Over the Rainbow

This is an excerpt from a scholarship essay that I'm writing.

Four thousand miles away from all of my famiy and friends, my hair blows in the wind as I push three-year-old Araceli on the swing. Her eyes glitter like jewels she will never be able to afford, and her laugh is like an oasis in the Sahara. Yet despite her unadulterated joy, the marks of the pain she’s endured linger like footprints in wet cement. Her cheeks are pink with marks of abuse instead of the healthy glow or bashful blush of a happy child. Crumbs are scattered around her lips, not reminders of a tasty snack, but of a hastily devoured meal eaten in desperation and fear of when the next would come. The nippy air slips in through holes in her sweater, and her broken shoes threaten to fall off at any moment. Watching her swing, I cannot tell if the tears pooling in my eyes spring from joy or sorrow.

Suddenly, I see Araceli’s grip weaken on the handles of the swing. Just as I yell, “¡Cuidado!” she tumbles onto the dusty ground. As giggles turn to wails, I scoop up the sobbing child and cradle her in my arms while dormant pain erupts from her like an angry volcano. She cries for the mother that abandoned her in the jungle, the father that she never met, the adoptive mother that beats her, and because she feels like Dorothy, longing to escape to a world beyond the rainbow. Yet instead of living in the black and white world of Kansas, her world is bright with color: the blue of her loneliness, the red of her new mother’s rage, and the yellow of her fear. If only she would realize that I’m here to love her, to be the tornado that lifts her into a world where she is cherished and protected. How I wish I could sacrifice everything and promise to never leave.

When her well of tears begins to dry, I grab her grubby hands and start to spin. A smile plays peek-a-boo at the corner of her lips as we dizzily topple to the ground. When her smile finally takes center stage, I turn and whisper in her ear, “Araceli, I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

Update: Since I wrote this essay, Araceli stopped coming to the school. Apparently, she is back in the jungle working in a coffee field with her mother. However, we don't know if this is her real or adopted mother or if/when she is coming back. Please pray for her.