Morning Light.

Almost a year ago, I had the opportunity to go to the Dominican Republic for a mission trip, and as I embarked on this journey, I was not a follower of Jesus. I knew little about Him and His story and had convinced myself that I was just not one of “those people.” I had anticipated that I would be going to this foreign country to give the people and community there everything I had to offer, but I had no idea how much I would gain in return.The mornings have always been sacred to me, getting up early to sit in peace, getting a head start on the day, enjoying a cup of coffee, savoring the company of the morning sun. In the Dominican, the mornings were a great time to center myself, to find my peace before the overwhelming joy and excitement of the day came pouring in. We would arrive at the school in the morning, opening our helping hands and serving the children in any way we were asked. While the kids attended classes in the mornings and afternoons, our team would help paint the second story walls of the school building, clean the playground, rid the soccer field of rocks and pebbles, doing anything and everything to prepare the space for an afternoon of playtime. Eventually, one of us would hear a burst of laughter and the sound of feet running across the sandy gravel soccer field. As soon as one classroom would pour outside into the warm sun, all the other students would follow. Soon enough the playground and soccer field would be swirling with kids, their joyful chatter signaling our ears to come down and play. The moment our feet would plant on the field or playground, kids would swarm over and start pulling us in every direction. They would want us to run with them, push them on swings, or even just sit and listen to them talk (even though they knew our languages were different).After our first full day at the school, I was exhausted but also filled with this new, inexplicable energy. I can only compare it to when I was a kid during the summertime, stepping back into my home after a full day outside with neighborhood friends, running around in the sun, finding shade up in our favorite tree, exhausting ourselves with our imagination. Being called back inside was always met with groans and protests; we didn’t want our day to end, but needed to be rested for the next day. I remember stepping into my kitchen through our garage, feeling the blast of cool air and recognizing how contently tired I was from a day of pure joy. On our second day to the school, I was more weary than I had anticipated from the day before. I wasn’t sure where the exuberance and energy I had had the day before was going to come from. I was afraid to take time to rest during the day since I didn’t want to take any of my time there for granted. Standing in sun, feeling the heat as it warmed my skin, I was standing in a circle with three other girls. One of them had grabbed a soccer ball and pulled me over to play a game. The game we played was a mix of keep away and just kicking the ball back and forth to one other. No one spoke any rules but tried to communicate through only hand gestures and singular words in Spanish. It was the early afternoon, and I was beginning to feel the exhaustion hit me.After only a few minutes of our game, I noticed there was a little girl standing next to the school bus parked in the yard. I quickly scanned the yard to see if there was anyone else who noticed this little girl who was softly crying. I looked back at the girls I was playing with and said, “uno minuto!” then walked over to little girl by the bus. I bent down and gently asked her (in very poor Spanish) if she was ok. After several attempts to get her to talk to me, I looked around again to see if there was anyone I could subtly call over who could try to communicate with her. There was nobody nearby, so I put my arms out towards the little girl. She immediately responded, jumping into my arms and wrapping hers around me. I walked her over to one of the leaders and told the story, handing her off to see if she would speak to someone else who spoke better Spanish than I could. But she didn’t loosen her grip on me. So we found a spot, and she sat contentedly in my lap. If I got up to move, she would wrap her arms around me like a koala bear.We didn’t do much the rest of that afternoon, but I think we were both pretty satisfied with this unspoken decision. So we continued to sit, not always in solidarity but with waves of classmates coming over to ask her if she was ok, or fellow team members needing a break from the heat of the afternoon. We didn’t do much the rest of that afternoon, but I think we were both pretty satisfied with this unspoken decision - to sit and rest, being held by each other when we both needed it. The little girl by the bus was the rest and peace I needed that afternoon in the Dominican. But looking back long after the trip ended, I’m noticing that God was teaching me about his stillness that day, through her. God is inviting me to a place of peace and joy each day, and he’s waiting for my acceptance. Every morning the sun will rise, each ray breaking the horizon. And just as constantly, God is there. He is there on the mornings I feel alive, the mornings I’m weary, and those exhausted afternoons, or anxious nights. He’s calling me to sit and be, wrapped up in his koala-like arms.words and photo by Megan PetersSaveSave