This week I came back from a very significant experience – traveling to Cochabamba, Bolivia to meet my “prayer friend”. 
I had never been to a third world country and had no idea what to expect. For the past two years I’ve known about the Amistad Mission, the home our church supports within this mission, and about the experiences of the past three years visits by friends within our congregation. I had come to know the names and about the personalities of the children in our home from reports and pictures. I’d learned a lot.
Almost two years ago I took on the relationship of being a prayer friend to one particular girl in our home. Through the relationship I’ve written her many letters, sent her photos of me and my family who I’ve spoken about and I have received a few hand-made cards from her as well.
I assume the letters arrive to her and she knows that I pray for her regularly, but all of this “knowledge” was second-hand. It was told to me, shown to me, or relayed to me through e-mails. So months ago I’d decided to visit Zulma, my prayer friend, in hopes she’d know first hand my love was genuine and prayers real.
There aren’t enough words to describe the impact of the trip. No matter what I could’ve been told and shown before my venture, I wouldn’t have comprehended the poverty I witnessed. The dirt, fear, immense need to be loved – were all mind-blowing. I think many times I was just trying to soak in everything happening around me.
Meeting Zulma was surreal. When I told her who I was, I tingled as her smile grew, she grabbed my hand and showed me to her room where she opened a drawer with great care and got out my picture and letters. So, proud or filled with excitement and honor and I don’t even know how to explain it. It was like she was just filled up like a big balloon blown full of happiness. All week I simply desired to be there for her, praying and hoping she’d know my love was real. There was a lot of playing together, holding hands, making crafts, smiling and making our selves look silly trying to communicate beyond language barriers. We smiled and I hugged her every chance I got.
The children just seemed so starved for affection. They live as brothers and sisters, they have a “mama” in their home, and yet life is different from mine. Why? Because they’ve been abandoned once? Because they never have had consistency in their life relationships? The more I soaked in the culture there, the more the “fear” seen in these children I realized I could see in many people, adults and kids alike.
For one week, we gave all we could. The team of 13 and I played, hugged, encouraged, sang, smiled, prayed, and repeated. We exhausted ourselves in the best way we knew how, all hoping we were making a difference.
Sometime between when we arrived and when we left, I knew within me I had been greatly impacted – probably more than I could’ve ever impacted them. My eyes have been opened. Opened to how wealthy I am in America. Wealthy in finances, but also in love. I realized how much I have to give. I realized how incredibly powerful the love from little me in the USA means to this one beautiful life in Bolivia. And I realized I am as lost, lonely, and needy as each of these kids. I need the same assurance – that I am loved, beautiful and forever will be – that they do.
This trip has forever changed me. It has changed the way I see the love and grip of God on my life. It has changed how grateful I am for being in America. And it has deepened my love for my family – generations of people all living in community showing love that lasts lifetimes.
By the grace of God I am loved. By the grace of God I give love. To Zulma. To all. In every way I know how.
Amen.
