One Photo

Every Wednesday after school, several teachers and students visit a local orphanage. Some teach English, some visit with the kids, and some work with the single mothers and widows that live there, but we all come away changed by the experience.

Yesterday was my first time to visit the orphanage since December. The paint that our students put up last Christmas hangs old and chipped, and the sign out front needs touching up, but, thanks to the generosity of one visitor’s home church, a few new buildings are underway to accommodate their ever-increasing population. The orphanage has an open door policy: if no one else will take in the orphan or widow, the “asrama” will.

As my friends and wife teach English, I wander into the courtyard with my camera. Several pre-teen children rush, begging to have their photo taken. They pose in a well-rehearsed pile, making way for each face to be seen. A quick flash, then a rush for each to be the first to see his face on the 2-inch LCD screen. They howl at seeing each other on the screen, then rush off to play soccer before the older kids take over their make-shift field.

A slump-backed old woman approaches, asking me to take a photo with her. A dozen hands thrust for the camera to take the picture. Petrus wins by sheer volume of voice. “I can take the picture the best,” he shouts above the grunts of sandwiched children. The old ibu (ee-boo) smiles brightly while I dip at the knee to put our faces together. She caresses my arm and says thank you before I lay a kiss on her ruffled cheek. She chuckles amidst the flood of children rushing back on the field.

Our time ends quickly just at the call for supper. And, as we pile back into the car, several children wave good-by from the gate: one is clearly frustrated by his deafness, another nervous and hungry, and still another tall and sprightly. We wave knowing that our visit hasn’t accomplished much toward our annual objectives or toward immediately transforming the lives of these 255 children; yet, we are also confident that our visit makes Jesus smile. Next week we’ll return, and I’ll be sure to bring a printed photo for my new friend Ibu Miriam.

Pictures to come later.