One of the first weeks on my site, I met a little girl and her little siblings. That Saturday, the weather had been unpredictable, and because of severe flooding that happens in that region, we had to change the time of site very last minute. We had to start almost an hour earlier than usual. And although we blitzed the area, she had never gotten the message. So by the time she came to site, we had already finished, and were giving out the bread for the kids. 

I noticed her coming into the court from the corner of my eye as I was trying to get more bread. She just stood quietly. Her little brother behind her, carrying her little sister on her hip, and a bottle in her other hand. They were so quiet that they almost blended into the chaos behind them. I’m pretty sure that’s what she had wanted. To not be noticed. 

I walked over and tried to talk to her. But because of the language barrier, there wasn’t much I could get out of her. Only her name and her age. And from the longing in her eyes, that she had come so that her and her siblings could eat something. They were so little, and as I asked all of their ages I was in complete shock. Looking at her, I had guess her to be around 6 or 7. She was 9. Her brother who looked about 3, was actually 5, and the baby that looked about to be 6 months old just looking at her weight, was actually a year old. Malnutrition I’m sure. 

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Even though they were late for the lesson, which technically meant that we don’t give them the bread, I just motioned for them to wait there. I would give them some bread after all the kids that had been there had gotten theirs. But in a minute, I thought I had lost her. She so easily faded into the background, but after a minute or so of looking, I found that she had just quietly taken her siblings to a corner to sit down. When the distribution of the bread was done, I went to go get whatever was left, but of all days, we had completely run out. We had candy in the van, but that really wasn’t what they wanted or needed. So I asked one of my co-workers to tell the three that if they would wait just a few more minutes, for the other kids to go home, I would go buy them food. They nodded their heads with understanding but very little emotion. 

As soon as the other kids had gone, I ran to a little eatery with my co-worker and bought them rice, fish, and soup. Then, begging a box off of the lady, tried my best to hide the food so that the other kids wouldn’t see it, headed back to the court where the little girl was waiting. We walked her to her “house” which was no more than some wood stacked between two other squatters and a curtain that was there as a door. I met their mom, and explained (through translation) that we ran out of bread so we gave them this instead. She thanked us, and we left. But that little girl had stolen my heart. 

The next week, on Friday when I went to visitation, much to my surprise, she was shyly waiting for me. And until we went to her house, did not leave our side. Although she never came too close, I believe she had felt the love that we had for her. 

She was there on that Saturday with her brother again. When I tried to hug her, she stiffened and ran away, so I stopped trying to approach her too obviously. I would smile, call her name, come close, but not too close. 

Every week it was the same slow progress. But then two weeks ago, there was a significant change. On Friday when I went on visitation, she was again waiting for me, but this time as I walked on expecting her to follow at a close, but safe distance, she slipped her hand into mine. I tried not to hold her hand too tightly for fear that she would flutter off again. But slowly as the minutes went by, her hand was more secure in mine, and her hand wasn’t just resting in mine, it was holding onto mine. By the end of visitation, she was still shy, and any sudden movement would mean her hand would be gone, but in seconds it would be back, and she would swat away any other little kids trying to take my hand. This hand was hers. And it was so gladly. I wanted so badly to hug, and tell her how much I, and how much more Jesus loved her, but I held back. 

Then just yesterday, as we drove in to the area where we do Sunday school, and swarms of kids surrounded us, she was there again. Quiet, but smiling. And I noticed she had something in her hand. A little plastic flower that she was so purposefully holding. I caught her eye, and her smile grew even wider. Then she pointed at the flower, and then at me. The flower that she held so carefully, was for me. 

That yellow orange flower that she may have even picked out of a pile of garbage is now my most prized possession. It sits on my desk and is now my treasure, and reminder of why we do what we do. I still can’t really hug her, or reassure her with words that she is loved, and is a treasure in God’s eyes, one day I might. But even if I don’t, I know that she knows. She now knows that if one person can pick her out of a crowd, then surely Jesus notices her too. And that in God’s eyes, she is like that flower, She is the treasure.