Ecuador

Photo taken in Ecuador in April 2026

I returned to Ecuador with a quiet knowing that I was meant to reconnect with some of the children—now teenagers and young adults.

I first met them in May 2016, when I came for what I thought would be a simple month-long escape, a way to step away from old memories.

But life had other plans.

What I didn’t realize then was that, in this faraway place, I wasn’t just leaving the past behind—I was beginning something entirely new. Memories rooted in connection, in unexpected relationships, in moments that would stay with me long after I left.

Three weeks before my trip, devastating earthquakes struck Manta.

I arrived in Quito with no itinerary—just myself and a backpack. Back in the United States, I had a friend from Sangolquí, and she arranged for her family to meet me at the airport. Beyond that, I had no idea what would come next.

I told them only this: I wanted to go where the earthquakes had been. I spoke a little Spanish, and I knew how to hug a child.

They reached out to friends in Manta. And just like that, I was on a nine-hour bus ride, heading toward a place I had never been, to meet people I had never known—already friends.

When I met María Del Carmen, there was an instant recognition—we knew each other. Sisters.

She drove me from place to place, introducing me to people she trusted, asking each one if they knew anyone working with children. We followed the thread, one connection leading to another.

And then—everything opened.

The manager at a hotel knew a woman, Sheryl Hostetler, from the United States, who was working with children at the Shekinah Foundation—children who had been abused, children who didn’t have a safe place to call home.

We met. And from that moment, everything changed. I knew I had to return to be with the children. The pull of my heart was too strong to ignore—and I didn’t want to ignore it.

Six months later, I returned to Manta and spent a year volunteering at Shekinah, 2016-2017.

There were twenty-five children, from infants to eighteen years old. Each one carried a story—some so horrific they are impossible to put into words.

And still, despite all they had endured, they opened their hearts to me. And I gave mine to them.

What happened there…what happened within me…is beyond language. It lives in my very core—a love so deep it feels as though it has no beginning and no end.

Being with them revealed something I had not fully understood about myself. Their experiences mirrored parts of my own. As a young person, I often felt confused when people spoke to me. I could hear the words, but I couldn’t make sense of what was being asked. I would say, “I don’t understand what you want from me.”

It made concentrating difficult. I moved through the world feeling just slightly off balance.

Even now, that experience still surfaces.

Where others saw children who couldn’t learn—or didn’t want to—I saw myself. And I understood them.

My background is in special education, and one of my strengths is recognizing how individuals learn, then creating ways to meet them there. Slowly, things began to shift. The children started learning.

We laughed. We argued. We made paper mache penguins and turtles. I taught them how to jump rope, how to skip. We jogged when it felt too hot to breathe, and we would scream into the air—no importa. Things were thrown. Tantrums were thrown. Children of all ages gathered around as we built wild creations with Legos.

And then it was time for me to leave…

And they never left my heart.

I returned again in 2018 for three months. And now I am here in 2026, again for three months.

I still speak very little Spanish, and the people I know here speak only Spanish. I am so grateful for technology.

Much has changed. Only three of the children I knew are still at Shekinah. One is living in another children’s home. The rest are out in the world—too many on their own, not thriving, surviving. No safety net.

I began this by saying I had a knowing—that I needed to reconnect. To tell them they are loved. That I love them. That I have always loved them.

Even before leaving Chicago, I questioned that knowing. Is that enough?

The answer is yes.

Yesterday, I visited a teenage boy, now seventeen, whom I first met when he was just seven. He is now living in another institution. I adored him, as I did all the children—smart, funny, creative, mischievous…a child in every beautiful sense.

I showed him photos from when we were together, and his face lit up.

We spent a few hours sharing memories—light, familiar, and full of joy. I will return soon.

Alejandro, who has been driving me around to meet the youth—and who was there yesterday—said to me: “It makes me very happy to see you happy and to know that there are people who, with a smile, can change the lives of many people.”

And their smiles have changed my life.