Rather than waiting to meet the bus in Bolivar, Grant and the kids drove up to KCI to pick me up! It was sure good seeing them again!!! We got back home about 2:30 am Monday morning. We rolled out of bed at 8:30 am because they were delivering our new washing machine. (All the wood flooring, now warped, has yet to be replaced since our pre-El Salvador washing machine flood.) Then I stayed up until 3:00 am this morning downloading and compressing the 10 1/2 gigs of photos that I took in El Salvador (not finished with that task, even yet!).It seems weird to be INSIDE so much, now that I've returned home. I'm just used to it being "cooler" outside than inside...and spending all my waking hours outside. Our clinics were held in shaded courtyards, mostly outside...or if inside, still the doorways and large windows were open to the outside. After living in El Salvador for a week, it is easy to understand how cultures outside of the United States tend to gather outside so much more...neighbors continually intermingling outside in front of their homes and along the streets.
El Salvador was not what I was expecting. I was anticipating quaint, brightly painted Mexican adobe villas with arched open doorways and people clothed in equally bright garb...like in an old Western movie! The villas spaced leisurely apart, the senoritas wearing brightly striped cotton blouses tucked into long flared skirts equally as colorful. Instead, all my eyes saw our first full day in El Salvador was razor wire (EVERYWHERE)...lots and lots of menacing razor wire; emaciated, lethargic dogs; drab, plain, often ill fitting, sweaty clothing; and the biggest automatic weapons (EVERYWHERE) that I have ever seen anywhere. The homes reminded me a lot of China (minus the razor wire), but I had felt a lot safer in the villages in China, than I did on the streets of El Salvador...that FIRST day. By the second day, I was seeing past the razor wire. It no longer felt like one giant, depressing prison camp. The machetes and automatic weapons everywhere no longer seemed intimidating, but reassuring. The more armed soldiers around, the less likely it was that we would see any trouble from the gangs that I heard so much about from our El Salvadorian friends, but saw very little evidence of first hand (thankfully!). As I met such sweet brothers and sisters in El Salvador, this country quickly came to occupy the same tender, wistful place in my heart that my children's homeland, China, has had in my heart since the first time I stepped foot in it.
It is funny how looking through my photos these last 24 hours has surprised me. Getting on the bus, here in Bolivar, I didn't know ANY of my fellow 22 travelors. (I had met a few of them briefly once or twice before, but not long enough to be able to remember their names.) Then, we landed in El Salvador and the helpers from our sister church (and several other churches) blended in the the locals and it took a few days before I began sorting out which folks were "ours" too! Yesterday and today, I was just amazed as I looked through my photos and realized that one of our translaters, Jackie, was with us from our very first clinic on Monday...I didn't think I had met her until the worship service at Strong Tower on Tuesday evening...yet, there she was, IN MY PHOTOS, sitting NEXT to me, helping count out pills and bag up medicines in the early morning hours Monday before we opened clinic for the first time!
And, there was Carlos that very first evening proudly showing us the bike he had rigged a motor too, making it zip around like a motorcycle...but with the drawback that it was either pedaling speed (with motor off) or zipped ninety to nothing with the motor on. There was no gradual build-up of speed...just BAM, careening down the road like it was rocket powered! I hadn't known Carlos that evening and didn't realize he was one of our team (from the El Salvadorian side), I had just thought he was just some other hotel guest that was being really friendly! By the time I "met" Carlos, the young man with the motorized bike from several days earlier was a blur in the sea of new faces I had been swimming through...I didn't realize until I was back home looking through my photos yesterday that the young man with the motorized bike was CARLOS! (But, then, I have always had trouble remembering faces from one meeting to the next...names and faces alike alude my memory with frustrating regularity.)It seems I had just really gotten to know everyone, in that comfortable, old-friend sense of knowing, when it was time to be stepping back on the plane and coming back. By the time we left El Salvador, the razor wire everywhere didn't leap out at me anymore and the skinny dogs didn't seem depressing...things just seemed normal. And the friends I was leaving behind were keeping a part of my heart with them.
So much was packed into that one brief week. We arrived in El Salvador late Sunday night. Some how, I made it through customs about 15 minutes ahead of everyone else. So, I was alone when the baggage carosel began moving, and I began frantically snatching off our 46 or so HUGE bags. It was pretty funny actually, because after I had snagged the first 7 or so rapidly approaching oversized bags, I was finding myself hemmed in by our own bags, frantic to grab the others off the conveyor but too pinned in by the ones I had already snatched off to do so. Several non-English speaking folks standing nearby saw my plight, smiled sympathetically, and begin snatching all the bags with bright yellow ribbons tied to their handles off the conveyor with me! By the time Kathy arrived, we had several new friends helping us. It is a good thing, because after Kathy arrived it was a very long time before any one else from our group made it through. Had I only known, there was really no rush to get all the bags gathered, because, as it turned out, our party was not there to meet us. One of the two buses had double flats en route to the airport. In the end, one lone bus came to pick us up while several of our team stayed behind with the MOUNTAIN of luggage (including about 23 fifty pound bags of medical supplies). Getting replacement tires after 10pm is not an easy task in El Salvador. It was almost 2 am before the second bus and our luggage made it to the hotel.
At 4:30am I was back up to sort through the medications and begin the huge task of organizing them. I was soon joined by the two medical doctors in our group (Drew and Gustavo), Herb (a doctor of physical therapy), and Larry (our mission coordinator). 
After breakfast, we set up our first clinic in Santa Elena and saw 180 people. It was overwhelming that day, caring for so many people. We came back to the hotel exhausted, but needing to sort through the rest of the medications for the next four days worth of clinics. We were up really late, that night as well. Tuesday morning, we set up our clinic in the same location once more. Though we saw 260 people Tuesday, it went more smoothly than the previous day and was less overwhelming. The three pharmacy ladies (myself, Sherry, and Paula) were getting our system down. Every medicine had it's own permanent placement (so we were no longer searching high and low for each and every med) and all of us were familiar with each of the medications and their dosages and uses by then. (Sherry and Paula had come to the task without any medical background so there had been a steep learning curve for them that first day.) Also helpful, was the fact that by the second day Sherry and I had the VOCUBULARY down pretty well... well enough, anyway, that we were understood as we gave instructions regarding the medications. (Paula, born in Cuba, was equally fluent in Spanish and English and was our godsend every time we needed to communicate a complicated prescription like decreasing dosages of Prednisone, or how to use the liquid inside the stool softner capsules to soften ear wax!) 
I learned a lot of Spanish this trip, but none that I can use in polite conversation! If you need instruction on how to chew your wormer pill, I'm your woman! Or if you want to talk about foot fungus, hey, I speak you language!!! Beyond that, it gets a bit dicey! (Like on Tuesday afternoon...we had some defective pill bags that were split on the bottom sides and consequently there was an interesting array of pills scattered across the floor of the Farmacia. As I dashed about filling prescriptions, I had conscientiously kicked each stray pill out of the way under our back table against the wall--well protected from the public area of the Farmacia. Unfortunately, energetic little boys freshly released from school for the day, with no parents in sight, do not recognize the boundaries between the public area of the Farmacia and the small, restriced EMPLOYEE only area! So it was that near the end of the day I suddenly had about four or five little boys crawling around on their hands and knees in our working area, eagerly gathering up the loose pills. To my horror, I saw one little boy look straight at me, and smiling broadly, open his mouth to pop a handful of pills in. I yelled, "Don't do that! Don't do that" in my very best Spanish..."Bu Yao! Bu Yao!"...but it didn't have any effect at all...if anything, it seemed to encourage such behavior more! As I rushed towards the child to physically pry the pills from his grasp, it dawned on me that I had been yelling at the child in CHINESE! That day, I learned that little El Salvadorian boys do not listen well when you speak to them in Chinese! In fact, later that night in the hotel as I retold my story, several of our translators laughed and explained to me that what I had yelled sounded like the Spanish word for "Noise! Noise!" (Buya Buya --sp?). I found myself all week accidently throwing a stray Chinese word in as I struggled to utlize my very rusty Spanish skills. You would think it wouldn't be that hard to keep them separated--Chinese and Spanish--afterall, they are NOTHING alike...but, my feeble mind has two compartments...a very big English compartment and a very small "everything that is not English" compartment. My brain thinks there are just two languages...English and "not English"!...and that if you don't understand English, then of course, you understand "not English". Shame that isn't the way things really are!!!
Though we cared for almost 100 more people on Tuesday than on Monday, it felt like less. Tuesday evening, we worshipped with the congregation of the Strong Tower church in Santa Elana. (Our sister church in Santa Elana is Gethsemane, but the pastor of that church had introduced our church to Strong Tower, and this would be the first time one of our medical teams ministered at Strong Tower, as well.)
Deciding whether or not to go on this trip had been difficult for me. I WANTED to go, but I had struggled with the decision because I agonized over whether God was LEADING me to go, or whether it was just that I wanted to go. I didn't want to go if it was not God directing my footsteps. Confirmation that God was leading me to El Salvador came when I learned that I was the only nurse on the team and they were desperate for a nurse to oversee the pharmacy. I used to hear God a lot more effortlessly...but like the ocean has it ebb and flow, so my walk with God has had its seasons. The last four years have been a season of placing one foot in front of the other as I have walked through a very long, barren desert. This trip has made me SEEK God's face...first as I struggled with whether He wanted me to go or not, and later, as I faced the enormity of the spiritual responsibility. It wasn't a week vacation in Central America...it was an opportunity to touch people's lives for eternity. Maybe I couldn't speak the language, but the expression on my face and the timbre of my voice and a million seemingly insignificant choices along the way could be the difference between being a vessel God would pour Himself through versus becoming a stone of stumbling to another person. God and I had a sweet time of fellowship in the pre-dawn hours before I left on my journey...but, by Monday evening, I had gone from feeling elated and in tune with God, to being wiped out, disappointed, discouraged, and alone. I didn't feel a connection with anyone in our group yet, even though they had all been very friendly...still they were strangers...and I didn't even feel the connection with God, anymore...how could He ever use me like that? ....It was on the plane en route to El Salvador that I had first realized I needed a dress. We would be participating in worship services twice in the week to come. Having packed lightly, I only had scubs. Sunday afternoon, on the plane, I had prayed, "God, please provide me with a dress before Tuesday evening." Seems like an insignificant prayer...yet, after wandering self-sufficiently through a desert these last four years, for me that prayer had intense significance. I was asking Him to SHOW HIMSELF to me, to provide for me in such a concrete, tangible, narrow manner. Not just "provide for me in general"...and then acknowledge the blessings in my life back to Him...blessings that may have been in my life whether I had been His child or not...like the rain and the sun. No, this was giving him a specific need with a specific expected answer. Long ago I learned to leave the door open for however God might answer...realizing that He knows better than I and that no matter how much I want the answer to be "yes", it might very well be better for Him to answer "no". I don't believe in "chicken-winging" God...God is under no obligation to answer our prayers in the manner we dictate to Him. He is not a genie in a bottle. He is Lord. But, on the plane, I realized I NEEDED that dress. To not wear a dress might seem disrespectful to the El Salvadorians in the church. I didn't want to bring reproach upon God's name and His work there through our medical clinic. So, I asked Him for a dress, expecting He would provide. Monday evening, Herb told me that maybe Jimmy (the son of the pastor of Gethsemane) could drive me to the market to get a dress the next day. But, the next day, Jimmie ended up being sent on other errands instead and it looked to me like there wouldn't be a way to the market. But, then, Tuesday afternoon, our mission coordinator, Larry, drove myself and another girl (one of my room-mates, Michelle) to "Wal-Mart" (Don Juan's Dispensaria) there in Santa Elena. There was NOTHING there. There was only one small (partial) aisle of clothing and absolutely nothing anywhere my size...most of it was just T-shirts. Then, Larry, found a lone skirt marked size 10. It was a very pretty, simple, beige skirt. Obviously it wouldn't fit me, but Michelle thought she might be able to make due with it, even though she normally wears size 3. God had timed our arrival to Don Juan's Dispensaria perfectly, though, and placed an eager young sales lady right there on the clothing aisle doing some stocking. Initally, Michelle and I had tried to communicate to her what we needed, but I was brain-dead by then and Michelle didn't know Spanish, nor did Larry...so, we hadn't accomplished much...until Larry found the skirt. Then Michelle and I were able to take the skirt back to her and ask her "Como dice?"...and we were soon armed with the Spanish word for "skirt"! I explained, (with much pantomiming) "por mi...muy grande...diez y seis!" The sales girl smiled brightly and rattled off a lot, but all we understood was that among other things, she seemed to be saying for us to wait there for 15 minutes. And away she dashed. About ten fidgety minutes later, I was thinking, "I hope she is comning back...we can't be spending this long away from the clinic!" Meanwhile, Michelle had tried the skirt on over her jeans and to my dismay, we discovered that a "10" in El Salvador is basically what would be labeled a "3-4" in the United States. I was kicking myself for having told her "16" and thinking, "Man...I should have told her 23!" A few minutes after I had begun stewing over the size difference between the two countries the young sales woman arrived back to the store racing back towards us (from a nearby warehouse?) with an entire armload of charcoal colored skirts (uniforms?). She handed me a 16, and there was no way on earth that was ever going to make it over MY hips. Then, to my joy, she handed over a 19-20. It was the largest she had brought. I wasn't sure if IT was going to be big enough either, but I figured I had a least a fighting chance with it! I asked about blouses to go with it. Nothing. Oh well, I figured I would pair it with a brown polo shirt out of my suitcase...tacky, but more respectful than scrubs! That night, after we got back from clinic, I opened my suitcase and discovered I had a dressy black top that I had forgotten I had packed...even better, it came down far enough in the front to cover the fact that my new polyester skirt wrapped like a second skin around my hips and belly bulge. There could not have been a more perfect top to wear with the skirt. And I hadn't even realized I had packed it! God is so good!
I was in the process of tying the shoestrings to my brown and lime green tennis shoes when Paula popped into our room (her daughter was assigned to my room) and she had a fit (in her delightful, never understated Cuban way) that I was wearing TENNIS SHOES with a skirt. I explained that my choices were those tennis shoes or go bare-footed! She replied that she had brought eight pairs of shoes and she would be delighted to loan both Michelle and I pairs of sandals! God provided. I had asked Him for clothing appropriate to attend worship service in and He provided. Seems like such an insignificant thing, maybe...but to my heart, that small act of His presence was like one more mile marker out of my own desert.
We had such a blessed time worshipping together at Strong Tower Church that evening. It was there that I "met" Jackie for the first time. (Actually, as my pictures showed me yesterday, I had actually met her on Monday morning and she had been around on Tuesday morning, as well, but my brain was in overload with new faces and new people, so my brain didn't meet her until Tuesday evening! Some of the worship songs had been so beautiful that I was hoping I could get a CD of them. Jackie, bless her heart, made a DVD for me the next night with all kinds of Christian music in Spanish. She gave me so many songs to choose from that it is a bit overwhelming (in a really wonderful way!) today as I sort through them and try to decide which tracks to use in the background of the slide show I am making of my El Salvador photos.
The following morning, Wednesday, we set up clinic in the Strong Tower Church. We got off to a rough start...we Farmacia ladies didn't initally have any tables available to unpack all our medications onto. I was in a bit of a panic as our "setting up time" came and went and our tables still hadn't arrived. It is hard to explain how MANY different kinds of medications we had and how impossible the task seemed to locate them if they all were left in an unsorted jumble in our numerous suitcases. When you have 50 or 60 prescriptions piled up waiting on you to fill and each of those prescriptions have five or six different medications on them...and there are THRONGS of people patiently waiting hours out in the hot sun just for those few pills...to say the least, not being able to set up the pharmacy had my stomach in spasms. We had just opened up and were winging it when the blessed sight of several long tables and dear Jimmie's faithful bookcase arrived. Setting up WHILE filling the prescriptions is a bit stressful, but we managed. (I like having all my ducks in a row WELL IN ADVANCE...but, that is a luxery you can't always count on!) Then, to add to our stress, the leadership at our new location had planned out how the clinic would be run and had some firm ideas that ran completely contrary to what we had been doing the previous two days structure wise (which had been working well for us)...so our flexibility was challenged even more as we acquieced to our host's ideas. That was HARD. The way our clinic was to be structured that day just seemed way more complicated than it had been the previous two days and this was the day we were expecting twice as many people! In the previous two days, we had simply given each person a sheet of paper when they first arrived to the clinic (after listening to the gospel presentation) and they carried that one sheet with them all through the day, each of the clinics (eye, dental, medical, physical therapy) writing their orders for that patient on that one single sheet that the the "nurses" (several of our physical therapy students) had written their vital signs out on upon their initial entry into the clinic. Their LAST stop of the day was always Farmacia. Which made sense, since the dentist would write antibiotic orders and pain med. orders depending on what dental work was done, the physical therapists would write medication orders based on problems with the patient's back and joints, the doctor (of course) would write medication orders. If they needed glasses, the doctor would also write that on their paper and they would head over to the optometry corner before their final stop at Farmacia to get all their medications filled and to get their paper collected (so we could keep stats and so that the hosting church would have future contact information). One paper per person. Fast. Efficient. Organized. That way, we could catch it in Farmacia if Physical Therapy and the Doctor or Dentist wrote overlapping medication orders--ordered two different drugs that were of the same category and shouldn't BOTH be taken together. All on one paper...easy to spot. But, Wednesday, our gameplan was changed. Each person would have to choose only ONE specialty to see. If they needed to see more than one specialty, they had to finish out the first paper, hand it in to Farmacia, and then go back to the beginning of the line and start the entire process all over again with a new paper (I think they even had to listen to the sermon again and get their vital signs taken over anew?). One paper for each specialty. One person, conceivably, could wind up handing over four different papers to Farmacia spread over the course of the day. Thinking about it just made me want to tear my hair out in frustration. But, we were the guests...and the hosting church's leadership really thought this way made more sense. So, this is what we did on Wednesday. The rest of the week, we went back to the system that worked most smoothly for us. Flexibility...and graceful acceptance of mid-stream changes...not my strong suits! God was giving me practice, though!It was a stretching experience, but we all made it though the day gracefully...and we were able to care for 427 people that day. Being on the medical end of things, up until then (and having to swim like crazy just to keep our heads above water), we had not up to that afternoon had the opportunity to hear much about what was going on on the spiritual end.
We knew that every person that came to the clinic was having the gospel shared with them by a team member from one of the several local churches we were partnering with, but we hadn't heard specific accounts...until Wednesday evening as we waited on the bus to go back to the hotel. The son of Strong Tower's pastor told us that 75% of the people who had come to clinic that day were not Christians. There had been a number of people who had decided to place their faith in Christ. And there was evidence of seeds taking root. There is a woman who has lived next door to Strong Tower Church for seven years. All those years the pastor's family had tried to share the gospel with her but she would never let them even begin. They had repeatedly invited her to come to church, but she was adamant that she would not step foot in the church building, ever. This day, though, the draw of being able to see a real doctor and receive medication had over-ridden her resolve to never enter that building. She had come. And she had listened as the pastor presented the gospel. And, later that day, she had told the pastor's wife, "I want to come to this church! Can I start coming?" She was welcomed with open arms! Another man came to clinic that day...an alcoholic, who had done great harm to the mission church that Gethsemane Church had begun in an outlying area the summer before, when he had begun shooting his gun, interupting the church service in a drunken rampage...he came to Strong Tower on Wednesday to see the doctors, and left a newborn Christian.Hearing those stories blessed my heart...but what blessed my heart even more were the stories I saw being lived out in front of me. The orphanage that our church has been helping recently, is run by an El Salvadorian agency named "Remar"...it translates, "People on the Edge" and the focus of their outreach is to the street people, gang members, alcoholics, and crack addicts in El Salvador. They have the orphanage we have been blessed to minister to recently, as well as several group homes for recovering adult addicts and people trying to break free from the gangs and homes for adolescents who need help. Remar provided two busses for us the entire week we were in El Salvador free of charge. They not only provided busses, but drivers for each bus, as well. The bus I always climbed on was Nelson's. I had chosen it because the crack in it's windshield wasn't situated where it would complicate the photos I was trying to take along the way. I always sat in the front seat, right behind the driver. As I got to know Nelson, the testimony of his life touched my heart more deeply than anything else I heard or saw that entire journey. There are two people I have met now in my life whose biography I would love to write...my dear friend, FenHua from China and now Nelson from El Salvador. I NEEDED to hear how God had restored his life. Sometimes, God places flesh and bone people in your path whose very life screams the unrefutable reality of God...God who loves us...who loves the most wretched with an overwhelming love...a love that takes what is broken and makes it beautiful, strong, vibrant...alive. I am so honored that God allowed me to come to know Nelson and be numbered among his friends. His impact on other souls living on the edge has been profound. He has such a heart for forgotten people. The story of how a brother had loved him into the family of God gripped my heart...but even more gripping was to see how Nelson had continued the ministry that had been extended to him four years earlier. Once, as we were driving through the streets of San Salvador, he suddenly stopped the bus in the middle of the road and threw the doors open, having spotted a homeless man that he had been trying to help. There he was, in the middle of the road, calling out to that man and encouraging him to go to his own home that night (a home he would not be returning to himself, until after his week with us was completed). Of the twelve men that Nelson hung with and slept next to on the street four years earlier, he alone, is the only one still living. One by one they have each met violent deaths. He had begged and pleaded with his last remaining friend from his own homeless days to please just come to church with him. Finally, six months ago, the man had agreed to come. He had told Nelson, "Pick me up at the corner of the park next weekend and I will go to your church with you." The night before he was to meet Nelson, he was shot down--sixty rounds.
Thursday, we left Santa Elana and headed for the capital, San Salvador. We traveled out of the city into one of the rural outlying areas. We set up clinic in the local school. When we arrived all the school children were there waiting along with the entire village, I think! 
There were also many policemen and a number of military soldiers stationed around to protect ourselves and the medications from the gang that heavily controls that area.
The soldiers had the longest automatic weapons I have ever seen in my life. We cared for 350 people that day. We had been expected far fewer. It was surprising to get such a heavy turn-out so far from the city. We were so thankful that our friends from Strong Tower, Gesamanie, First Baptist Church of Mexicanos, and First Baptist Church of Santa Elana were there to assist us. Yosanda and her three young boys were a huge help in our Farmacia! The boys would take turns standing beside me as I read the Spanish directions for the medication to various people...I would read it, then they would turn around and say the very same thing I had already said, but a light of "Aha!" understanding would pop into the eyes of the person I was instructing. I think my Spanish sounds pretty good, but my Cuban born co-laborer, Paula, got no end of amusement out of mimicking my Spanish...particularly the word, "Mastica" (CHEW!)...as in "chew this wormer pill right now so that you can get rid of that tape worm!"...the large, stinky tablet needed to be CHEWED, not swallowed. I kept getting mixed up and instructing folks, "Masticula...Masticula." Paula finally cured me of that by looking over the tops of her glasses and telling me, "What are you, Dracula?" So, from that point forward, I remembered not to put the "ula" on the end, but I still kept getting mixed up on which syllable to stress. I wanted to MAStica, when I was suppose to masTIca!
My nurse-ness went through major transitions. I started out at the beginning of the week, unwilling to TOUCH the wormer pills (or any other pills) with my bare (though thoroughly sanitized) hands. I would carefully shake one pill out of the full can, into the lid, then ask the child to hold out their hand while I shook the lone pill out of lid into their hand. So proper and clean. By the third day, I was grabbing the tablets out of the container with my bare hand and dropping them into the child's hand. By the fifth day, I was grabbing them out of the container with my bare hand and popping them directly into the child's mouth. There just wasn't time enough in the day to worry about what was the proper way...expediency took priority.
Friday we set up clinic in La Libertad at La Ciudad de Los Ninos, the orphanage. We were anticipating the smallest crowd of the week...instead, we treated 477 people! (That was the day I decided they wouldn't revoke my nursing liscense for putting the pills straight into the children's mouths with my bare fingers!) After we closed up clinic that day, we got to spend a bit of time hanging out with the kids! I had been looking forward all week to going to the orphanage. I was surprised at how well cared for and nicely sheltered the kids are. I was braced for some very depressing circumstances, but what I found was a large, loving family. The older kids watched out for the little ones...lugging them around on their hips and squeezing and kissing on them! All the children were so well mannered...and so excited to have us there! Some of the mid-aged kids (around 8-10 years old) had a blast taking photos of me with their friends using my camera. They handled the camera very carefully and did a great job taking photos!
Saturday evening, we returned to the orphanage to attend their worship service. Wow! Those children WORSHIP. The service reminded me lot of a Phillipino church service that Grant and I had attended once when we were in Hong Kong. There were a group of maybe ten girls Darcy's age who had matching T-shirts and ribbon ladened tambourines. While one of the boys from the orphanage played guitar and led the singing, another played the drums, and the girls had a syncronized dance for each and every worship song. Meanwhile, the other children (all sitting together filling the left side of the sanctuary) danced along in place, joyfully raising their voices in praise. It was extremely hot and there was little ventilation in the sanctuary, but that did not dim their enthusiasm. The right front side of the church was filled with townspeople and the right rear side was our group. I'm afraid we were a bit stiffer than anyone else...but, it might well have been that we were having trouble singing, much less bouncing, in the humid heat. I didn't have a watch, but I think the singing portion of the worship service probably lasted about an hour...those kids never slowing a bit. We had given a toy to each child the morning before as they had come through the pharmacy to get wormed. Among the toys had been some plastic flutes. Now, in the worship service, I saw a small boy on the back row joyfully tooting his flute with the music...it brought a lump to my throat to see him using that 83 cent plastic flute to worship the Lord. I wished I had brought more than the 15 that had seemed to take up so much space in my suitcase at the beginning of the trip.
There was a young girl on the end of one row who was so caught up in singing praises, that she was in her own world alone...just her and God. It was something I am not accustomed to seeing in a young child...but it was unmistakeable in her. When the last of the fast praise songs had ended and more gentler, contemplative songs began, her tranquil face was lifted upwards, her eyes closed, her body swaying almost imperceptibly. In their worship Saturday night, in their responses and attitudes Friday morning...over and over again, I saw the children of that orphanage joyously wearing their faith. Just as we were boarding the bus that night to leave the orphanage for the last time, a 15 year old girl ran up to me and buried her face in my shoulder as she embraced me and quietly said in perfect English, "I love you." Those three words sum up El Salvador for me...I love you. I love the brothers and sisters God allowed me to work alongside for that one short week...and though I missed my husband and children terribly, still there was a sorrow in my heart as we boarded the plane to come back home...not a sorrow for people who have so little, but a sorrow at parting company with people who have so much. Sorrow at leaving leaving behind my brothers and sisters.
