The Beloved Ones.

My first journal entry in Ecuador:

“In the moment that I turned to look at the mountain peaks touching the clouds from the level plane, I got struck dumb by the sheer vibrance of the rolling hills. I bubbled up with the feeling of love that I have yet to discover for this country; It is imminent. Tomorrow marks the beginning of my journey with Dunamis. In my process of preparation leading to this moment, I saw Dunamis as a source of clarity for my future and an opportunity to serve God. While I hope for those things, I will not have expectations of what I can’t yet know. Instead, I will walk through the door, only expecting what God has predestined—with as open a heart and mind as I can muster.

I have learned more than I could possibly articulate and more than I am able to recognize from my time in Ecuador. The beloved girls I came to know while working in the safe house have taught me more than I could have ever imagined. I call them beloved intentionally and frequently, because they never believed that they could be loved.

The youngest, being nine years old, once asked me about my family.

“Por cuantos años has sido Cristiana?”(For how many years have you been a Christian?) She inquired.

“Desde mi nacimiento,” (Sincebirth) I responded.

“Y tus padres?” (And your parents?) She asked.

“También crecieron como Cristianos,” (They also grew up as Christians) I explained.

“Wow,” She breathed out lightly. “Quiero que mi familia también conozca a Cristo algún día.” (I want my family to know Christ someday)

“Quiero enseñarle a mi mamá acerca del amor de Cristo,” (I want to teach my mom about the love of Christ) she said simply, a smile gracing her little face.

How a girl of her age could say such beautifully heartbreaking words caused my heart to drop into my stomach and shatter.

How is it that this young girl with her vibrant spirit and quiet way of loving was handed a life of an abusive family and subjected to so much of the evil of this world? Yet she prays for them—showing them Christ-like love. I might never understand exactly why God placed us in the families that He did, but I do understand that her life and the life of every girl in the foundation, are lives worthy of being known and feeling loved. I can’t thank each one of you enough for supporting me during my journey; for my family that walked with me during this year; and for all the people that prayed and that listened. Due to my community, I scarcely found moments where I did not feel known or loved by those around me. So thank you, for hearing what I have experienced this year, but now is not my time to be heard. The girls in the foundation received negligence and abuse from their families instead of love; they received suffocation instead of support from their community. They are worthy of more.

I want to dedicate my final blog entry as a testament to the girls who, though unnamed for the purpose of privacy, are heard and known. The girls called beloved daughters of the King:

A (13 years old)— She skipped up to me with a broad smile that encompassed her face, asking once again when we would be starting english classes. I responded that I wasn’t altogether sure but likely within the next month! She asked instead if we could learn something in the meantime? I taught her that ‘Hasta Mañana’ means ‘See you tomorrow’.

We began saying that at the end of each day; the girls often remembered even before I did. I would watch the spark of light in her eyes every time she had the opportunity to practice

her english and say ‘See you tomorrow’. She couldn’t begin to understand how much her passion to learn incited my own passion to teach.

V (17 y/o)— She cracked a joke with a sly smile and I couldn’t help but be a little dumbfounded. V: who had always been standoffish and silent with me during my first month in the foundation, was now joking around with me like an old friend; I felt a wall come down. Her presence was still a quiet one, but I grew to know her as quick-witted and funny. I called on her often in class because she always knew the answer but was too modest to volunteer herself. She did not hug others frequently but with each she gave, I felt their intentionality. Her teary-eyed goodbye and tight embrace I felt most deeply.

E (13 y/o)— Often soft spoken, but always eager to learn, to participate, and to grow. E was a broken heart still beating—too young for the many scars she bore, internally and externally alike. But she found Christ as her rescue, and sought after Him with all her heart; she often prayed for God to change the bad in her heart to good. She once approached me after one of our devotionals and began sharing a point she had wanted to make, only not in front of everyone. After making it, she recited a scripture to me. She fumbled over the words for a moment and then, shutting her eyes tightly in concentration, recited it perfectly. Releasing a nervous breath, she finished with a smile on her face. I encouraged her to continue memorizing scripture and thanked her. I watched her repeating scripture to herself on several occasions and it was a beautiful act of worship to witness.

J (15 y/o)— I walked in to see her beckoning me over. Looking at her computer screen, I saw a collage she had made of me with her one year old baby that was titled ‘Best Friends’. I began laughing and she giggled, saying “Es verdad, no?” (It’s true, isn’t it?) “Sí así es.”(Yes it is) I responded, joking along. Her daughter had been something that had brought J and I into close relationship. Little S: her laugh still echoes in my mind, her little wave goodbye marked my last moment in the foundation. I looked deep into her eyes once and thought of how she had been conceived; the abuse that she had come from. J prayed often that she could grow to see little S as the gift from God that she was, and she did. She grows each day to love her daughter more. I can’t imagine a world without the joy that little S brings; she is a testament to how God brings beautiful things out of terrible situations.

A (17 y/o)— She walked alongside the tree line with an elated air that she was oblivious to. As soon as she saw me waving she lit up and hurried to me. “Hoy hice una amiga!” (I made a friend today!) She said, her face glowing. “Que bueno! Y qué pasó? Fue ella tu compañera en el juego?” (That’s good! And what happened? Was she your partner in the game?) I asked, interested. “Sí la fue, y también está en una fundación!” (Yes she was, and she is also in a foundation!) She continued telling me about her time in class as we walked to the bus station. I was used to A’s more reserved manner, but when it was just the two of us going out of the foundation for her special class, she was an open book. I had always watched her act as a role model and a big sister to the other girls, but in these moments I felt honored to be her sister in Christ, encouraging her in her accomplishments as she encouraged so many others.

J (16 y/o)— Her feet stepped in practiced movements as she twirled herself around; the traditional Ecuadorian song guiding the steps that each girl had memorized over the past months. She laughed a little nervously as they performed for all of us and I smiled unconsciously in watching her expressive joy while dancing. My gaze fixed back on her feet and their scars from being burned—suddenly reminded of what she had endured. Tears spilled subconsciously down my cheeks as I absorbed her broken past in an all too real way. I thought of how I sat with her one day after devotionals and she said to me “A veces siento que no sé comó seguir adelante. Mi pasado tiene demasiada oscuridad de la que no puedo escapar,” (Sometimes I feel like I don’t know how to keep going. My past has too much darkness that I can’t escape). We turned to read Romans 5:3-4 “Let us also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.” I saw hope in her smile the following day, and even more in her dancing that morning.

We had a worship night with the girls when a group of volunteers was in the foundation. I wanted to see if they could learn a couple of songs in english to sing with everyone and settled on ‘Jesus We Love You’ and ‘Way Maker’. Once we started, there was no stop; we sang them all the time. It became a request for me to play during agriculture, at the end of devotionals, and during english class. So when the worship night came, God made it one of celebration; one of dancing and praising the Lord for who He is. I ended up with E jumping and twirling her around as we shouted praise, a broad smile filling her face. When the music slowed down, I held her as we swayed and remember pleading with God for her protection; and for his peace to bring rest to her tormented heart. I prayed it over all of them—the girls so easy to love that I couldn’t begin to comprehend the magnitude of God’s love for them. I can still hear their chorus of way maker, rising against any power of darkness; any hold of doubt or fear melting away in their beautiful recognition of what God

has been and will continue to be.

Way Maker.

Miracle Worker.

Promise Keeper.

Light in the darkness.

My God, that is who you are.

Goodbye came with recognition that I will not see many of them again; but I know that I will someday see them dancing and worshipping in heaven, just as I saw them do in this life. Then, they will have the full knowledge of just how known and loved they truly are. Beloved.

Con Cariño para siempre,

Sara <3

To those reading:

Thank you for walking with me throughout this journey, supporting me; surrounding me; and loving me in an unforgettable way. You sent me with the faith that God would move and He has. This is truly only the beginning of how I hope that God will use me to reach the lost and the broken and bring them back to Him. I could never have been equipped without the blessings you have given me; you have my deepest gratitude.