Somewhere in the midst of transition from year one to year two - a new
class, a new community - it was easy for me to forget the sense of mission with
which I embarked on this journey to Guyana.
That mission, which I wrote before coming here, was to "practice a
ministry of presence and reciprocate hospitality, learning to be in
relationship with others.” Although the
transitions this year have in some ways caused me to drift from that mission, I
am thankful for the reminders God has placed along my journey here.
One of those reminders came in the form of my student, Matthew, the
diabetic teen who recently came to the orphanage, unable to simply write his
name. There are so many challenges in
the classroom – from simply understanding the concept of going to school every
day to the mechanics of writing to learning to count – and these are compounded
by his vacillating sugar levels, which make him feel ill or sleepy. Amidst these challenges in teaching him,
Matthew reminds me to take deep breaths of patience throughout the day. He has a deep need for attention, validation,
and love. When I get frustrated that he
can’t remember letters from the alphabet or identify his numbers, his gentle,
innocent smile reminds me that all he wants, and all I can truly offer him, is
a loving presence.
Each of the boys at the orphanage, in his own way, essentially seeks
this same love and attention, and they remind me that this is my mission
here. The one boy who has really
regrounded me in Mercy and Love, though, is Justin, one of the nursery
boys. Now that I am living at the
orphanage, I have the opportunity to work with the boys at nights too. When I began working with them at night, I
started a tradition of goodnight kisses for all the small boys. Most of the little ones silently smile or
squirm in their beds in recognition of their goodnight kiss, but not
Justin. He’s the one who sits up in bed,
waiting for me to come around to his bed, holds out his cheek, and as if I am
going to forget him, demands, “Miss, a kiss.”
Justin is always coming for a hug or a kiss, and the manner in which he
demands it – as if it is owed to him – reminds me first of the gift that each
of the boys is and second that my gift to these boys is to be a loving presence. Mother Teresa writes that, “That is all that
Jesus came to teach us: the tender love of God.
‘I have called you by your name, you are mine.’” Each time I hear Justin calling my name to
collect a hug or kiss, I encounter this tender love of god and I am grateful
for the reminder to reciprocate this love and mercy.
Meg Eckart - St. John Bosco Boys' Orphanage - Georgetown, Guyana
