“Here am I . . .”

As I lie on the floor in a blue blanket, my whole body hurts. This is no way to sleep. I close my eyes, but I cannot stop crying. Dear God, please keep them safe and warm.

***

Uninvited, I simply showed up.

Ten miles from my hotel somewhere in Rwanda there is rumored to be a private orphanage. There on a teaching assignment, I have an open day. I have to visit this orphanage. I don’t know why. The director, Liliana, spots me coming up the walk. The orphanage was built by a missionary couple who had no children. For generations the family has maintained the orphanage. I am sure there will always be need.

After introductions Liliana is gracious to give me the tour. Only 50 children reside here. Bunk beds with plastic mattresses and pillows line the walls. I see no blankets. As she walks me through the rooms, Liliana explains that adoptions are frequent. Children are healthy, and they attend class every day.

In the echo of polished concrete floors and wooden roofs I suddenly hear children laughing. It’s recess. Liliana invites me to join her and play with the children. In the playground I meet Miko and Buma, two 5-year-old twin brothers. They invite me to play kickball. What a privilege. After recess, Miko and Buma return to their classroom decorated with long wooden tables, small chairs, and a chalkboard. They give me a hug, and I feel in my heart both a sense of sorrow and joy.

As Liliana prepares a glass of boiled water and powdered juice mix for us, she tells me she was adopted by a Christian family at age 4. “My family introduced me to Jesus,” she says. “These children could grow up, never knowing about Jesus. I may be the director, but my real job is to teach them about Jesus. I pray that after they are adopted they will remember.” I ask how she knew this was the place for her. She smiles and says the story is too unbelievable. I am familiar with those types of beautiful stories. They demonstrate divine guidance in our lives.

I look at my tin cup with orange-flavored water and silently pray: God, what can I do here? My gaze falls on the outdoor area behind the kitchen. Blankets! Liliana explains how these must be washed daily to avoid bed bugs and keep them clean. She points to a line of blue blankets and says those are the best: thermal and with the ideal fabric for the environment. The orphanage needs only 20 more for all the children to have their own. Blankets.

***

Two hours, the help of a translator, and one taxi ride back later, Liliana helps me unload 26 blue blankets; all I found in town. In the evening around the dinner table I witness a child’s faith as Miko’s small voice prays: “Thank You, Jesus, for granting us blankets, more than we need, to keep us warm outside like You keep us warm inside.”

***

It’s time to head back to my hotel. The children are asleep. As we quietly walk past the rooms I notice Miko and Buma, wrapped in their blankets, sleeping on the floor. Why? Tomorrow morning two more children will arrive at the orphanage. Buma has convinced Miko that the new arrivals may be used to sleeping in beds, so they have given up their beds just in case. I look around and see other empty beds and realize what is abundant in the room: selflessness.

I hug Liliana goodbye. With tears in her eyes she says: “Isaiah 6:8. When I graduated, I got on my knees, put the diploma on the floor, and recited Isaiah 6:8. That is how I ended up here.”

***

Back in the hotel I notice that the blankets in the room are just like the ones in the orphanage. How difficult would it be to sleep on the floor? to give up my bed for another? I take the blanket off the bed, wrap it around me, lie on the polished concrete floor, and pray: “Here am I . . .” n

Dixil Rodríguez, a university professor and volunteer hospital chaplain, lives in north Texas. Join the dialogue at [email protected].