. That is always a difficult time. I kissed each child, told them “Te amo!” (I love you!) and choked back the tears as I left the wards. I believe each member of our team struggled with the emotions of leaving those children, teens, and adults behind. But we did, and we did so because home was waiting for us all.
When we arrive at the airport late tonight, each of us will be greeted by family members who will embrace us, tell us they missed us, and take us home. We will be anxious to share about our trip and hear about their lives while we were away. We will enter our houses, lock the doors behind us, and find ourselves in a place of love, warmth, and security. We will be…home.
I no longer take that concept for granted, because I am so frequently dealing with and working on behalf of those who have no idea what it is like to have a home. They only know of institutions. They experience a stainless steel crib, mass produced food that’s been pureed in a blender, a constantly changing parade of nurses or nannies, and long, lonely nights during which their cries are unanswered. For most of these precious people, trying to imagine a home would be like you and I trying to imagine a fourth dimension. It is nothing they have experienced before, so how could they put pictures and words to it.
This week our team has worked hard to show these children small glimpses of home. We have held them, sang to them, hugged and kissed them, and loved them. But these tiny tastes are still so inadequate because they will still spend tonight in the same cold institutions instead of in the security of a family. And that bothers me deeply. And I hope it bothers you. But I don’t want it to plague either you or I to useless guilt or pointless tears. I want it to drive us both to action. Otherwise it is simply empty emotions.
One of my challenges to the team this week was to consider the question, “What will I do about it?” In other words, now that they have seen the incredible needs of the children, having held them in their arms and looked them in the eyes, what will they do? If we go away having shed a few tears and loved a few kids, what’s the point? If we truly love the least of these, it will drive us to action. Emotion without action is not love.
I pray the day will soon arrive when my home will be in Guatemala. At that point, my goodbyes to these children will not be for near as long. At that point, we will become a real home for children who have never before envisioned what a home is. Meals patiently fed instead of dumped down throats. Real beds in real bedrooms with privacy and dignity. Family devotions, story telling, laughter, and hugs. And a whole lot more.
What will you do? Will you adopt a waiting child? Will you give sacrificially to an orphan ministry? Will you give to help a family bring home a waiting child? Will you go on a short term trip to hold and love them? Will you join us and help to open a second home in Guatemala? What will you do to help the word “home” become a reality for a child who has never know it before?
Daryl Fulp (on behalf of HfH June 2010 Guatemala Team)
