The Least of These

My current assigned calling, or job, in my church is to work with the children. I serve in what is called the Primary Presidency, which is a group of four women asked to make sure that our church's program for children ages 18 months to 12 years old runs (I would say smoothly, but as everyone who has worked with children knows, there is bumpy and there is less bumpy and then there are rocky roads and then there are Himalayan hiking trails).

When I was first asked to serve in the Primary, I was terrified. Working with children was my mom's and my sister's thing, not mine. Heck, I can barely handle my own two children. But I'm not one to say no when the Lord asks me to do something, so I said yes. Seven months later and I am in love. This just might be my favorite church assignment that I've ever had.

Sure, Sundays are difficult, and I often feel that I'm in over my head and as my brother would say, "tu no sabes nada." (aka, you know nothing!)

But...

There are some Sundays that--that-- well, there are just some Sundays that I know I am where I am supposed to be.

We have a neighbor who has recently taken three foster care children into her home. They have joined our Primary and we are so excited to have their beautiful faces smiling at us on Sundays. Yesterday was their second time attending Primary with us.  I felt so terrible the first week because I only remembered one child's name out of the three. All week I reminded myself of the second child's name and practiced it so that I knew I had it correct for her when I saw her on Sunday.

She was sitting on the back row, near the isle, happily singing and interacting with her new friends. On one of my numerous trips to the back door to make copies, do hall patrol, and be on bathroom duty, I knelt down by her chair and whispered, "Hi, Katie*, how are you doing today?"

She looked at me and her eyes got huge, "You know my name?" she asked, incredulous.

I swallowed, giving myself a chance to regain my composure, and said, "Yes, sweetheart, I know your name. I felt bad that I got your name wrong last week, so I've been practicing all week to make sure I got it right."

Without hesitation, she threw her arms around my neck and hugged me tight, the best way she knew to show me how she felt.

I remembered her name.
It was such a small, small thing.
It meant the world to her.

I was instantly transported back to one of the hardest moments on my mission. We had been invited to eat dinner with a less-active sister that we'd been working with for a month or so. She had two daughters and an infant son. It was not a happy home. This sister was very unkind to her daughters and it was clear that the baby was given all the love and attention (of which there was very little) available in the home.

During that particular dinner, I sat across from one of the little girls. She was wary of strangers and people in general and it was clear that she hadn't felt kindness from an adult in a very long time. I smiled at her every time I caught her looking at me. My arms ached to hold her and hug her and whisper in her ear how very much she was worth to our Heavenly Father--but, due to the missionary rules that I promised Heavenly Father I would obey, I was not allowed to pick her up, hold her, or do much to provide a gentle and a loving touch.

My heart broke even further, then, when she slipped off her chair and came around the table and tried to sit on my lap.

Trying desperately to explain to her that I wanted to hold her but I couldn't, I had to push her down as she attempted several times to climb up. I tried to give her a side hug, but every time I did she took advantage to try and settle into my lap.

Oh, how she cried.

Oh, how I wanted to!

I felt powerless. I wonder sometimes if maybe I should have just broken the rules and held her. Knowing her mother and grandmother, who would have taken advantage and probably reported me for something I did not do, I know that obedience was the correct course of action.

I pray that in the six years since that awful dinner appointment that someone has been able to show that little girl love. True love--the love of a Diety and values her so much that He gave His only begotten son--and the love of an older brother that willingly gave his life so that he could know all the aches of her small heart.

Every child deserves love. EVERY child.

When Katie threw her arms around my neck yesterday, I hugged her back as tight as I could, grateful that this time I could do what I could not do that first time. And in my head I heard the words whispered,

"If ye have done it until the least of these...ye have done it unto me."

photo cred: http://cslewis.drzeus.net/forums/viewtopic.php?f=9&t=8163&start=15

*names have been changed