Tears and Touch

For the final weeks of my journey in Xela, I work with teen girls at one of Xela's many orphanages.  This particular orphanage has 200 children at the moment.  I was originally planning on working with the infants and toddlers, but when I entered on my day of introduction and saw the faces of the teens, I felt immediately drawn to be by their sides, hear their stories, and support them however they need.  Here is just one example of an experience at the project one day...

...As in any room filled with young women, there are bubbling conversations constantly filling the room.  Giggling is common, as well as cat-fights among the nearly 25 girls who spend their mornings in their confined living space vying for a spot on one of the two couches.  The hum of the television in the background distracts many, but others have secret conversations, practice handshakes, or try out new hair-dos.
I typically circulate around the room spending time with the little groups, making jokes, tickling the younger girls, offering plenty of hugs, and lending a listening ear when needed.  On this particular circulation, I noticed one of the girls with whom I have become particularly close taking a nap on a lower bunk.  I was about to silently slip by her when I noticed her shoulders shaking...and then the faintest sound of a stifled sob.
Her story is one that she both shocked and honored me by sharing.  It is one of such horror, that I was amazed at her immediate trust in me and we have become quite close in my short time at the orphanage.
Death, abuse, and neglect have been a constant in her life for many years now.  I have sat with her before as tears have streamed down her face, but today was different.  She seemed utterly depleted, deflated, and at a loss.  I asked her if there was something in particular that was making her upset and she shook her head "no," so I said "is it just everything?", and her body shook violently as new waves of silent sobs wracked through her and she furiously nodded her head "yes."  At that moment, no words would suffice.  She needed what has so long been deprived of her: to feel safe and cared for.  So I held her to me in the gentlest way possible until her sobbing subsided.

So many of our world's children are not listened to, but also are not simply touched in safe, comforting, and secure ways.  Words are not always necessary because pain cannot always be verbally expressed.  I am learning to hold my tongue and look for the nonverbal needs of others, so that I can more fully understand the needs of humanity and the pain that we universally experience.