It Has Been Worth It All

May 16

It’s after ten which means it’s after my bed time.

There’s a mountain of papers beside me which I’m doing a wonderful job of not grading.

Across from me is Dani’s bed which is totally empty and I miss her like crazy. Before I couldn’t imagine my year without her, and now that she’s gone, I can and am beyond thankful she has been here to share the laughter and tears with me. It’s a lot to take on my own.

In exactly one week I will be on my way home. The thought of that brings so many emotions I just don’t even know where to begin.

Such pure excitement in finally seeing my family again and being part of my sister’s wedding.

Excitement for being back with my friends and working at camp.

But then I think of leaving the kids, and in all sincerity, it is the most indescribable feeling.

The other night I was talking to Dani about it and I told her how I think of all the kids I have to leave and I feel sick to my stomach. But the thought of leaving my little boys doesn’t even cross my mind. And it’s not I forget about them. It’s that the literal thought of leaving them seems unreal. They are a part of me. Each of them, no matter how much work they can be and how upset they can make me, holds my heart. They’re mine.

And I can’t grasp the thought of leaving them. Of giving them up.

These past couple days have had really difficult moments. Last night I went to give worship to my boys. I started to talk to them about how it’s the last week and we should make it great. But they all started going off on how they don’t get enough parties and we don’t buy them enough cookies and blah blah blah.

I was obviously upset. Which, looking back, it’s a total eight year old thing to complain about. Food and parties are the greatest thing in the world to them. But at the time? I took it personally. I couldn’t believe that after ten months that’s what they had to tell me.

Little Rodrigo wasn’t having it though. He sat there, glaring at those making the comments, and started throwing out things to contradict them.

We don’t get parties because we don’t obey.

We have enough food.

Stop talking. That’s not true.

This little boy who just turned nine had my back like no one else. So after sending the other boys to bed, I asked him to come to my room. He walked in, that cute little walk, and sat with me. And I thanked him for what he did. And I cried. And he just hugged me, laughing at my tears, and saying I love you Mami Darian. I love you Mami Darian.

And I’m telling you. It doesn’t matter how hard the day is. It doesn’t matter how disobedient the kids can be. It doesn’t matter what hurtful things I listen to or how overwhelmed I feel. It’s always worth it.

Candace taught art this semester and had everyone carve something out of wood for their final project. This past Thursday, they brought their projects to the Big House and us staff bought the ones we wanted with cookies or clothes or money. It was a really cool idea.

Yucet had a really big biplane. It was so well done, but I thought it would be difficult to bring home.

I didn’t really want to buy it, but no one else had and I didn’t want him to feel like no one wanted what he had made. So I walked over and asked him if I could buy his plane. He was rather awkward about it, which made me think he didn’t want to give it away and kind of made me regret the whole scenario.

He told me he wanted to finish it up and would bring it to me later.

And he did. He had drawn some tribal things on it, but I asked him to put his name.

He sat in Dani’s bed with a pen for a few minutes.

The propeller says “Love you.”

The top wing says “I love you very much Teacher Darian. Have a safe trip. God bless you.”

And the bottom wing says “Hello Teacher Darian. I love you very much. You take care of me very well. I am happy. I adore you a lot. Have a safe trip when you go to your country. Love you.”

And that plane I didn’t really want to buy has become one of the most precious belongings in the world to me.

The same night of the art show, Brian, who I have really gotten close to this semester, came over and gave me a giant hug. He looked at me, so very sincerely, and said

Thank you for everything. This year has been marvelous with you.

The next day he was walking to his house when he saw me walking out of mine. He ran over, like a scene from the movies, with such excitement and gave me the biggest hug in the world. And I had just seen him the day before.

Every day is worth it.

Saturday night the boys brought a few things to me they found in Josue’s things that they discovered he had stolen from the big house.

I brought him down and told him that for every thing he had taken he would write “I am honest. I will not steal.” ten times.

He was really upset. Josue gets really angry. But by the next night he had written all his sentences. He came into my room to show them to me.

I knelt down so that I was at eye level with him and asked him what the sentences said. I had told him beforehand since he can’t read, but thought maybe he had forgotten.

He had no idea.

It says I am what?

I asked.

He looked at me.

I am a robber, he said.

This little boy truly thought I made him write that he is a robber forty times.

Josue. No. You are not a robber. It says I am honest. Because you are honest. That’s why you are punished for stealing, because that’s not who you are. You are a good boy, and so you do good things because that’s who you are.

Tears poured from his face. And I knelt there with this little boy who is so unaware of how beautiful he is. And afterward I hugged him and he just hugged me and cried and I just told him I love him

and every day is worth it.

I’ve printed a lot of pictures of me with the kids so that I can give it to them when I leave. Today Kevin was helping me translate what I want to say to them into Spanish.

And I look at the picture of he or she and I.

And I think of the year or semester I have spent with them.

And all the memories we have.

And all the times we have laughed.

Or cried.

Or talked.

Or the math problems or English classes.

The hug circle Friday and Saturday nights.

And then I see the little paragraph I wrote them.

And it’s never enough.

Words are never enough.

One picture. One little letter. It’s not enough.

I kind of feel myself shutting down to the idea of lasts.

This past Saturday night was the last hug circle. And I didn’t even bring my camera. Because the idea of taking last pictures was too much. I just wanted to enjoy it. And I did. It’s impossible not to.

I guess I just feel like I am all over the place. I feel like I have so many connections here. So many people I love. And the idea of just packing up and leaving it all, of leaving them, is stunning.

Friday the kids head home. It’s the end of Monday. I have four days.

I picture hugging them the last time and I honestly don’t know if I’ll be able to let go.

My first blog was about how much I had to do, how overwhelmed I felt, how sad it was to leave my life in America behind.

I called it Worth it All because I said one day I would look back and say that.

I would say it was worth it.

The hard good-byes.

The endless shopping.

The money raising.

And now I’m on the other end of it. The year is all but over. And I think of what I have received this year.

I think of the ridiculous adventures I have been on.

I think of the incredible other missionaries I have been with and the fun we have had.

I think of the life lessons I have learned.

I think of the moments of wanting absolutely, without a doubt, nothing else.

I think of the children who love me and the children I love.

And I was right. It has been worth it all.