Change

I’m glad, just a little, that the many changes coming now to Formando Vidas did not come to pass while I was there. They are changes for the better, I know, but I don’t like change. The 127 and the house next door will soon be torn down as the neighborhood is being overtaken by offices; the ministry has sold Torre Fuerte, my home for most of my time in Bogota, and it, too, will soon be gone. The Other Way is closed, and Luz y Vida is serving only as a center of continuing education. New aspects of the ministry have opened, the current outreaches are appropriately staffed, new homes have been found, and children are being reached - but changes were evident.

Even I could see many of the blessings of changes. I was excited to hear of C. and E., boys that I’d taught in the Other Way, then taught in the summer of 2010 when I substituted at Luz y Vida. They are in school, I was told, making the honor roll and receiving citizenship awards. They come to Luz y Vida daily for continuing education and their mom is receptive to those ministering to families. Their dad, a recycler who sometimes had the family living under his cart because of his drug issues, had originally said he took the boys to the ministry so they’d have a good example. Now he says that he wants to change and be that example. It is a start. 

I saw the babies, children taken into the ministry during my term at Formando Vidas, now 4 and 5 years old - secure in their home and able to laugh and talk and care for their own “babies.” I saw T., so full of issues 5 years ago, now relatively calm and cooperative, tho’ still mischievous. I wanted to hug S., still shining the same sweet smile and laughing spirit that had characterized her at age 8.  I marveled at L., gone from a reticence toward chores as an 8 year old to a young teen who argued that I couldn’t wash the dishes because it was her day to clean the kitchen...

And I played. I played soccer with J. On Sunday night after he returned from the parent visit - always stressful for both kids and staff - he, Tyrel, Dianne, Ethan, L., and I played boys against girls. L. yelled to coach me, not angry but somewhat disbelieving of the fact that I occasionally forgot which direction to kick the ball. She finally told me to be goalie. The problem with this was that my eyes saw the ball, but my feet did not necessarily move me into a position with which I could block it. Nevertheless, we girls had a fighting chance because J. did not like being removed from the top of his game. If anyone made a point or kicked the ball away from him, he suddenly realized he was hurt and lay down in the middle of “concha.” We played over, around, and without him until finally concluding that it was time to go in and end the day. J. was asked to put on pajamas, wash his hands and sit to eat. He argued that we would begin eating without him; we promised we wouldn’t and Dianne asked if he’d race the timer. Thrilled by this idea, he changed into pajamas in 7 seconds, but broke down crying over washing his hands because “the minutes go too fast.” His night ended on a rough note, but L. again demonstrated her maturity as she hung in through losing round after round of Dutch Blitz without ever whining - and glowed when she finally won 3 rounds.

On Monday night we played soccer again, this time only  J., Tyrel, and I. J. was his own team and was a better sport for most of the game, though if I tried to stop and talk to little M. who had her doll and was setting up “house” on the benches by the concha, she pushed me back over to him and he demonstrated some act of appreciation such as kicking or pushing me. Each thing he did to Tyrel or to me, we returned equally, resulting in J.’s confusion because no one was crying. When little B. arrived to play, J., jealous over the lack of attention, retreated to pout in the treehouse. Tyrel (called “enano” or “dwarf” by J.) sat to pout on the bench. J. couldn’t help but peek over and laugh. After our meal and clean up that night, J. grabbed me around the waist in the kitchen and drug me to his room, informing me that Bibi said I could pray with him. 

A far cry from not remembering me, J. had pointed out to Bibi the day prior the church to which I’d taken him when we lived in Torre Fuerte. That night as we began the bedtime routine, he told me that B. could NOT read THAT book because it was the book I’d brought a couple of years prior. After I assured him that it was not a problem, we read 3 Bible stories and talked about them (he was offended that the story said big fish and the author had drawn a whale), then we prayed and he rolled over to sleep. I couldn’t believe how peaceful he was - or how blessed I was to share the moments toward which so many had worked for so many years.