There’s nothing like a good time of being alone. The silence. The peace. The absence of any expectation to talk.
When I was a little boy, I used to enjoy going into small, dark spaces and sitting by myself. I loved the furnace closet. Writing that sentence now, I feel a little strange. But there’s just something about being in a place all alone knowing no one can interrupt the peace (who’s gonna look in the furnace closet?).
Yes. I’m an introvert. I know everyone is these days, but I’m a real one. I definitely need my people. I need conversations. I need people around me to stay sane. But, I very easily get lost spending time by myself. Oh my, that sounds so egotistical. Which is probably true, too.
But back to introversion: I did something kinda crazy and agreed to help some friends transition into the administration of a children’s home in Bolivia. I arrived two weeks ago and will be primarily helping the boys until late October or early November. “Tio Chris,” they call me. I’m told Kris is also a brand of mayonnaise and ketchup, so that’s hilarious.
I don’t know what I was thinking. A children’s home isn’t the best place to come for an introvert to tap into his inner-introvertedness. What I really didn’t consider, though, was the fact that I’d be functioning with a two-year old’s level of Spanish. Doesn’t make for great heart-to-hearts con el hombres. It can quickly become overwhelming for an introvert who would just as happily sit in his hammock and read Kipling.
Not only does all the wonderful activity exhaust you (because you still love people!), you get mentally exhausted from just plain talking. All the vocab and conjugations and grammar.
One of the first days, I asked one of the boys how many “beautifuls” he has. I meant “sisters.” I knew better, but in the moment got mixed up and said “hermosas” instead of “hermanas.” I guess it could’ve been worse. And it really was funny.
Obviously, I’d be lying to say I haven’t gotten exhausted or overwhelmed, but already it’s been an incredibly good experience worth all of it.
It’s trite to say, I know, but I’m sure I’m learning more from the boys than I’ll ever communicate or teach them. For example, one of the boys I’m caring for is partially crippled in his legs. He can crawl, sit on a chair, and even walk if someone is there to balance him. But he’s dependent on others to help him change his clothes, move from place to place, and other basic activities.
The other day, I was helping him change his clothes. He was being his chipper, goofy self, and I was quietly singing in English when I suddenly realized I was singing “Lord I need you, Oh, I need you! Every hour I need you!” And it dawned on me: I am just as helpless before my Father in heaven but he delights to give me help and it brings him tremendous joy.
Except, I don’t think I’m as pleasant as Jose Luis is. I’m too often terribly self-centered and disobedient or angry about my helplessness.
But even still: whether in my bumbling ability to speak Spanish or to love people with all my heart or just to praise Him, Jesus is there. He’s patiently guiding me, helping me to lift my arms and take off my shirt, and exercising my atrophied legs.
He’s a very good father indeed. I can’t wait to see what else he does.
C.D.
P.S. Phil arranged for me to meet with an abuelo from the village to teach me Spanish. I guess he’s patient and kind, but rigorous as well. So, on Miercoles I’m going up to his house where he’ll make us some coffee and we’ll just sit and converse. Or we’ll sit and be silent, which I’m perfectly fine with, too. I’ll let you know what happens.
Quote of the day:
“They always scream when they’re getting fed.” (One of the children, referring to the pigs. I wonder if I do that, too, and no one’s telling me.)