Milta

I wrote two posts today, so if you're keeping up, make sure to read the one right before this also! :)

The word "emotional" doesn't even begin to describe the past few days. Sunday was my fifth and final Cerro Negro climb of the summer. I prayed with friends at the top, enjoyed quiet reflection and then a time of worship with the St. Louis group that's here this week, and watched the sunset at the bottom of the volcano. The few moments in which we stood watching the sunset were the greatest of the day by far. I don't know that I've ever seen a more beautiful sunset, and it felt like God had made it just for our little group. I felt the Lord saying to me, "How much greater and more beautiful than this sunset are the plans that I have for you?"

On Monday, we experienced a totally opposite set of emotions. We found out that we had lost a loved one - a little El Chonco girl named Milta.

On the way to Chonco yesterday, Benito, our bus driver, told Kelly (who told me) that an 11-year-old girl from Chonco had been hit by a car and killed over the weekend. We immediately started thinking of who it could have been. Surely it wasn't one of our girls. They don't live near the main road, and they never have any reason to go out near the street.

All I could think about was getting off of the bus, and when I finally did, I ran to find an answer to our question of who. I had seen Bianca and Patricia, two of my beloved Chonco kids, as we were pulling in and ran and hugged them. I was glad to see them alive. "¿Quien se murió ayer?," I asked them ("Who died yesterday?"). They responded,"Milta," and I was in disbelief. There must be another Milta. They can't be talking about the girl I met on my first day in Chonco, the first Chonco kid I met and befriended, the girl I played with regularly and who attended my charlas, my sassy little smarty-pants Milta.

I looked down the street and saw that Kelly had found out, too. I went and hugged her, and we cried. I've never felt such despair. I've never experienced the loss of a loved one outside of my great uncle's passing (and he was close to ninety years old and more than ready for Heaven). How could this possibly have happened? All that this community has is each other - how could God have let this happen?

I stayed off to the side of where the group was, in tears, while Kelly made a few phone calls. Jackie, one of Milta's closest friends, came over and immediately started crying, too. She knew exactly why Kelly and I were crying. I knelt down to comfort her, and she started comforting me, hugging me and wiping away my tears. I hugged her as tightly as I could. This poor little 8-year-old girl was mourning one of her best friends, and it broke my heart.

Jackie continued to touch my heart as she, Kelly, some of the other little Chonco girls, and I went out to invite the people of the community to a memorial service we were having for Milta later that afternoon. Jackie was, at many of the houses, the first to run up and tell people about the service. You could tell that she desired for her community to come together and mourn and remember with her.

The service we had was beautifully sad. We sang a song called "Hold my Hand," and I stood holding the hand of Vanessa, another of my Chonco babies. I felt the Lord saying, "This is Jesus whose hand you're holding," and I thought of how Jesus also lived in Milta. I know that Jesus walked Milta right through the gates of Heaven last Saturday at 2 PM.

I learned a lot yesterday about community and about friendship. A lot of my little Chonco friends were hugging me after the memorial service because they knew I was sad, and I knew that they accepted me as a part of their family. I will miss our little Milta, and I know that the united community of Amigos and Chonco will never ever forget her.

Milta on my first day in El Chonco

Milta working on an activity at our Food Pyramid charla