by Minna Chen
Victor, Mario, David, Jhoanna, Jheison, Oscar, Beto, Denis, Josue, Cristian, Junior, Fernando, Mailene, Annelise, Fabiola. These fifteen children live in a three-bedroom orphanage surrounded by oxen-plowed lettuce and flower fields in the rural mountain village of Combuyo, Bolivia. I met them as a volunteer with Hospitals of Hope and had the privilege of visiting them to help provide free checkups, tutoring, and most importantly, entertainment.
Initially, the children were excited, but timid about an American, Asian stranger. On my first visit, they did not dare to speak or move when I cradled them on my lap for a checkup. Such shyness quickly crumbled over the next few weeks, though. It started with a few brave steps forward to strum my guitar, followed by exuberant chases around the pato, pato, gonzo circle, and ended in ecstatic jumps and hugs whenever and wherever I saw them. Even when I struggled to sit them down for homework or had to discipline them for fighting, I loved every moment with them.
Whenever we parted, however, I struggled with the nagging truth that still lived in the same, impoverished condition. What difference had I made? My belief that these fifteen children were more than just faces to be pitied made me return each time, even when it seemed futile. It did not matter if I could not remove them from poverty because I was not serving them to gain praise or to be some noble martyr. I was in it for them and I valued justice, compassion, and protection of the innocent too much to refuse to do anything because I could not do everything. I was not a doctor, but I could calm them during checkups, or provide medication and hygiene kits. In my broken Spanish, I could still teach them the value of an education by helping them with their phonics and math homework.
Together, these small actions made a much greater impact: through my faithfulness and availability, I showed these orphans that someone still cared about and remembered them. I know I helped them realize their precious worth by their spontaneous visits to the hospital just to see me on their way home from school. I know from how they boasted about their school accomplishments to me and eagerly whispered secrets in my ear. I know from the friendship and love that these children showed me and for which I am all the more blessed.
In February, I abandoned my comfortable existence as a fourth year medical student in North Carolina, and traveled to Bolivia, South America for a short term mission trip.
