I woke up Wednesday with my first full night of sleep since we arrived. My body overly exhausted from the events of yesterday granted me sweet dreamless sleep. I woke up to my alarm and laid there waiting, thinking. Today was the last day we had at the Hope School. The last chance with these kids to leave an impact. The last day for me to redeem myself for the day before. Today would be the first of our “lasts” for this trip. After today we would move on to other things and other tasks, but we still had one more day for this. I was cautious thinking about today and what it would be like. Not wanting to be sucked back into the wormhole of negativity and anxiety but also not wanting to be overly expectant and optimistic. I vowed that today would be different, that today I would be different.

 Different could be a lot of things and in that vagueness, I’d hold on to a vague definition in the chance for a day better than yesterday. I wouldn’t come back defeated as I had from those staplers. I would go into today looking for the bigger picture. What that picture was, I had no clue but I had the determination to find it rather than finding myself back on the bathroom floor. With that resolve, I took a deep breath, got up out of my comfortable, safe bed, and started the day.

As I took my spot on the beach I was nervous to sit down and pray. I was nervous about the potential shame and disappointment I’d feel as I opened my Bible and did my quiet time. I was ready to feel an overwhelming sense of pity and disappointment emanating from my devotional and my talk with God. I knew how disappointed I was in myself so to imagine what God must be feeling I didn’t think I could bear to know. After reading for a few minutes I couldn’t focus on the words that seemed to blur across the pages. I put my Bible aside and just sat. Listening to and watching the waves crash in and slink back out to the water. I wasn’t necessarily praying but I was waiting. Breathing. My journal lay next to me abandoned as I decided today I didn’t think God needed to hear my ramblings but maybe I just needed to hear silence and breathe. No words came, no sign of direction, but turning and taking one last look at the water I felt settled. I felt some of the last dredges of panic from the day before fall away as my body finally relaxed.

The rest of the morning progressed as the others did; breakfast, sandwiches, gathering supplies and waiting for our bus. When offers for braids went out I sat down and Erin french braided my hair hoping to protect my scalp from another game of “beauty parlor.” As the bus pulled up everyone grabbed their things and hurried off to load up the big white bus. As we passed through the waking village street vendors were laying out their merchandise for the morning rush. Our group was quieter than normal either from the long days kicking in or because they were anxious to get back to the Hope School for this last day. As we reached the woman with the bread stand she once again lugged her display cart to the side tattered umbrella swinging threateningly side to side. Our bus made the tight turn down the road that would bring us back to our purpose for the day. As the bus bumped along kids barely clothed rushed out of houses waving us down. 

The bus pulled up and parked but there was something different, something off. There was a sea of kids outside waiting for us to get off the bus. As the team got off and unloaded the supplies I noticed that the gate to the school was closed. Every time we had pulled up before the gate was flung open in anticipation of our arrival but today it was firmly shut in place with Pastor Daniel standing in front of it talking with Gil. Little ones in tow we walked up to the compound and found out why there were so many kids standing outside. A decision was made to cut off the number of kids allowed in. Rather than come one come all they closed the gates after the first 150 kids arrived. They said it would be more “manageable,” but I felt my stomach drop. Managing our comfort over the needs of these kids just felt wrong. 

How could we walk by these kids begging to be let in knowing that they would not only miss out on Erin’s teaching but also what may be the only meal they would get that day? Erin was teaching on the final concept of the week- love. Love for God, love for people and also love for ourselves. How do we demonstrate this love by shutting the doors? How would they not see us as hypocritical Americans? Determined to keep my promise that today that I would be different, that today I would follow what unfolded verses assert my own plans and expectations I looked down and avoiding eye contact walked through the gates with the rest of my team.

The gate closed behind Mark who was the last one through. With the sound of the gate closing and the lock being pulled in place I went in the opposite direction and started looking for my little shadow, Alisha. She was usually the first one in my arms when we got to the compound, and when I had walked around the courtyard twice realization finally struck me- she wasn’t there. She was on the other side of that rusty red door. She hadn’t gotten there in time before the cut off was made. My heart sank. My eyes watered. With empty arms and a heavy heart, I felt two little boys come up and try to scale my legs into my arms. I picked up the smallest and grabbed the hand of the other leading them over to where my team was unpacking the bags of sandwiches. 

After the usual songs and chants of “Peanut Butter Jelly” as the sandwiches got passed out we had plenty of leftover sandwiches still in the bags since we had prepared for so many extra little ones. Brent, Caillie, Christian, and I grabbed the hiking backpacks full of sandwiches and reopened the red door separating us from them. Taking the extra sandwiches we gave them out to everyone we could find: men, women, and children along the road. Not even stopping for just those that walked by we went up to houses, stopped tap taps, and even went down alleys giving sandwiches to everyone that would take them. We walked halfway back up that dirt alley to the main road before we ran out of sandwiches. One of the last sandwiches we passed out got handed to an elderly woman sitting on the side of the road. With tears in her eyes she looked at us exclaiming “Merci” and I realized today, because we had extra, because we had closed the gates this woman got to eat. That with the extra sandwiches we were able to reach out and bless more lives that we hadn’t reached yet. I wasn’t ready to admit that Pastor Daniel and Caranar might have made the right decision, but I could genuinely smile walking back thinking of the look of joy on that woman’s face.

When we got back to the school the kids were dividing into groups and our teammates were manning their stations. Putting the sandwich bag in the school closet they used as a library I then went to Gammy’s and my room and found a much smaller group of kids waiting for me. We actually had enough chairs for everyone so no one had to be sprawled on the ground or fight over a seat. We had two different things that we were going to be doing with them today. The older kids we had necklaces prepped and ready to go for them to put together. For the younger kids, we had hearts for them to color that said: “Jezi renmen ou” (Jesus loves you). With the first group of kids that we had we passed out hearts and crayons and the kids waited until everyone had a craft and then they began coloring away. I saw a group of boys huddled in the back and thought that we were in for some trouble or mischief. When I went to check I realized they were huddled together swapping crayon colors as some kids might swap baseball cards. (If that’s still a thing?)

On about the third rotation I heard a noise coming from outside. Looking at Gammy I saw a classroom that while loud and active was under control so I walked out to find a little girl no more than one crying on the ground. She was the youngest of one of the women (Magdala) cooking in the kitchen. Obviously tired with bloodshot eyes and tears streaming down her face from sheer exhaustion she had parked herself on the curb outside of our classroom. Unable to get comfortable as she tried to find a spot to nap on the cement she laid down and cried. I scooped up her little self and brought her out of the sun and into our classroom. While we didn’t have any air at least she’d have shade. Positioning her on my shoulder I went back to work passing out crafts and telling proud kids that their finished products were “Belle!” (beautiful) and “Bon Travay” (Good Job). Before I knew it we were ready for another rotation and she was out fast asleep as we collected the supplies from the leaving group and prepared for the next group.

I looked down at her and just saw pure vulnerability. Being held by a complete stranger, her body too tired to fight any longer she gave in and found sweet relief. I watched her as she slept completely at ease, her cheek nestled against my collarbone. As an older group of kids came in we passed out supplies for them to make necklaces. One of the oldest that knew more English than the rest pointed to the sleeping little one on my chest and asked if she could have one. I gave him an extra bag and he went to work beading and stringing together something just her size. Holding up the finished product he helped me slide it around her neck before sitting back down and finishing his own. No huge production, no reward, just another kid who saw that they could give something nice to someone else and put their own project aside to make one for someone else before themselves. 

The day continued with no issues from our little room. The little one in my arms continued to sleep through the last rotation and when all the kids were released so I went to find her mom. I found her in the kitchen with the other two women who were plating food for lunch. While we worked they had moved them from behind the school into their brand new kitchen. The kitchen still needed a few things done for the water to come through the sink and the counters needed to be painted but the cabinets and counters were in and the stoves were hooked up. It was officially usable. The woman standing over the gigantic pots of rice looked up and smiling said baby. She walked over and kissed my cheek and patted her little one on the back. She pulled up a chair for me, grabbing me a bottle of ice water, and led me to sit in their newly created kitchen while they talked back and forth to each other in quick Creole occasionally glancing at me and smiling. 

Sitting back I just watched and listened. It was a conversation I had no hope in understanding or following but the way they gestured and laughed with each other it could easily have been a conversation similar to one of the countless ones Erin, Mel, and I had when getting things together for the trip. Just friends working together and enjoying each other’s company and the work. After a while, Brent came around from the soccer field out back with kids circling his legs. Seeing what they were after I watched as he went into the library and pulled out two soccer balls we had brought for today. The guys having finished the kitchen brought out the PVC pipe we had brought and had built two soccer goals for the kids to use in the backfield. 

I sat and watched plate after plate get expertly filled and set aside for when lunch would be served. As each counter was filled with plates a second level was carefully stacked on top. Pastor Daniel stuck his head in and asked them what must have been if they were ready. Turning and seeing me with the sleeping child still in my arms he smiled and laughed. He looked at me and said, “They might crawl into your arms but really they are burying themselves into your heart.” With that, he walked away and on his return had my whole team with him ready to get lunch served to all of these kids. I gently put the little girl down and she curled back up in the chair. I went to go to my team when voices called me back- ““Fouchèt! Fouchèt!” (fork). I turned and saw the women pointing to me and a basket of forks. They were letting me stay in the kitchen and help. 

Knowing what they meant I stood on the other side of the counter and carefully reached for the basket and began the job of putting a fork on each one of the plates that had been prepared. As everyone lined up Christian looked at me and said: “One day you’ll be able to get behind the counter.” I laughed because who knew if I was ever going to get back to this island or this place. With everyone lined up in a “fireline”, the plates started getting passed down to the classroom with the youngest. Being on this side of the building made passing out the food so much easier. We quickly had the first classroom done and effortlessly moved on to the next one. Before we knew it all the kids were fed and we were helping collect the plates of those that were done from the first room. 

As we helped pick up the trash and plates from the finished meals the kids gathered for one last surprise. I was bent over in one of the classrooms the older kids had been in picking up discarded paper plates with McKenzie when Erin found me. “Come with me,” she said, and taking my hand she led me out from my chore of picking up trash and over to where Christian stood with two big duffel bags. “You need this after yesterday,” she said with a knowing look. It took me a second to remember what the last day of VBS meant. We were giving out the superhero capes that Six Flags had donated. We had capes with Superman, Batman, or Wonder Woman and each kid would get a cape to remember the three things that we learned we could be “super” at- faith, hope, and love. 

Kids lined up in a slight mob like formation as they came in front of Christian, Brian, Brent, Erin, and I. We passed out cape after cape and each time the kids looked as if we had given them the world. The keys to the castle rather than a small strip of fabric with velcro to hold it together around their necks. Supermen, Batmen, and Wonder Women were flying around the courtyard capes flapping in the wind. Others posed for pictures as Georgette, Jan, and Sandy helped some of the girls get theirs tied correctly that were too big for them. Others ran to Caillie and Mark looking to get their picture taken. A few scuffles between Superman and Batman lovers took place but as we handed out the last cape to the last kid my heart felt full again watching the simple joy explode at the Hope School. Every child got fed, every kid received a cape, no one was leaving empty handed. 

As I sat taking out my phone to snap some pictures I contemplated the still closed red rusty door. Gates are more than just a physical barrier. The gates at the Hope school may have put up more than a physical obstacle between us and the kids. It put up an emotional wall. While the chaos of the day before was not something we could do again today closing the gates felt as if we were neglecting these kids. Abandoning them for our own comfort of having a smaller ratio of kids, at least that’s what I thought this morning.

Now after a day with these kids where we could actually sit, talk, and interact rather than just pray for crowd control – Pastor Daniel might have had a point. Luckily Pastor Daniel understood the mercy of a closed door. He knew that they had to close the gates because it was the most loving thing to do for the kids we were teaching. By allowing us to have a better handle on our classrooms and having a smaller more manageable amount of kids we were able to reach these children more intentionally. It was loving for us to have quality time versus a larger quantity. Larger numbers aren’t always loving or a show of effectiveness for a ministry. Before we didn’t have the ability to feed all the children physically but with that many kids and not enough volunteers were we able to adequately feed them spiritually as well?

We had provided an atmosphere of love yes but it was also filled with discord and overcrowding. That wasn’t making us as effective as we needed to be. What we needed was an atmosphere not of chaos but of character and of intentional love and fellowship. An atmosphere that would allow for us to leave part of our team behind to feed those we hadn’t yet reached. An environment that would let me leave a classroom and hold an exhausted child to grant her some peace while we continued our work without interruption. I started thinking that maybe walls are not always about keeping others out but to keep the sacred in. 

God does not desire to be absent from His children but rather he knows what is best for us. He knew our limitations on what we could handle. Separation can keep us focused. Separation can protect our testimony sometimes even from ourselves. As we packed our gear and loaded back onto the bus I looked around and saw the good we were able to do today. I saw the euphoric joy that had infected all the kids as the gates separating them from the outside world were flung open and they flooded the streets, capes and all and headed back to their homes with stories of God’s love, full stomachs, and their very own souvenirs. We boarded the bus and I took a spot at the back watching the capes disappear down alleys and into homes and thought that I had found my sign. My sign that it’s okay that I can’t do everything- we aren’t Superman. It’s okay that staplers break and that we can’t take everyone through our doors. It’s okay to at times close the gates, sit back, and find peace in a time of separation. 

If I was being honest wasn’t that what I had longed for on the beach that very morning? A short time with my own gates closed off just me and God searching for direction and answers. Sitting back observing and listening to the amazing stories of my teammates Dago drove our bus through another gate- the gates leading into the Decameron. The white iron gates closed behind us as I watched two armed guards return to their posts on either side of the entrance of the gates as we made our way to lunch. A time to rest, reminisce, refuel and prepare to go back outside the gates and continue the good work once more.