Yesterday, our ministry time looked a little different, and honestly, it ended up teaching me more than I expected.

This weekend was a holiday in Mexico, which meant there was no English teacher at the orphanage. Normally, our days are filled with structure. We teach the kids English through sports, reading, and music classes, and there is always a schedule to follow and goals to meet. But yesterday, all of that was set aside. Instead, we were given a full day to simply be with the kids, to play with them, to laugh with them, and to be present with no agenda.

For some reason, I felt a strong pull toward the preschool and baby room. I did not overthink it. I just listened to that feeling and went.

The second I walked through the door, I heard it. “Emma, Emma, Emma!” Their voices filled the room. Five kids came running toward me, all reaching up, all wanting to be held. I laughed as I tried to scoop them up, somehow managing to hold three at once. I went and sat down on one of the beds in the room, and immediately kids surrounded me, climbing onto my lap, leaning against me, and wanting my attention.

One little boy, who is six years old, came and quietly sat next to me. He has always stood out to me, not because he is loud or demanding, but because he is the opposite. He is quiet. Observant. Emotional in a way that feels deep for such a young age. He slowly scooted closer until his shoulder rested against my side, and we started talking in the simple Spanish that I know. I asked him what he likes to do, what games he enjoys, if he has siblings. Simple questions, but ones that matter.

He told me his little brother was also in the room. He pointed him out to me. The little one who cries often, sometimes over things that seem so small. He is two years old, so it makes sense, but knowing their story makes it feel heavier. After a moment, he looked up at me and told me he was tired. Without hesitation, he curled into a little ball on my lap and fell asleep almost instantly.

I remember just sitting there, completely still, confused and surprised. I could not understand why he would choose sleep over playing or talking or running around like the other kids. It happened so fast, and I did not want to move. I did not want to disturb him.

But that wasn't all.

Another child came over and laid against me. Then another. Before I realized it, three kids were asleep on me or pressed up against my sides. What started as my small corner of the room slowly turned into a quiet corner. A couple of girls grabbed books and laid next to me, flipping through pages and whispering to each other. The room felt calm in a way it rarely does.

I stayed there for over an hour. My legs went numb. My arms were tired. But I did not move. I could not bring myself to.

With three kids asleep on me, I had a lot of time to think.

I started thinking about my own childhood. I thought about how there was nothing that made me feel safer than falling asleep in my parents’ arms. That feeling of comfort, of knowing you are protected and loved, is something so powerful. Even now, when I am sick, all I want is my mom. When I am sad or overwhelmed, I crave the comfort of her holding me and telling me everything will be okay. Even as an adult, there is something so grounding about being comforted by your parents.

And then it hit me.

These kids do not have that.

Some of them never have.

For many of them, comfort has never meant safety. Love has never felt gentle. Some of their stories, the reasons they are here, completely break my heart. They have survived things no child should ever experience. Prostitution. Abuse. Neglect. And some even worse.

These are God’s children.

God’s children who have endured more pain than most adults ever will. And yet they are still here. Still loving. Still trusting. Still strong.

So when these kids fall asleep on me, I let it happen. Even when it is uncomfortable. Even when my legs go numb and my arms ache. Because I might be the only place they feel safe enough to rest. I might be the only arms they have ever known that did not hurt them. I might be the first time they have experienced comfort without fear.

Every day, I tell these kids how loved they are. Loved by me. Loved by our team. Loved deeply and fully by God. Sometimes when I hug them and tell them I love them, they break down and cry. Not because they are sad in that moment, but because those words are new to them. Because love is still something they are learning how to receive.

So here is my lesson for this week.

Ministry does not always look like teaching a lesson or leading an activity or having the right words to say. Sometimes ministry looks like sitting still on a bed with numb legs and a full heart. Sometimes it looks like letting someone rest. Like offering your presence without expecting anything in return. Like being a safe place in a world that has not been safe to them.

That is the kind of love Jesus shows us. He meets us where we are. He holds us when we are tired. He invites us to rest, even when we do not realize how much we need it.

I will see you all next week !