Love is in the Little Things

The hot afternoon sun beats down on me.  I can feel sweat building up on the nape of my neck, and I wish I had thought to pull my hair into a ponytail before we embarked on our journey.  But now my hands are occupied and I am cherishing the feel of the girls’ hands clinging to mine too much to let them go.  So instead, I endure the heat and the sweat and the sun as I lead my students home after school.

It’s a long walk to Synthia’s house.  As we go, I can feel dirt getting kicked up off the ground and clinging to my legs.  I can feel tiny stones slipping into the cracks in my shoes.  Again, I endure – too content in what I’m doing to stop and dust off my legs or shake out my shoes.

We pass by cows grazing on the almost non-existent grass beside the dirt path.  We sidestep dozens of mango pits that dozens of school children have discarded on their way home from dozens of different schools.  We greet the road-side merchants who are selling everything from charcoal and rice to toothpaste and baby clothes.

This is a typical afternoon walk in Balan, Haiti – the small poverty-stricken area in which I work.

Finally, after twenty minutes, we turn down an even smaller, dustier dirt road and find our way to Synthia’s house – a small one-room building made of cheap cement.  I stop at the entrance to her yard to say goodbye.  Synthia’s brother hurries into the house without a second glance, but Synthia hangs back.  Soon, her face is buried in my skirt in an awkward waist-high hug.  Kneeling down to her level, I kiss her cheek and let her wrap her arms around my neck in a tight embrace.  I stay like that – crouched in the dust with Synthia in my arms – for a few minutes.  Finally, I convince her to let go.  I wish her a good afternoon, let her kiss me on the cheek one last time, then return to the road with Millie.

Our journey continues.

At first, Millie and I walk hand in hand, but soon, her gentle voice rises to my ears.  “Madame Erin,” she says quietly.  “Mwen vle ou pote m.”  I want you to carry me.

I open my mouth to say "no, not this time," but then I remember that a mile is a long walk for little legs.  Smiling to myself and thinking about all the ridiculous things I do for my students, I stoop in front of her and scoop her into my arms.

As I carry Millie home, a gentle breeze kisses the air.  I cherish the feel of the wind on my face, a child on my hip, and a smile on my face.  It’s a good combination.

When we reach Millie’s house, my arms are tired and my back aches, but my heart is full. 

Sometimes, my head tries to tell me that holding Synthia’s hand when we walk home, greeting the merchants when we pass, and carrying Millie when she’s tired are little, insignificant things.   But as I trace my steps back to school after dropping the girls off at their houses, God reminds me that these little, seemingly-insignificant things are the ways I show them love.

Because love is in the little things.

Love is in the daily things.

Love is in the dusty things, the hot things, and the ridiculous things.

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Let all that you do be done in love. – 1 Corinthians 16:14