1994

The year was 1994. I was 11 years old and in the 5th grade living in Kenya as a missionary kid with my family. I woke up that warm morning in May with a sense of nervousness tinged with excitement. At first glance this day seemed just like any other day. But it wasn’t. 

Today was field trip day. 

Field trip day is an exciting day for every kid but this wasn’t an ordinary field trip. We were headed to an AIDS orphanage. My young mind swirled with lots of big emotions as I prepared for the day. 

I knew it was going to be a big day but little did I know that this field trip would forever alter the course of my life. 

I remember sitting in my 5th grade classroom and creating name tags for our trip. My best friend Rachel and I created fish shaped name tags with string that hung around our necks. She was my partner for the trip and we would be paired up with two children that we would be spending the day with. Having spent 4 years in Africa I knew what AIDS was. It was just something you learned. So, here I was, 11 years old and headed to an orphanage full of children that had been abandoned due to the AIDS epidemic.

I walked into the orphanage that day with two brown paper bags. One was my lunch and the other bag contained my brother’s hot wheel cars that I’d smuggled out of the house that morning. For some reason I was convinced I would need them.

My friend and I were given two children to care for, a little 1 year old girl who stayed in the crib most of the day and a 7 year old boy. I remember that little boy walking into the room, blue hoody, a snotty nose, and a solemn look on his face. He was my friend to care for that day. We spent the morning doing skits for the kids, singing songs and playing games. My contraband Hot Wheels did come in handy as my new little friend and I raced them around his orphanage.

He was my focus. He had all of my attention.

At lunchtime my classmates and I sat outside and ate lunch with our new little friends. I had an extra sandwich and a juice box that I shared with him. However, he was pretty sick and couldn’t eat much. 

After lunch we went back inside. We sat at a table and I gave him a comb and mirror pocket set that had the words “Jesus loves you” printed on the case. I asked him if he knew that Jesus loved him. He nodded yes and then I prayed with him. 

As we prepared to leave the orphanage one of the staff members informed us that this little boy that I had spent my day with had been diagnosed with double pneumonia. His body was weak and would likely not be able to recover. I climbed into the vehicle with my dad and my heart was overwhelmed with sadness. I knew that most likely my eyes would never again see that little boy. 

Several weeks later our family was in California for a year of iteration (raising our missionary budget). I called my friend Rachel in Kenya and after a few moments she told me that the little boy from the orphanage had succumbed to his illness and passed away. 

My heart broke into a thousand pieces. 

I hung up the phone and walked into the hallway where I saw my dad. I buried my head in his chest and wept. My 11 year old mind could not comprehend this grief, this injustice, this unfairness. My heart could not fathom the depth of this loss. It wasn’t fair. 

Why?

He was 7 years old. He didn’t deserve this. He deserved life. He should have had a life full of laughter and hope not sickness and death. My dad held me in that hallway and I looked up at him and stated with unsure certainty, “I’ll see him in heaven one day.” My dad softly reassured me that I would. Then, like a light bulb flipping on, an image formed in my mind of a strong healthy man who I would see again. I don’t know if my theology is right. I don’t know if he will be a 7 year old healthy boy, or a grown healthy man, but I fully believe that I will see him in heaven.

My heart still aches for him from time to time. His picture sits in my bedroom and I see it daily. I’m reminded every day that every child is worth loving.

Every single child deserves to be loved.

A fifth grade field trip to an orphanage led me to a tiny, frail, 7 year old boy who forever changed the course of my life. I was 11. I gave everything I could to him in those few moments. There wasn’t much I could do but love him that day.

That little boy is gone and no longer needs my help, but there are so many other vulnerable children that I can help. I can’t help them all, but I can do something.

I have the ability to alter the course of a child’s life. That is an amazing opportunity!

So that’s what I do. I give in hopes that vulnerable children are given a full life.

That little boy not only changed my life that day, but maybe just maybe, that little boy changes yours too. Go. Go make the difference in a vulnerable child’s life.

His name was Sammy.

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