My heart broke as once again I gently held her back so we could close the door to the cement block building that housed the homeless shelter for women and children.  It was the end of the day, and time for my mission team to leave the group of children and head back to our hotel.  As I sat on the cushioned seat on the charter bus, I wondered who would love these kids after our 10 days were over.  I would probably never see her again, but I would never forget her large brown eyes as she pleaded with me each day to take her with me.  She was tiny, even for her five years, and skinny from a probably sporadic diet.  Her brown hair was stringy and thin.  She was the prime example of a child who had not been cared for.  I winced as I remembered the day before when she raised her shirt to show us the telltale red circles on her back.  The cigarette burns were in various stages of healing.  Who would help this tiny child once we were gone?  Was I even helping her now?

We had traveled 16 hours on our bus from Texas to Orlando not to the familiar theme parks that come to one’s mind when thinking about the vacation capital of Florida, but to a poor neighborhood not far away where children lived in poverty and abuse, only minutes from the sound of laughter, watching fireworks and riding amazing rides and dream come true meetings with Disney princesses.  Our team consisted of adults and high school students who were humbled by the up-close look at these terrible conditions.  We were split into groups to work at various sites in the neighborhood.  My group provided play and bible stories to a group of children ages 5 to 12 in a bleak homeless shelter where battered women and their children found refuge.  Our job was just to love on these children and plant seeds of truth about Jesus. 

The little girl had latched onto me, and in truth me to her.  I wanted nothing more than to bring her home with me, but that was not why I was there.  Every day, I played with her and held her.  She never complained, even when she showed us her scarred back.  The only time she got upset and asked for something was when we would leave.  I will never forget those eyes as we closed the door each day.  This was my first mission trip, and I was unprepared for the emotional attachment that could develop so quickly. 

The last day came too quickly.  We played our games, presented the day’s Bible story, and then sat in front of the old TV to watch the video Bible story.  As I sat, legs crossed, on the floor, she plopped down in my lap as she had done each day.  This final story was about Jesus’ resurrection. 

“Now on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark, and saw that the stone had been taken away from the tomb, so she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, ‘They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.’ So Peter went out with the other disciple, and they were going toward the tomb.  Both of them were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first.  And stooping to look in, he saw the linen cloths lying there, but he did not go in.  Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb.  He saw the linen cloths lying there, and the face cloth, which had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen cloths but folded up in a place by itself.  The other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went in and he saw and believed for as yet they did not understand the Scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples went back to their homes.”   John 20:1-10

As we watched the story of hope, she turned to me and said quietly, “There he is,” pointing her tiny finger into the air.  Everyone else was watching the video, so no one heard her faint voice except for me.  I looked confused and asked her who was there.  She looked at me as if I should know and said, “Jesus.” I said, “Yes, he is all around us.” She took her tiny hands, one on my forehead and one on my chin, and turned my face to just the right angle and said, “No, he’s right there.  Do you see him?”

I wept that night, remembering her insistence that she saw Jesus.  The way she turned my face to a certain point.  I will never know for sure what she saw, but I do believe that the Holy Spirit was working on her tiny, abused heart.  I’m no theologian, but I like to think that maybe in such dire situations, God provides more apparent signs. I don’t know, but in my heart, it will always be a miracle, not just for her sake, but for mine as well.  The whole week, I had been tormented that the fate of these children was out of my control.  I questioned God as to why he would let innocent children experience such pain and circumstances.  He answered me that day — I was not in control, but He was.  

Even all these years later, I think about her and wonder what her life has been like.  I hope I was a blessing to her as much as she was to me.  I pray that the tiny seeds planted by God through a group from Texas grew in her heart and that, at some point, she came to know Christ as her savior. My dream is that I will meet her again one day in heaven as we both worship our Savior face to face!