Potter Street Camp

Last night, I laid awake, asking God why He chose now to break my heart for Philadelphia. After 4 years of living here, He waited until the last month. And the very next morning, I wake up to a notification in my email, telling me that two rather large donations for my trip to Cote d'Ivoire have finally appeared in my account! It was as if God was taking away that little bit of doubt in my heart, saying "no, I still want you to go to Africa in October. It figures – sometimes His timing makes absolutely no sense. However, I would like to tell you in short exactly what it is about this great city of Philadelphia that has a handle on my heart.

In July, amongst job searching and support raising, I stumbled upon a camp that an organization called the Simple Way was running in Kensington. As it turned out, Potter Street camp was looking for someone to lead an art segment with the kids. I came in assuming I would only be there 3 days of the week, and instead, I spent all of the free time that I had in Kensington. This was partially because of the completely awesome people who were volunteering with me, but mostly because of the kids that we blew bubbles with, taught scripture to, sang “Baby shark” with day after day, and even sat in time out with for countless hours. And like most situations in which you are serving others, it is you – the one serving – who learns much. Those kids taught me joy, patience, humility, courage, strength, peace, and most of all, love. Jesus said that when you give a child a glass of water, you are giving it to him, and it was that scripture that got me through the day sometimes. They had a hope within them that many of their parents seemed to have lost through the years. I will never forget the day that Tyreek saw the box of honey buns on our counter, and handed all of them out on the street without even keeping one for himself. How something as simple as a single dance move could make a 10-year-old girl named Precious laugh for hours, or how much the littlest ones loved to be swung back and forth by their hands and feet. How a little 3-year-old girl named Yameli came to the camp on the first day, shy and quiet, without knowing any English, and how she ran up to me with arms wide on the last day and left singing “baby shark do do– do do –do do “. The day I stood by her side while she took a very long time in the port-a-potty, the day she painted my whole arm red, and her laugh that will turn any frown into a smile. A boy named Louie who we had to send home from camp after many occasions of punching innocents and grabbing inappropriate areas. Yet the same boy once helped me carry a water cooler back to the storage room after camp was over, and then held my hand as he walked peacefully back home. A little girl named Isyss who spent an hour writing me a letter instead of playing with the other kids on the last water day of camp. And just two nights ago, when I played hot potato with a very expressive little girl named Tymeka. When the “potato” finally cooled down enough to eat, she told me that it was strawberry flavored.

I could go on and on with these stories, and I thank God for every single one of them. I thought this summer would be solely about preparing for Africa, but God had other plans. He knew that I needed this experience, that it would teach me SO MUCH that I will take with me to Cote d’Ivoire. He never ceases to amaze me. That is for sure. How deep His love is for me, how vast beyond all measure, as it is for all of His children. I praise Him with every breath, for how He has taught me to love like Him… but mostly how He is still teaching me. I still fall short every day, but that is ok because He loves me just the same.