Beanie Bear, Day 153

On Wednesday we visited a refugee camp in the city. The people there had all lost their homes. They had virtually no belongings left. Many of them had lost loved ones, some entire families. The people were being sheltered in a school building. There were thin mattresses rolled up along the edges of the gymnasium. Each mattress was accompanied by trash bags which contained all that remained of what the people owned.

We brought with us a few toys, candy, games, prizes, clowns, and some teachings about the Bible. As we riled up the children, played games, and made a ruckus all I could see was joy. I didn’t even catch a glimpse of loss or depression. The children ran around with vibrant smiles on their little faces. They jumped and sprinted and tackled each other over a ball. By the time we began our program the boys all had tremendously sweaty faces upon which they wore huge smiles.

The first game that we played during the production was an m&m relay involving 6 boys and 6 girls. As the children were being selected I noticed one boy who was incredibly eager to play. He was so excited to be picked, jumping up and down, begging the payasos to choose him. I couldn’t help but smile at the excitement he displayed. It seemed that all of his friends were chosen but not him. He was probably the oldest of all his friends, somewhere between 12 and 14. The look on his face upon discovering his defeat was initially one of shock. I think he was hoping for brief moment longer that he would still be called. As he sat down he wore an all encompassing expression of rejection, tragedy, and loss. My heart broke as I watched him admit defeat. I leaned over to him and told him there would be another game. He smiled a tiny bit but he was hardly consoled. I knew only 1 boy would be selected for the next game but I couldn’t just sit and watch his little heart breaking. I tried to offer some hope.

When the second game came around the clowns were scrambling to pick a contestant. They couldn’t remember who had already played and who hadn’t. I rushed over to the chaos, pointed adamantly at the boy and said, “I know that HE hasn’t played yet.” One of the clowns ushered him forward and with a delightful sigh of relief I retook my seat.

The game involved 1 boy, 1 girl, and 5 buckets. Each bucket concealed a prize; 1 piece of candy, or a handful of candy, or a jar of baby food, or more candy, or lastly, the grand prize. The boy chose one bucket, the girl chose another. As the remaining buckets were slowly removed to reveal what prizes hadn’t been chosen each child had to decide whether to stick with their first choice or whether they wanted to switch to one of the remaining buckets.

When all was said and done the boy won the grand prize. He received more candy than he could carry and a beanie bear. He was delighted, ecstatic as he made his way back to his seat with his arms full of goodies and all his friends oohing and ahhing at his conquest. After he sat I couldn’t help but notice how enraptured he was by his brand new beanie bear. (If I may clarify, virtually none of the items we gave away were brand new. They’d all been donated by people back home). The boy began to play with the little bear. He lifted it up like a father with a tiny child. He swung the bear back and forth as if it were on a swing set. For at least 5 minutes I watched the young man, 12 to 14 years of age play with that little bear almost as if it were the only toy he’d ever had. After a bit I noticed him give the beanie a little kiss on the nose, followed by another, and another.

I don’t know his story or his loss. I don’t know what toys or pets or family members may have been taken away by one of the mudslides. But I do know that with that one little bear he received something more valuable than possibly everything I own.