You Don't Even Know My Name

 *Note: This blog may come across sounding very negative. Although it does reflect true feelings, it does not reflect ALL my feelings. I only included certain stories of certain people (all of which happen to be negative), but hopefully, when you get to the end you will see why.

Dear Dani,

Just for the record, one of the kids took this picture! 

You are really adorable, but I’m not gonna lie, you’re pretty high maintenance. In fact, you act more like a teenage girl than a two year old boy. One minute you just want me to hold you and the next you’re throwing a chair, glaring at me, and calling me “loca” (which is apparently something that kids you’re age are not supposed to say). You’re in your terrible twos, though, so I guess I can let it slide.

But there is one thing I just don’t get. I play with you all day. I bring crafts and games for you every week. I even nearly burnt down my host mom’s house to make you playdough since you loved it so much when Claudia brought it. I feed you. I pick you up when you fall. I love you despite your temper tantrums. And you don’t even know my name. Now I realize that you can hardly talk, but you know the names of all the other cuidadores: Mari and Ariana and Noe and the rest. You know the names of all the weekly volunteers: Ana, Claudia, Walter, and some others that I don’t even know. But you don’t know mine. I wish you did.

It’s Josy.



This is the face she made right before
she slapped me the other day


Dear Silvita,

I’m sorry I called you “Devil Child” in one of my earlier posts. You’re actually pretty sweet when you’re not pulling my hair or screaming at me. And when you sing Happy Birthday, it’s one of the cuter things I’ve seen.

Even though those moments of sweetness are few and far between, I still love you. Even when you stomp on my toes. Even when you smack me with a giant stick (I still don’t know where you found that!) Even when you pull my hair so hard I think you’re going to rip off my ponytail. And I even love you when you throw pieces of broken pottery at me  (Why there is broken pottery in the backyard of an orphanage, I have no idea. It’s a pretty terrible hazard).

I just don't understand how, despite all the love I give you, you still hate me. And you don’t even know my name!

It’s Josy.

  

Mia, the biter

Dear Kati,

I have been working here five hours a day for the last month. I watch the little ones all morning so you can have a break. I play with Mia to get her out of your hair, even though we both know that she bites. I go outside with the kids in the freezing cold so you don’t have to. I tell Carina “good job” every two minutes no matter what she’s doing so she stops screaming for you to come give her approval. And yesterday, I even took the box of matches away from Rodrigo fully knowing that he was going to punch and kick me for the next 20 minutes because of it.

I’m okay with the fact that you don’t really acknowledge me, that you don’t make the effort to speak clearly so I can understand you, and that
you never say thanks. I really am. But seriously! I have been here for a MONTH! And you don’t even know my name!

It’s Josy.



Dear Josy,

I created every single person on this planet. I planned their lives out before they were born. I gave them every single thing that they have.

I showed them miracles. I taught them the way to true life. And they spit on me. Mocked me. Beat me. I loved them every minute of every day, and they nailed me to a cross.

I meet their needs. I heal their diseases. I hear their voices though they rarely listen to mine. And they ignore me. Reject me. Hate me.

I bled and died for every single one of them. And they don’t even know my name.

It’s Jesus.





the man of the house (Jesus-16 years old) with Camila



Mattias an Nicolas playing everyone's favorite sport: FUTBOL!



Tiago and Eric hanging out in the toy basket



Typcial boy pose by Martin and Eric...not sure who took this picture- wasn't me!