There are two little brothers that show up at the Lighthouse on a consistent basis. The older brother is 9, I’m going to call him Tim. The younger brother is 8, and I’m going to call him Matt. Just to protect their identities, y’know?
These two boys wear the same clothes almost everyday.
Tim wears a shirt with a red and a blue decal of garlic rice. It’s pretty snazzy.
Then Matt wears a Halloween themed shirt decked out with a pumpkin and a ghost.
These two boys are also smaller than the other boys. In fact, Seth stands only a couple inches taller than his three old brother.
These two boys live right across the street from the Lighthouse.
The house they live in consists of tarps, wooden planks, sheet metal, and a dirt floor.
I constantly wonder how hot it gets in there during the day.
I wonder how wet it gets in there during the day.
And what they live in, appears to be one of the more “normal” homes here.
These boys have grown on my heart since arriving in Tacloban. Their smiles are really awesome. Their spirits are overflowing. It’s also really humbling when they see me and yell out, “Kuya Jon!” Kuya meaqns brother and it is part of the culture to refer to elders with either Kuya or Ate (AH-tey) -meaning sister. I know that all of these children that I have been able to interact with are all brothers and sisters of mine in Christ. I want them to feel loved. I want them to feel that they are special. That they have a light that needs to be able to shine. Sometimes it is a bummer with the language barrier that exists among the kids and my team, but the universal language of a smile or a piggy back ride is truly evident.
I seriously love spending time with the two brothers and the other kids. But there are things I’ve noticed about Tim and Matt in particular.
I sometimes notice them flinch when I go in for a high five.
I hear Matt’s constant cough.
I see them carry too big of containers of water across the road for their size.
I notice how tired they look at times.
I notice that Matt sometimes stays home from school because “He can’t speak English”
I feel their strong clings when they see me or when they say bye.
I wonder what the rest of the family does. What the kids do when they’re at home. If they study or do their homework. Or that they can’t because they have to do something else. I don’t know if their parents hit them at times. I hate thinking this stuff. But I just don’t know what happens when they’re not at the Lighthouse. I don’t know how hard it is to live in poverty. But I know it can’t be easy. And I know that too many people here live in it. But when the kids smile and the time we can spend with them, makes those thoughts smaller so that time with them can be even more meaningful.
