Hmmm... for some reason it's telling me the file is empty.
Well, here's the body of the letter:
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I had been in Peru for five days. Camp was over. I missed my girls - my new sisters in Christ. I was homesick, and I was worried about the next few hours.
Despite that, I was riding through Lima in a brand new Toyota bus with some of my closest friends. All around us, horns sounded and dogs barked. Looking out the window revealed graffiti-covered homes and jam-packed buses.
But all my attention was focused on Janet, our team’s translator. She was telling us all about the special needs orphanage we were about to visit.
“These kids have nothing,” she said, “they don’t even cry anymore; there’s no one to comfort them if they do.”
I wasn’t even sure what to think of that. That is the worst state I could ever imagine being in. I was certain I would spend the entire visit bawling.
But then we got to the orphanage, and Janet began wheeling the kids into the courtyard. As soon as they saw us, they grinned from ear to ear. One, who was not wheelchair-bound, ran forward and gave every member of the team a huge hug. There was one boy who crawled and flailed around because he hated his wheelchair. Another plopped down on a bench and put on one of the guy’s sunglasses.
For a while, I played ball with one of those boys. The game was simple: I put the tennis ball on the stick; he hit it off. But he got so much joy from it. Just hearing him laugh made the trip worth it.
But then one of the few girls caught my eye. Her name was Maria. She was strapped into her wheelchair; it was clear she had little to no control over her muscles. Her head lolled, and her hands grasped at thin air.
I instantly ran over and took one of her hands in both my own. From then on, I did nothing but hold her hand, and talk to her. I think I might have been one of the first people to tell her, “Tú es bonita.” You are beautiful.
Maria was just happy that I was there. I didn’t even have to do anything except hold her hand. Later, when I had to feed her lunch, and I let go of her hand, she instantly said, “Mano, mano.” Hand, hand.
After we finished feeding the hundred-something kids lunch, my team got together to talk about what we had learned, and someone said something that really hit me. They said that, to God, all of us – I am – just like those kids. Completely broken. Completely helpless. Yet, He reaches out to us, takes our hand, and tells us we are beautiful. Talk about humbling.
I think that’s what this trip was truly about: humility. Even when climbing to the highest point of Machu Picchu, I was struck by the majesty of God’s creation, and how small I am in comparison. I felt the same when we saw what seemed to be every star in existence one night on the bus.
Another humbling experience was seeing how powerful God was even in the face of a huge language barrier. Almost no one on our team really spoke Spanish, and almost none of the girls at camp spoke English. But God was still able to use our team to reach those girls. Once again, merely spending time with them meant more than a few exchanged words. It’s humbling to think that God could use the little interaction we had with them to help draw 43 students to Him.
Thank you so much for making it possible for me to spend time with the kids in Peru. Thank you for praying for me. Thank you for sending me.
With Love in Christ,
Abby
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The word doc I tried to post had pictures... maybe I can post those later.
I hope you guys haven't totally forgotten about me. 
And I can't wait to get to know all the new (or new-ish) people! 
I was wondering where you disappeared to. 
You really ought to know for sure whether you're a ghost or not... 