Years ago I was part of a mission team leading a pastor’s conference in Hyderbad, India. Hundreds of pastors came from remote villages and tribal areas to attend the week long training event.
At the same location was a boarding school for tribal children. They were brought to the school to be nursed back to health and educated. They were very poor. The majority of them only had two sets of clothing, a pair of sandals, a pencil, a sleeping mat and maybe, if they were lucky…a toy.
The weekend before the conference began we interacted with the children a lot. They were learning English so we talked, played and laughed together. One of the children, a boy name Subru, wanted to know my name. To him, I became “Uncle Steve.”
On Monday the children were back into their normal routine of school, chores and activities. Our “friendships” were reduced to waving to each other from a distance. Each time Subru saw me, his face would explode into a smile and he would loudly shout his greeting, “Good morning, Steve…Uncle!” or “Good afternoon, Steve…Uncle!”
Every day I eagerly anticipated this little boost of encouragement and sunshine. As the week neared its end I believe Subru started skipping some chores, activities and perhaps even some classes to make sure he was able to greet me numerous times a day.
On our last day at that location, Subru became my shadow. Wherever I went…he was there. I could tell he was saddened by the thought of never seeing me again. He was on the verge of tears all morning long.
When the time came to leave, Subru looked at me with those big brown eyes and stammered in broken English, “I…..gift….you.” My heart broke because I literally had nothing to offer a little Indian boy. I had given everything I had to the schoolmaster to distribute to all of the children. Good thing I did that or Subru would’ve gotten it all! But I had nothing to offer my Indian ‘nephew.’ After a moment I realized he wasn’t asking for a gift. He wanted to give me a gift! He had shoved his hand into the pocket of his trousers and was struggling to remove my gift…his only toy, a little (broken) Matchbox car. His hands trembled as he reassembled the car as best he could. And with crocodile tears streaming down his cheeks he handed me the best gift I’ve ever received.
In that one week and in one brief exchange…a little Indian boy taught me more about love than I had ever known. Even though I was the American missionary…he taught me that real love is sacrificial. His gift helped me understand John 3:16 in a new light. When someone gives you the best (and perhaps the only) thing they have to offer…there is no question about their love.
I will never forget Subru and his lesson of loving sacrifice. And I will forever cherish that busted up Matchbox car.