Making a new friend was the last thing on my mind that morning as I stepped off the bus and onto the cracked sidewalk in La Carpio, an impoverished community wedged between a rock quarry and a landfill on the outskirts of San Jose, Costa Rica.  I hadn’t done so on any of the previous days during our time there.  So why should this, our final day in this slum, be any different?  Little did I know I would discover the answer to that question as well as some life-changing lessons a few short hours later.

For the final time, our group made its way through the streets littered with trash and construction debris and past ramshackle structures to the church that had served as our home base during the four days of our ministry efforts.  Glancing around at the shy but curious faces staring back at us through the doors and windows of their humble dwellings, I was finding it hard to believe our trip, years in the making, would soon be coming to an end.  Was it everything I expected, everything I hoped it would be?

To be honest, by the time the trip finally rolled around, I’m not quite sure what I had been hoping for or expecting.  For you see, something happened in the years between my decision to sign up for the trip and the day we embarked upon it. Life happened.

This was to be a trip of a lifetime.  One on which I would accompany my 8th grade daughter, her classmates, and fellow chaperones on an international adventure to teach English to school-aged children, hold VBS sessions for the younger ones and share the love of God with them all.  One I had dreamed about for years, prayed about, had been ever so excited about.  Unfortunately, by the time the trip came to pass that spark of excitement had been reduced to a faint ember by the circumstances of life, both the mundane and the extraordinary, including an unexpected battle with a life-threatening illness.  Circumstances that left me battered, bruised, broken, and burdened with a load of unwanted baggage.  Circumstances that became the building blocks of the wall now surrounding my heart.

Despite these circumstances, on the outside I still maintained a pleasant and positive enough façade.  However, deep down I simply felt numb and detached.  Life’s circumstances had led me to become a passive spectator rather than the active participant I once was and rendered the previously exciting and longed-for adventure simply an obligation to endure.  And, as far as my expectations were concerned, the trip had become just one more thing to check off the list.

As our group approached the church, I snapped a few last photos of the buildings along what I thought to be an empty street.  However, upon closer inspection I realized the lane was not as deserted as I originally thought. In the distance I spied two young boys making their way down the lonely and quiet street in our direction.  Reaching the church at about the same time, the boys were instructed wait outside as our group filed through the doors to begin preparations for the day ahead.  With at least an hour or more to go before the event was scheduled to begin, an ever-so-tiny crack began to form in the wall around my heart as I thought about the long wait those two boys we left at the gate would have to endure before being allowed entrance.

The Fair Warning

Prior to its start, we were warned there would be tears on this last of our ministry days, especially for those who made any type of connection with any of the children.  Having spent most of the week lingering on the outskirts of the conversations taking place, quietly observing as my daughter, her friends and my fellow chaperones took the lead in engaging the children, this warning was of little concern to me at that point.  For while I had made the effort to participate in some of the conversations, I hadn’t truly connected with any child in particular.

On this day we were also warned to expect an influx of children.  Based on the patterns observed on trips in prior years, the ministry days typically kicked off with a small group of children in attendance; however, as word and excitement spread, the numbers increased in the days to follow.  And the fact that cake was served on the final day typically caused the crowd to swell to at least three times its original size. This year was no exception.  And while we had been warned, we were still a bit overwhelmed as we scrambled to figure out how to adjust our plans to accommodate all the new faces that joined our group that morning.

Our new additions included a small boy who would likely have been better-served downstairs with others closer to his age, but preferred to remain upstairs with his older brother.  Without a second thought, I took it upon myself to ensure he was was well-occupied with coloring pages, crayons and other activities to keep him from distracting the others as they engaged in the day’s English lessons and other activities.

The Defining Moment

After quite a chaotic English lesson, we moved into the day’s craft activity: coffee filter flowers.  Soon after my team member and fellow chaperone gave a quick painting demonstration and showed how the decorated filters would be folded and wrapped with a pipe cleaner to form a flower, supplies were distributed and more chaos quickly ensued as the kids boisterously engaged in the artistic endeavor.  Noticing my team member involved in the act as well, I impulsively grabbed a coffee filter and a paintbrush of my own.  Little did I know what a big impact that small decision would have.

Scanning the circle of children as I worked on my own project, I noticed that while most of them were happily and loudly creating works of abstract paint splattered art, two of the boys were instead quietly and carefully painting colorful faces on their coffee filter canvases.  And the wall around my heart cracked just a little more realizing the masterpieces they were working so diligently on would soon be hidden within the folds of the flowers their works of art would become.

Chaos yet again ensued as we finished up the activity and the chaperones quickly moved from child to child to assist with the assembling of the flowers.  As I turned to twist yet another pipe cleaner into place, I suddenly found myself face-to-face with one of the boys in our group, finished flower in hand.  Wearing a heartwarming smile on his face, he handed me his flower.  At first I thought he was just showing it to me, but I soon realized he was giving it to me.  And in that moment the wall around my heart simply shattered.

Lessons Learned

I learned his name was William.  And the photos taken that morning provided me with the puzzle pieces necessary to connect the earlier and seemingly unrelated events that had transpired to reveal a beautiful and compelling picture.  The boys we encountered outside of the church and left behind to patiently await their own turn to enter? William and his little brother.  The small boy I took under my wing when he refused to be separated from his older sibling?  William’s little brother.   The two quiet boys who painstakingly painted those masterpieces on their coffee filters?  William and his little brother.

Much more shy and reserved than the others, until he handed me that flower, William was simply another face in the crowd.  But in that moment a connection was made, a bond forged.  For the rest of that morning we were inseparable.  And while a language barrier prevented us from conversing verbally, we were able to communicate in other ways.  Through smiles.  Shared laughter.  A hug.  And though our time together was short, it was quite meaningful as I learned two valuable lessons that day.

Lesson #1: Life is Not Meant To Be Lived on The Sidelines

I arrived in Costa Rica with a thick wall around my heart.  One constructed from the debris life’s circumstances left behind.  The splinters of broken dreams.  Bricks molded from the fear of ridicule and rejection. Stones carved from insecurity and inadequacy. And sealed with the mortar of disappointment and discouragement.

I consider the moment William handed me that flower to be an awakening of sorts.  Up to that point, I had viewed that wall as a form of protection.  One that guarded my heart and allowed me to keep hurt and pain at arm’s length.  However, my time spent with William made me realize that wall had also become a prison, one holding me back from truly connecting with others and preventing me from experiencing the joy and beauty all around me.

Life can be messy and full of pain, heartache, and suffering.  But there is One who we can trust in to guard and guide us through that mess.

“God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.” Psalm 46:1

One who loved us enough to send His son to die for us.  A Light in the darkness who came that we may have life, and have it to the full (John 10:10).  One who promises to always be with us, One who will never to leave or forsake us (Deut.31:6, Matthew 28:20).

Rather than fully trusting in my True Protector, I had instead taken refuge behind that wall.  A wall that held me back from seeing and experiencing what God was doing all around me.  And from what He could be doing through me.  Trapped behind that wall, I had become simply a spectator in the game of life.

But you know what?  Life is not meant to be lived on the sidelines.  The game of life is a risky one, but if we are not willing to face the bumps, the bruises and the heartache, we cannot experience the full life we are promised.

While I never learned the details of William’s circumstances, based on what I witnessed and experienced while in the slums of La Carpio, I doubt his life was in any way an easy one.  By the looks of them, his clothes were likely hand-me-downs  And, as with many of the other older children in attendance, young William was responsible for and well-versed in watching over his younger sibling.

Though quiet and reserved, William’s kind, caring, and positive spirit was evident through his actions and attitude.  The way in which he lovingly carried out his role as his brother’s caretaker.  How he carefully watched over his little brother while he participated in his own activities.  Through the act of protectively pulling his brother to sit down next to him during the wild and boisterous game of Pato Pato Ganso (Duck Duck Goose). And when he selflessly offered me his flower.

Despite his challenging circumstances, William chose not to remain on the sidelines, but instead jumped into the game of life with both feet.

Lesson #2: The Choice to Live is a Daily Decision

After William gifted me with his flower, I faced a decision.  Having impulsively engaged in the craft activity, I realized I had a gift I could give him in return.  A seemingly easy decision, but one I was hesitant to make.  Would he be pleased or would he turn up his nose at the offer?  Would the boy who used bold, dark paints on his piece of art be put off by the offer of a flower decorated in light pastels?  Would the other children be hurt or offended that I didn’t exchange flowers with them?

Each question drew me one step back to that wall of protection.  And each negative thought added one new brick. Suddenly, the idea of giving him my flower seemed too risky a proposition.

Remembering the prison that wall had become, I eventually chose to take the risk and offered William my flower.  And the smile on his face was a priceless affirmation of my choice.

Looking back, I came to realize the seeds of my awakening had already begun to sprout in the preceding days as other choices I had made that week came to mind. Choosing to step up when there was a need.  Making the effort to strike up a conversation with one of the student members of our mission team who tended to linger on the sidelines as well.  Ensuring William’s brother was not left out when he decided to remain with the older kids, which I believe led to William’s subsequent engagement with me.

These choices required me to step out from behind that wall and take risks.  And trust that, regardless of the outcome, God was right there with me, whether my choices resulted in sorrow or joy.

I didn’t experience a miraculous recovery that day.  Inevitably I still seek shelter behind that wall of protection, especially when things start to get messy.  But that day I was reminded that I have a choice.  And while there is risk, there is also reward.

The choice to step beyond the wall is not easy one.  God never promised us life would be easy, but He did promise to be with us every step of the way. And the choice is not a one-time decision, but one that must be made on a daily, and sometimes even hourly basis.

It is a choice that can lead to heartbreak.  But it can also lead to indescribable joy. And both are necessary for living life to the full.

A Tearful Goodbye

When William left the church that morning, the tears flowed freely.  And when he walked back down that lonely and quiet street, he took a piece of my heart along with him.

I made a new friend that day.  One I will likely never see again.  But a dear friend nonetheless, one I will never forget. William gave me a priceless gift that day, and I’m not talking about the flower, though it was a much appreciated gesture.  No, the gift I am referring to is that of the invaluable lessons he taught me.  And the example he set.  Thank you, dear William, for reminding me that life is not meant to be lived on the sidelines.  And for helping me to learn how to live again.