Sorry that my posts have been so intermittent. But the days here are so full...in every sense.
Full of things to do -- the house will be finished today, we'll also complete our painting at the local school and we'll wind up three days of distributing the food, clothing and toys so much of which was donated by our friends and family at North Boulevard.
Full of things to see -- a child smiling seemingly without a care in the world though we know better. We know the story of a child abused by their own father or abandoned by a mother and yet they smile and we can't help but grin with them.
Full of incredible heart -- you'll never know anyone better, peers, young and old, brothers and sisters, our elders, until you serve alongside them. Titles and socio-economic differences melt away when you pitch in together to accomplish something outside your self.
These five short days have been so very full, full of so many wonder-full moments. Perhaps that's why we Americanos are always clinging to a camera, ready to snap a picture at a moment's notice and of just about anything. A cute kid eating an elder-dipped ice cream cone or a comic exchange in a skit when our bumbling bad guys bump into each other or Skid gets so tickled in the middle of a skit that he and we just have to laugh. But mainly our cameras are focused on the children.
Sometimes I wonder what the children here at the City think about all of the lenses pointed in their direction? Is it unnerving? An invasion of privacy? Or do they know how much we savor this time with them? How, as one teen once put it to Skid, we like ourselves when we're here. The children, their needs and their innocent nature, draw from us our very best selves to service. And we relish the feeling of pure goodness that service imparts.
We want to hold it in our hearts and its memory in our minds but knowing the power of our life at home, the noise and demands of our jobs and school and friends, we understand the immediate will quickly erase our memory of the good and eternal. We want to hold onto this feeling so desperately that we try to capture it in a photograph and commit to a memory card in a digital camera what we cannot preserve completely in memory. Some cultures believe that when someone takes your picture they've stolen your soul. Sometimes it appears that a camera lens is the window to our soul. Perhaps we take them in hopes that the shutter button is a pause button and we can linger in that moment, keep our children little just a little longer, remain on that spiritual high a few days or minutes or just seconds longer.
Do they know we will print and post and share their pictures, study them, smile over them, tell the story caught in the moment to a friend or a family member? Linger over them, trying to pause time until we're back again. But Skid reminds us that the theme of our trip to the City of Children is 51 weeks. Not 51 weeks until we're back...but 51 weeks to serve with the same passion and heart and attitude.
Fifty-one weeks not to hit pause or linger over pictures unless those pictures inspire us to make the most of all of the moments we have.
- Nelson
P.S. Tonight the Festival of Sharing went to Patrick Cole for his great nature and willingness to help.
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