I know a simple thing like fruit flavored gum shouldn’t be an emotional thing. In fact, I would be highly likely to tease someone who gets emotional over fruit flavored gum. It’s silly, really. It’s GUM. Seriously, what could there possibly be to get emotional about? The best tasting Juicyfruit ever? An amazing new Bubble Yum raspberry flavor? Come on, you can’t think of a scenario that involves getting emotional over fruit flavored gum. So why would I possibly be so fixated on fruit flavored gum? In fact, why did I take about 300-400 pieces of fruit flavored gum to Haiti on my last trip? That’s right; I took 8 jumbo containers of it. I took enough for every kid at the orphanage to have at least two pieces of it. Why did I try to bless so many with fruit flavored gum? And why is it an emotional thing for me?
It stems back to my first trip, in July this year. It was hot. “Shoot you in the face hot” was how Travis Kaiser, our leader described it. He was right. Sweat poured off me even just sitting there doing nothing. Those sweet orphans would come up to us and wipe down our arms, our faces, and our sweat-soaked hair, pushing it away from our foreheads and eyes. They would say ‘sweaty’ with thick Creole accents trying to care for us, fanning us with their hands or anything else they could find. For many people not used to that kind of closeness and touch, it was a little awkward at first. It was awkward for me, and I don’t mind a little reassuring touch or a hug every now and then. The last thing I want when I’m dripping sweat from every pore is to have someone touching me. But when we looked at their faces, their genuine concern for our discomfort, we saw the love in their eyes. We couldn’t help but enjoy their sweet efforts to comfort us, wiping and fanning. We had arrived on a Saturday and met them in the afternoon. Saturday night we showed the first half of a movie we brought. I sat next to my two kids on the floor, dripping sweat, trying to avoid contact to minimize the extra body heat from them. We could only watch half of the movie that night because it was getting late and Sunday was church day. On Monday night, after our 3rd day there with the kids, we returned for the second half of the movie. After 3 days of bonding, hugging, and loving on the kids, there was no avoiding contact during the movie this time. I sat down on the pew in church and motioned for my girl, Sonjua, to climb on my lap. How could I 
deny her? As she watched the movie her eyes riveted to the screen, I noticed she was chewing gum. I wondered where she got it, since I hadn’t given her any. Maybe the team that was there the previous week had given it to her. I looked back at the movie trying to focus on it and ignore the sweat pouring down my legs into my shoes, down my back inside my shirt, and down my cheeks dripping off my chin. I shifted my position on the hard pew, trying to get more comfortable. Sonjua looked over at me as I shifted. She saw the sweat coming down my cheeks and wiped down my hair and cheeks. I smiled at her and turned back to the movie, enjoying her sweet, loving attempts to comfort me. As I watched the movie she blew on my face to cool me. It was surprisingly effective, feeling cool and comforting. How sweet! And then I smelled her breath, her sweet fruity-gum breath. My eyes started to fill with tears. This little angel who I was supposed to be encouraging and comforting was comforting me! She was blessing me, ministering to me in my sweatiness.
deny her? As she watched the movie her eyes riveted to the screen, I noticed she was chewing gum. I wondered where she got it, since I hadn’t given her any. Maybe the team that was there the previous week had given it to her. I looked back at the movie trying to focus on it and ignore the sweat pouring down my legs into my shoes, down my back inside my shirt, and down my cheeks dripping off my chin. I shifted my position on the hard pew, trying to get more comfortable. Sonjua looked over at me as I shifted. She saw the sweat coming down my cheeks and wiped down my hair and cheeks. I smiled at her and turned back to the movie, enjoying her sweet, loving attempts to comfort me. As I watched the movie she blew on my face to cool me. It was surprisingly effective, feeling cool and comforting. How sweet! And then I smelled her breath, her sweet fruity-gum breath. My eyes started to fill with tears. This little angel who I was supposed to be encouraging and comforting was comforting me! She was blessing me, ministering to me in my sweatiness. At that point, something came back to me, something Joe Knittig had said to us at the Crazy Love banquet at church the previous December, when we had confirmed our family’s decision to come to Haiti. Joe had described the dynamics of ministering to orphans like this.
“If you take all the people of the world and line them up in a single file line according to their wealth, these orphans are at the far end of it, among the poorest of the poor, with no one to speak for them, no family or caretakers. If you’re blessed to live in America, you’re somewhere at the other end of the line, among the wealthiest in the world. You’ll step out of your place in the line and go to the end of the line, thinking you’re going to save these orphans, but they’ll save you.”
He was right! Here I was, coming to bless these kids and being blessed. Coming to love and comfort them, but instead feeling more love and comfort from them. Sonjua didn’t have anything more than a few clothes and that gum, but she was blessing me beyond measure trying to cool me and comfort me. That sweet fruity breath was the first time it hit me that week, but there were many more lessons from Sonjua and her amazing friends. They taught us how to love through spending time, smiling, touching, and hugging. Those things meant far more to them than anything we could give them. This fact was emphasized when some from our group went into one of the boys’ homes and found a
trophy case of toys, Frisbees and balls hung from the ceiling. These items had been given to the kids by previous teams, intended to bring them happiness through play. Instead, they were hung from the ceiling as a reminder of the love of the givers behind the gifts. After a few days around those orphans, you realize that Joe was right, almost prophetic—those orphans showed us that things don’t matter, people do, and the most important thing is a relationship with Jesus. They loved Jesus and praised Him like I’ve never experienced before. Even though they had almost nothing to call their own, those kids were happier than most kids I know in America. My thinking started changing that night, with one little blast of sweet fruity gum breath. I’ll never be the same, Sonjua and 
her friends saved me. Things don’t matter to me like they used to, and relationships matter so much more.
He was right! Here I was, coming to bless these kids and being blessed. Coming to love and comfort them, but instead feeling more love and comfort from them. Sonjua didn’t have anything more than a few clothes and that gum, but she was blessing me beyond measure trying to cool me and comfort me. That sweet fruity breath was the first time it hit me that week, but there were many more lessons from Sonjua and her amazing friends. They taught us how to love through spending time, smiling, touching, and hugging. Those things meant far more to them than anything we could give them. This fact was emphasized when some from our group went into one of the boys’ homes and found a
trophy case of toys, Frisbees and balls hung from the ceiling. These items had been given to the kids by previous teams, intended to bring them happiness through play. Instead, they were hung from the ceiling as a reminder of the love of the givers behind the gifts. After a few days around those orphans, you realize that Joe was right, almost prophetic—those orphans showed us that things don’t matter, people do, and the most important thing is a relationship with Jesus. They loved Jesus and praised Him like I’ve never experienced before. Even though they had almost nothing to call their own, those kids were happier than most kids I know in America. My thinking started changing that night, with one little blast of sweet fruity gum breath. I’ll never be the same, Sonjua and 
her friends saved me. Things don’t matter to me like they used to, and relationships matter so much more. I challenge you to take up Joe Knittig’s challenge, to step out of your place in line and go to the end of the line, to spend some time with some of these sweet orphans in Haiti or anywhere else you have opportunity to go. You won’t regret it—they will save you too. Oh, and one more thing, you may want to take some fruit flavored gum.
