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| My first meeting with Bili January 2011 |
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| With Mr. Potatohead July 2012 |
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| July 2012 |
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| No front teeth! July 2013 |
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| I used to dress my boys in Hawaiian shirts when they were this age March 2012 |
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| Saying goodbye March 2012 |
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| My little Techie March 2012 |
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| Bili loves gadgets! March 2013 |
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| Three amigos October 2011 |
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| Kite flying October 2011 |
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| I keep this photo on my desk at work October 2011 |
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| That’s a lollypop, not a cigarette October 2011 |
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| Learning to pray October 2012 |
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| Kite flying October 2012 |
May the Lord watch between you and me when we are absent one from another. Genesis 41:39 (NKJV)
My first trip to the Malnutrition Center in Guatemala was in January of 2011. Scared to death not only to fly, but to eat anything or go anywhere, I reluctantly followed God’s command and packed my bags to fly to what to me seemed like the “Ends of the Earth.” Had my adopted daughter not been along for the ride, I would have backed out before we left. I cried all morning on our first day. What I saw, heard, smelled and felt broke my heart in a way that it had never been broken before. It was three days into that first trip before I met, Bili, the boy who would change my life. Isolated in his crib due to a fever, I was so overwhelmed that I didn’t even know he was there. Discovering him, lying all alone, made the children’s situation real. In Bili’s lifeless eyes, I saw a glimpse of myself, my privileged life, my comfortable world. I held him and rocked him. I sang over him. I wept `for him. I prayed for him. I left a piece of myself when I said goodbye to him that day. Nine months later, I was back, hungry for a glimpse of “my boy.” I spent the months in between our first and second meetings telling everyone I could about the work being done in Guatemala and the needs of the children. Always, Bili was my motivation. That October, he had been promoted to the older boys group. He was walking well, able to feed himself and smiling. I was thrilled with his progress and vowed to do even more to call attention to the plight of Guatemala’s children. The following Spring was when he said his first words, mesmerized by an IPOD and speakers. I saw him dance, admire his reflection in the black screen of the IPOD and smile even broader. That was the trip when I knew those who had told me he was mentally handicapped were wrong. In July, he was running, playing games and hiding from his caregivers. He put a Mr. Potatohead toy together so fast I was amazed. As far as I know, he had never seen one before and certainly could not read the directions. In October, he was singing and bowing his head in prayer. By March of this year, Bili had far exceeded my hopes for him. Finally, he was in school. Once more I wept as I looked into the classroom and saw him seated at a desk. On my last trip in July, Bili was healthy and doing well. He had lost his two front teeth and though he still spoke quietly, he could communicate well. He wrote his name in chalk on the sidewalk in front of the center. That’s when I learned his name was Bili, not Billy, as I have called him all this time. Today, I got word that Bili went home over the weekend. He has been reunited with his mother and his older sisters. All day long, I suppressed the need to cry. But, tonight, looking at pictures of him from the last three years, I allowed myself to weep over Bili once more. Yes, the purpose of bringing him to the center was to make him healthy again and that has been achieved. His bed was needed by another sick child. His success story gives support to the work of the Malnutrition Center. This time, my heart breaks for me. Adios, Bili. I pray we meet again.
You and Bili have had great effect on each other. I hope that you WILL see him again and again and each time he will be bigger and stronger. You will know that your prayers are part of the reason.
Bless you and bless Bili. God watches over you both.