Milkshakes and Tears

It started with a breakdown. My time at the orphanage in El Salvador, that is.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and, for reasons I cannot remember, there weren't many people around the orphanage. The members of the group we'd been with for the first week had left a few hours before, and we'd had a sad goodbye to them at the airport. The kids must have been doing something, and Susan and Maegen, my two roommates and fellow English speakers, must have been off with the kids.

Except one of the kids was there, and so was I. I was with Saul, a thirteen year old boy who has Muscular Dystrophy. He had also recently broken his leg in a fall from his wheelchair. In better circumstances, surgery might be needed, but Saul's body is not strong enough to go through surgery. This isn't a situation in which we can think of the possibility of getting him better medical care in the US. It's true that the care would be better than what is currently available to him. And yet, it is also true that the disease he has is one that will eventually be fatal, no matter how good the medical care he receives.

I'd just learned all of this the day before. And I thought of it as I helped feed Saul the rest of the milkshake that he was unable to finish the night before.

And then I just couldn't do it. I felt the tears in my eyes. I mumbled something in Spanish about needing to get a napkin. I went straight to my room.

And there, sitting on my bed, I just lost it. I started crying, annoyed with myself for not being able to keep it together, but crying all the same. In my mind, I began counting off the days that I had left in El Salvador, trying to figure out how much longer I had to stay in this place I was not strong enough to deal with, how many more times I'd have to blink back tears.

I'd like to say that there was some great revelation that came to me, some great insight about life that straightened me up right in that moment. But life never really goes like that for me. What stopped my crying was knowing that there was a young boy who needed help eating his milkshake, who needed the napkin I said I was going to get.

I know Saul knew that I'd been crying. He didn't tell me he knew, but he is sweet and very wise. He also like stories about monsters. And music. And movies. And he puts up with my terrible Spanish, especially with the awful stories I make up before bedtime. And he likes to pray at night before he goes to sleep.

As it turned out, there weren't many more sad moments with Saul. Somehow the disease that weakens Saul's body, that thing which was at the front of my mind on that first day, moved to the back of my mind as I learned more about Saul, about his life and likes and dislikes.

But the day that I sat on my bed crying, I wondered why God would want me to be in El Salvador. Surely, I had misunderstood. Surely, God had plans for someone better suited. Someone less selfish, someone less materialistic, someone more giving, someone more loving. And yet, there I sat. I was the one in El Salvador, crying and wondering what I was to do. I guess I learned that I was there to love. I was there to give, even when I didn't feel like giving. And, in doing that, maybe I learned a little. Maybe I became a little more like the person God should have sent.

Or maybe not. I'm never too keen on being self congratulatory, and I'm still plenty rotten. :)