Love A Lot

I went to a youth soccer game Sunday, and it was a big deal.  Soccer games happen everywhere, every day.  I know that’s no big deal.  I’m not trying to say it was a big deal that I went as in Me, “The-guy-who just-doesn’t-like-soccer”.  I know, I know, it’s the most popular sport in the world, and it’s the fastest growing sport in America.  You can quote all the stats to me–I still just don’t like soccer.  Maybe I’m not smart enough to understand the nuances of the game, the strategy and skill required.  Maybe I’m insecure because I never played it as a kid and I’m no good at it.  Maybe I just can’t get past the dramatic flopping and faking injuries that happen on the soccer games I see on TV.  Whatever the reason(s), I just don’t like soccer.  And I went to a soccer game today.  But that’s not the big deal.  I went because I knew someone who was playing, several someone’s in fact.  Our boys from the orphanage in Jeremie had their first ever church league soccer game, and THAT was a big deal—a huge deal in fact.

It was our first day in Jeremie.  Our flight had arrived earlier in the day and we had settled in and unpacked at the guesthouse.  We had come to the orphanage around 1 in the afternoon to visit with the kids for a while, just to build some bonds and love on them.  Around 3 O’clock, several of the older boys began to appear in soccer jerseys.  They were very sharp jerseys–dark purple with white numbers and a cool design, very official looking.  They were excited.   You could see how proud they were to have on the jersey and be a part of a team.  Every kid that has ever played a sport can relate.  That first time you put on your uniform before your first game.  You want to show it off.  You want people to see you in that uniform and know you’re a part of a team.  You want people to ask you about it.  Orphans or not, these kids were no different.  In fact, they seemed more excited than most kids to wear a uniform.  They were milling around in the church building in uniform, with the other kids checking out their uniforms and asking them questions about the team.  I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, whether they were showing off, or had a practice.  Eventually I got distracted.   ‘My kids’ wanted my attention, so I wandered outside the church with them.   I had passed out some gum and was hanging out with them when I saw the boys on the soccer team start walking off down the road.  I saw Pastor Lionel and Dou Dou talking so I went up to them and asked where the boys were going.  They explained the boys had their first soccer game today.  I was excited to hear that they were playing their first game ever today.  Dou Dou said it was not far, just down the hill.  He asked me if I wanted to go.  Of course I wanted to go, but I was a little torn at first because I didn’t want to miss time with my kids too.  I asked Dou Dou if I could take a couple kids with me.  He said the older ones could go, if they were dressed properly.  I pointed to Sonjua and he looked her over as a Dad inspecting his daughter’s outfit before she goes out in public.  He said something to her and she quickly ran off to change.  I chatted for a minute with Dou Dou and she reappeared in a different, more presentable outfit.  We held hands and walked down the hill towards the game with several other members of our team and a few more of our kids.

When we got to the soccer field, I was surprised.  It wasn’t anything like the any of the soccer fields I had ever seen.  I’m not sure what I was expecting, but that wasn’t it.  It was bare and sparse without a blade of grass.  The field was mostly patches of baked dirt and bare rock.  It was fairly even, which was impressive, and had a semblance of lines all around the edges and outlining a goalie box.  Upon closer inspection, I realized the lines were made of some of the lighter colored rocks crushed up into powder carefully placed.  Around the entire field was fence.  It consisted of a wall of small poles and woven with palm branches, stitched tightly together so no one could get through or even see into the field.  Only one entrance was available at the corner of the field.  I later learned this was the gate so they could charge admission (7 cents per person).  Someone from our team graciously paid for all of us.

Sonjua and I found a place along the small space at the edge of the field, watching our boys warm up for the game.  They looked sharp in their uniforms, having fun showing off as they warmed up.  I checked out the other team, kids from another church nearby.  They wore red ‘uniforms’ consisting of various types of red t-shirts, mostly solid red although one or two had some writing on them.  Their numbers were drawn on the backs with a sharpie.  How ironic that our orphans looked so much sharper and more organized in their matching purple uniforms.   Our goalie even had a sharp goalie uniform.

Pastor Lionel gathered our boys in the corner to talk before the game, away from everyone else.  He was calm and smiling, projecting confidence.  He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the atmosphere.  Several more of the older girls from the orphanage showed up, all dressed properly.  I’m sure ‘Papa Dou Dou’ had given them the once over before letting them come down the hill.  By the time the game was about to start, it was getting crowded on the one side of the field, so Sonjua and I went to the other side of the field where there was a little more space between the fence and the edge of the field, and not many people.  The boys finished warming up and Pastor Lionel gathered them one more time.  After a few more words of encouragement, they huddled and prayed with one of the older boys leading the prayer.  They lined up at midfield with the other team side by side, giving a clap of salute to the fans present.  By now, about 30 of our orphans were there, plus most of our mission team.  There were another 20 or 30 people there to watch too, family members and kids from nearby.  The ‘press box’ played music and the kids swayed and danced on the sidelines.

Finally it was time to start.  I’m not enough of a soccer expert to give you an assessment of the skill sets or the quality of team play, but it was fun to watch.  There were some talented players on both teams, and the ball went up and down the small field quickly.  Our goalie, Johnny, made a few big saves, then the ball went to the other end, and one or our boys scored.  I wasn’t prepared for the celebration.  Our whole team ran to the center of the field jumping and hugging.  The orphans watching on the sidelines jumped up and down, over and over, hugging and screaming.  Some of them ran onto the field too.  Even Sonjua, who is often very quiet and reserved, was jumping up and down at my side hugging me and celebrating with the boys as they came back to the sidelines.  Those kids were downright giddy.  I felt tears of joy for them well up in me as I celebrated with them, at the same time kicking myself for not having my camera ready.

As the celebration died down, and the game resumed, it dawned on me that there was something much more to celebrate than a simple goal in a game.  These kids had no family.  They had no one to be there to celebrate the milestones of life.  I thought about all the things that I have celebrated with my kids in supporting them—their first day of school, their games in various sports, their accomplishments in school and in life.  For most of these kids, they had never had anyone around to do that, or at least, not recently.  It was likely the first time any of them had even been on a ‘team’ or had a team of their own to support.  So their celebration was more than just a goal in a game, it was a celebration of belonging, of connection, of being a part of a family and a ‘team’.  They had so much more to celebrate than that game.  I marveled at how God can connect with people in such a hopeless situation, orphans in the poorest country in the western hemisphere, now brothers and sisters in Christ celebrating their family’s accomplishments.  These kids belonged to a family, the family of Christ.  They were brothers and sisters and proud of their family’s accomplishment.  At that realization, I celebrated a little harder with them.

As I treasured these thoughts and the joy of the experience, the other team scored a goal.  It didn’t matter to me.  In fact, it didn’t matter that the other team scored again and our team was down 2-1 at halftime.  We had to leave and I already knew the final score—our kids had won.  They found Jesus and were a part of His family.  And that made them all winners.  I am proud to be call them my teammates, my family, my brothers and sisters in Christ!