So Much More

It is sweltering hot. The funny thing is, almost everyone around me is wearing a jacket.

I am surrounded by children, only a few of whom actually speak my language. Which is fine. I am in their country, after all, and shouldn't expect them to know my language.

We've been here for an hour, laughing at nothing and everything, talking as little as we have to. Even those who understand English have a thick accent, so it is difficult for us to communicate using words. We use pictures, numbers, and the things around us.

And laughter. Lots of laughter.

There's a lot of that here. Not everywhere, but here. In this compound. Where thirty happy children live and work and play.

I'm at an orphanage run by some friends of mine. I'm told that during the rainy season this place turns positively green, but for now, brown is the color of the month.

Brown. For dust, for concrete walls, for more dust. For beautiful fingernails and smooth skin. Brown for deep, dark eyes and dirty feet. Brown for beautiful.

The children see it too. The brown. But they've seen it so often before. What's strange to them is that someone like me, so white that I pop out of the brown background, has brown all over them. In little spots.

The little girl beside me gingerly touches my skin. But not the white part. The brown part. The mole, the freckle, the blemish.

"Sister, much paining?"

The concern in her voice makes the laugh die in my throat. The question catches me off guard and I shake my head.

"No, sweet, no paining."

Does it hurt? It takes that question for me to realize that even though her entire body is the color of those spots, they stand out on my arms.

Relieved at my answer, she and two other girls begin counting the moles on my arms and shoulders.

"One... Two... Three..."

Laughter.

"Four... Five... Six..."

I go limp and allow them to move my arms wherever they please. Once, a boy walks by and asks them something. They respond, then move over to give him a place to sit.

He watches as they count all of my blemishes. My tiny brown spots.

"Eleven... Twelve... Thirteen..."

The boy speaks, and there is more laughter. Well, I might not understand what they're saying, but at least they count in English... I laugh with them.

The dinner bell begins clanging just as they reach twenty two. The best time of the day!

I loved that. I loved that the blots of my complexion provided a few minutes of unfiltered joy to those children. I loved that something I had always subconsciously perceived as a blemish actually blessed someone else, no matter how insignificant it may seem.

Because it made me realize something.

It made me realize how much I can give. And how much I really can't.

These children, thanks to the children's home, have a bed, clothing, food, and a place to stay. But to be honest, compared to the living spaces of most people I know, these children are materially poor.

So how do they find such true, untainted joy at the sight of brown marks all over "sister's" arms? At a pile of popped balloons that they know can be turned into a rubber ball? At a little toy car sent to the orphanage as a gift from a church?

Because they have something that most of us don't. While they are materially poor, that gives them an amazing opportunity to be spiritually wealthy.

Their strong, simple faith in God inspired me to look deeper into my own heart. Where do I find joy? In my circumstances? In my material wealth?

These children live in poverty. Yet they find more simple pleasure from simple things than I, who have lived in comfort, will ever understand.

That is something that we all should learn. These children, in a sense, have more wisdom and experience than I do. They have a stronger faith, because they realize that they can't make it on their own, something that I will never fully understand without hardships.

These children have what really counts.

So, while I am materially richer than them, I have to wonder: Are they really poor?

Hope you liked this story! If you get a chance, please give me a heart to show your support! Tips are greatly appreciated!

Hit the subscribe button if you enjoyed my story!

Have a blessed day!