Who You Are Matters

Who You Are Matters

When I was a young girl, probably 14 or 15, I was deeply impacted by commercials showing Sally Struthers amidst the impoverished children in Africa, beseeching us to adopt one of them as our very own, and promising that our 59 cents a day would go directly to the child, providing food and education, security and a future. In return, she described the drawings and letters we’d receive from our adopted child; I imagined it as an actual relationship of sorts, like the pen pals that were so popular at that time.

So, I sent in my babysitting money and adopted a child. It lasted two months. When my mom found out, she made me give back my adopted child. Her reasoning was not clear in my unsophisticated mind. Somehow in the exchange about it, I came away feeling shamed, like a sucker to have fallen for what was clearly some kind of sham. And so when the Christian Children’s Fund commercials came on, I no longer watched, pushing away the idea that I could make a difference to a child so far away.

Spending time with the children at the Orphanage in Haiti was a homecoming for me, though it took the better part of our three visits for me to break open and fully let them in to my heart. I bore witness to the difference one small group of people from New England (including Union Church) made in these children’s lives: eyes lit up at the soccer balls and jump ropes; shrieks of laughter rang out at the effects of sitting on a whoopee cushion; a kind of watchful awe was visible on their faces as they watched their own face emerge on a Polaroid photo; and small shoulders were squared with pride when, on our last night there they showed us through pointing and gestures that they were wearing the clothes we had brought for them. Let me just say -- they were loving those new clothes!

Spending time at the orphanage was a homecoming for me because finally, five years after releasing my CD, “Feed the Tribe”, I felt that I had truly lived into some of the songs I had written, like Enough, What Goes Around, and Feed the Tribe. Throughout that week, I was in relationship with these young children, some of whom had parents who could no longer afford to feed them and some of whom were truly orphans. Though we spoke different languages, no words were necessary when conveying through hugs and games, that: “Who you are matters.”

And they have so little: On our second visit there, I got out some beads and string and sat down to help the children make their very own bracelet – each one would have their name, a cross representing “Jezu” and a few colored beads on each side. In short order I was swamped with children delighted at the prospect of customized jewelry. Even the little boys wanted one. Surprisingly, the first people to commandeer the space to make a bracelet were the workers. As I watched them, I had no judgment. They were as excited as any of the children, and I thought, “They too have so little”. As cheap as these beads were, as small as this gesture was, we were saying, “Who you are matters.”

On our third and last visit there, in the still-searing evening heat, I danced and played twister and gymnastics and drew on the blackboard with the children. Others from our team played games and drew and colored pictures on sketch pads.

One little girl latched on to me and nearly broke my heart. Proudly wearing her “new” black Hanna Montana t-shirt, she drew flowers on the blackboard and did flips by climbing up my pants and over; we danced and when I said "chaud" (hot), she blew gently on my face. At one point with her two small hands, she wiped the sweat off my neck. Toward the end she climbed onto me and just put her head down while I walked around the room. I hummed to her and kept repeating "Tres Belle", tears mingling with the sweat on my face.

On the way out I said, “Me Jenny. Ou nom?” (What is your name?) Her dark eyes smiled into mine a bit shyly it seemed, and she replied: “Daphka”.

 

I left her to climb up to her 3rd floor room. And then, walking out into the courtyard, toward the metal gate and the streets of Port-Au-Prince, I heard "Bon Soir Jenny!"   I turned and there was Daphka, her small frame leaning out over the third floor railing, waving wildly, blowing kisses, and repeating her calls of farewell.  

In that moment, Daphka showed me: Who you are matters.