The Little Boy Who Wouldn't Smile

by Denise Dorough

It was the most demanding time of my life, but it was also the very best of my life. The summer of 1981 found me serving as a summer missionary assigned to the Texas Rio Grande Valley. I served alongside eleven other college students from different parts of the country. We came that summer in the hope effecting a change in the lives we touched. However when the summer was done, we discovered that a change had been effected in us.

In many of the towns we visited the children had round faces, were well scrubbed, and money for candy jingled in their pockets. In others, however, they came to us clad in filthy, smelly clothing. Some came to us with head lice, still others with ringworm, but they all came and listened to the stories of Jesus. It was these little dirty ones who needed our love the most, and despite our instinctive urge to hold them at a distance, we held them close and lavished them with love.

When I think back on that summer, one experience in particular is foremost in my mind. That week we held the Bible school in a small village in northeast Mexico situated just across the levy from the Rio Grande river. The village itself was tiny but did have a simple one-room church which more than suited our purpose. In preparation for our coming, the pastor of that church had spread the news that young people from the U.S. were coming to hold a Bible school. When our van pulled into the dirt drive of the church all the children were waiting for us.

The first day went well. However, some of us noticed a little boy of about five or six years who never smiled. He never laughed or even played with the other children. He simply sat alone. This was unlike his brother and sister who joined in the fun with all the other children. We wondered, “What could be causing so much sadness in one so young?” We unanimously made him our special project.

The little boy’s name was Juanito and the next day he returned with his brother and sister. Once again, he sat solemnly throughout all the activities. No laughing. No playing. He spoke to no one, even when we held him in our arms and spoke quietly to him. We hoped that he listened to the Bible stories that we told, but we could never be sure. Because we had seen many physical problems in children that summer we began to wonder if he had been born mute. However, at the end of the second day we all discovered that Juanito had an excellent set of vocal cords and could use them quite well when he wished.

After dismissing the children, I was inside the church collecting scattered crayons when I heard yelling coming from outside so I dropped everything to see what was the matter. When I reached the church door, my mouth fell open out of shear surprise.

Most of the children had already gone home, but gathered under the huge oak tree in front of the church was a small group of children. To my amazement, in the center of the gathering and the object of such interest was little Juanito. He was struggling to free himself from his brother and screaming, “No!”, over and over again. His brother, in an attempt to take his charge home, discovered along with the rest of us who witnessed this scene, that Juanito wanted to stay with us. Only after much assuring that he could come back the next day did Juanito finally relent and walk quietly away, his brother’s hand in his. It was then we realized that maybe the wall of indifference was tumbling down.

The rest of the week at the little church passed quickly. Juanito returned each day with his brother and sister, quietly sitting through the Bible stories and later the craft activity. With each passing day there was a change in Juanito. He seemed to want to be closer and closer to us, seeking the love that we had to give. His name was spoken in prayer many times that week.

On the final day of the week when craft time rolled around, the children were eager to begin. We saved the best craft for last--a pinwheel, and each of the children began working busily. Little Juanito was no different and used as many colors as he could fit on the piece of paper. After much care and effort, he was ready to put his pinwheel together. I was nearby, so with Juanito watching very closely, the colored construction paper, tack and wooden stick, became a pinwheel. I placed the finished product back into the hands of its maker. Juanito stood up and looked proudly at his multicolored creation. At that precise moment a wind gust caught the tips of the pinwheel and it began to spin round and round with the colors becoming a blur. At that moment a sound came from Juanito that caused us all to stop and stare. For when the breeze made the pinwheel spin, a big smile cracked across Juanito’s face and his laughter echoed around us. We all joined in and laughed too.

That was many summers ago and we never knew the source of sadness in that young boy’s life. But maybe someday Juanito will look back upon a summer when some people came to his village and for that one moment gave him a reason to smile. Also maybe he’ll remember some of the things we taught him; and the seed that was planted in his heart so many summers ago will take root and flourish. I hope so.

Copyright © 1996, 1997, 1998 Denise Dorough All Rights Reserved

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