Sticky fingers on my face.
We sat on the dusty stairs that led to the doorway of the Church. Eunice, the pastor's wife, offered to translate for me. I asked a the kids if they wanted to hear a story about a friend of mine and they eagerly listened to every detail of Jesus calming the storm. When Eunice had to leave, it was like saying goodbye to all of the kids even though they didn't have to leave with her. They talked as fast as Eunice could translate and they held on to my hand and looked eagerly into my eyes. Yearning. Longing. I thought it would be goodbye without the words to tie us together. But then there were sticky fingers on my face and serious eyes just inches from mine: "Mwen remen ou." And the little girl on my lap kept saying those words to me until they were etched into my mind. Another girl to my side gripped my hand tighter and leaned her head on my shoulder: "Mwen remen ou."
I love you.
I led them to the dirty space in front of us and all of us danced together. Their bare feet moved across the filth and we laughed and sang and danced some more.