"Behold, Your Little Ones"

I've been putting off writing this post for several months now.  I'm not really sure why except that in some ways it is a painful subject for me to write about.  It's about children. It seems like the older I get the harder it has become for me to witness any kind of suffering in children. Even if it is nothing more than a child crying in a grocery store who I know is going to be just fine, I find myself with an almost uncontrollable desire to pick the child up and hold him or her.  The good news is that for the most part, the children I have encountered here are not experiencing the kind of suffering that one would see in places like Africa or India where often the children are no longer strong enough to even cry or whine due to the level of deprivation they experience there.

So far I have found here that it seems that even the families I have seen in the favelas (slums) are trying so hard to care for their children. They love their little ones and desire to make the best life possible for them. I've been touched to see that even in relatively poor neighborhoods the moms still want to dress their little girls in ribbons and bows and cute clothing.

 I've seen young fathers carrying their little ones on their shoulders as they make their way home through the crowded narrow streets of a favela to some small cinder-block dwelling they call home. They are like parents everywhere who seek to make a good home for their children.

I am happy to see mothers working hard to get their little ones to school each morning knowing that so many hopes for a better life are riding on them getting an education. 

I know not all children here are fortunate enough to have loving parents because many years ago David and I were here on a business trip and we visited a very sad orphanage and spoke with the nun who established it here in Salvador named Sister Dulce who was like the Brazilian equivalent to Mother Teresa.  She has since passed away, but she is well-remembered here and her work continues to go on.

The only real interaction I have had so far with children here (outside of the ones at Church) began not long after we arrived here.  It all started at McDonalds.

I think I told you that sometimes we go to good ole Mickey D's with the office elders for lunch because it is right across the street from the Mission office.  And it really is better here than in the United States, I promise. The first time we went there for lunch I noticed three little boys outside looking in.  I succumbed to the impulse I had to go out and invite them in. They were very hesitant at first. Partly because McDonalds has a security guard that does a good job of keeping people from loitering around the place. When I acted like the children were with me, he let them come in.  They were also very shy about ordering any food.  I offered them a Happy Meal (McLanche Feliz) but they didn't seem interested in that or in the McFlurry.  The only thing they got was a "Cheddar" (a cheeseburger) and some orange juice.


João, the one on the left has a wide smile and dark almond shaped eyes that easily won my heart. One time while he was in front of me in line I realized that he was about the same height as my grandson, Asher. Only instead of looking down at Asher’s straight Ash blonde head I was looking at a little dark head with a bristle brush of black curly hair.  I had to fight a strong urge to put my hand on the top of his dark curly head.

One time they saw us there after we had already had a few previous visits with them where we had invited them to join us for lunch, and they brought a couple of their cousins in with them and humbly asked if they could also join in. As I stood in line with all of them I felt a little like Wendy with the Lost Boys. Where did they come from and why weren't they in school in the middle of the day I wondered?  And then I found out.

We were driving on the crazy road by the office trying to navigate our way through the wild traffic and motorcyclists who buzz in and out of the slow-moving vehicles like mosquitoes wanting to get swatted, when I saw a young boy on foot weaving through the traffic right in the middle of the congested street. What is that boy doing I wondered?  This is so dangerous!  This is no place for a little boy to be playing!  And then I saw it was João.  He was selling water to the people stuck in traffic. When he recognized us he was so excited. He came running toward the car hauling the bottles of water he was selling. He held out a bottle to me. I quickly rolled down the window as the traffic started moving again and handed him two reis for the water. But he wanted to give it to me free, but I refused, not wanting the price of our complimentary water to come out of his hard-earned commission. So that was it.  He and his brothers and cousins work on the street that runs in front of McDonalds selling stuff to those of us drivers marooned by the traffic. I don’t know why they are not in school. I don't think they are in abject poverty because they are clothed and clean. But I can't help but wonder what kind of future do they have. And don’t get me wrong. I know that buying an occasional lunch for them isn't that big of a deal. I don't imagine that we are are doing them any great favor. And some may say that these kids are just really good at playing us for a free meal. But I remember the words of a wise friend, Char Hawkins who once said, "Can you ever go wrong feeding hungry children?" And the truth is that I do it more for me than for them. Somehow it makes me feel a little less helpless. A little less impotent in my ability to do something for the children I see all around me.

This morning when we were at McDonalds, I didn’t see them. I told David I wondered where they were. We were about to leave when I looked up and there outside the window was João with his high-wattage grin.  By the time I stood up to go and invite him and his older brother and cousin in, he had already run in and he threw his arms around me and hugged me tightly. He asked me why I had not been there with President Lisonbee and the elders the last time they came in a couple of weeks ago when I had stayed home that day to work from home.  He said he had missed me. I marveled at how this was another of the many proofs I have had since being here at how unnecessary language is in order for people to know you care about them, because most of the time I can't really understand much of what these boys are saying to me nor can they understand me.

This time João's brother actually ordered an ice cream

One time the elders tried to give him a pass along card to give to his mom and invite them to Church.  He said that his mother didn’t let them visit other churches.  I couldn’t help but hope that this was a good thing because it meant that they at least had the support group of a church and that they did indeed have a mother.

This may sound silly, but I am hoping that by the time we leave here I can write a note to João asking him one day when he is old enough, after we leave, to do something for me. I will write down the name of our church and I will ask him to look it up.  I will tell him that for three years we have loved sharing our food with him, but the reason we are here, the reason we have left all our life behind to come here is because we want to share something with him that is much greater than what we have shared with him by buying him lunch. We want to share a kind of nourishment that will cause him to never hunger or thirst again. I want to tell him that. I want him to know that the small amount of kindness he felt from us is but a fraction of the love that His Father in Heaven and the Savior have for him. I want him to have the support group of a ward who will inspire and help him to get an education and better himself and even serve a mission one day to share this message with others. I want him to remember, long after we are no longer here to invite him to come into McDonalds bypassing the security guard to join us for a "Cheddar" meal, not just that some strangers were kind to him,  but I want him to know why. I hope he will remember fondly what he felt from his very limited contact with these people dressed in white shirts and name tags who would buy him and his brothers and cousins an occasional lunch and invite them to sit with them. 

One thing is for certain.  Long after I return home I will continue to see the image of João weaving his way through the traffic, his smiling dark eyes lit up with excitement, coming toward our car and enthusiastically offering us something that he had to give – a bottle of water. Sometimes I feel badly that we didn't let him give it to us for free.  It was his offering.  His way to say, "obrigado."  Thank you.

When we were at the Mission President's Seminar at the Provo MTC back in June we had the opportunity to have dinner at the table where Sister Rosemary Wixom, the General Primary President was sitting. She is an amazing woman with a profound concern for not only the children of the Church, but of the world.  As we were parting ways, I told her that I felt like we were all there for the same reason - for the sake of the children. "It's all about the children, isn't it?" I said to her.  And she smiled and said, "Yes it is."  Isn't that what it really is all about?  We talk of Christ, we preach of Christ and we prophecy of Christ and we rejoice in Christ that our children might know to what source they may look for a remission of their sins. (2Nephi 25:26) That they might know to what source they may look for everything important in life. I know that preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ is the only real way to make this world a better place for all children.  It is the only lasting answer to changing our world into the kind of place every child deserves to be.

Until next time.  Até logo.