From time to time, I want to share intimate stories with you because God can teach us through them. It's hard to share these because it can so easily come across as, "Look at me and aren't I one truly awesome being." That is so far from reality. Living here humbles me daily and has shown me over and over my excess and my selfishness and my weak faith and my utter inability to do anything lasting without Christ and that I am no one's savior. I want to share these stories because we all have something to learn from them. Please don't praise us because then we just might start thinking we are all that. And we're just not.
May you be as blessed and challenged by Sanele and Syrin's story as I am.
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As he lifts the burger to his mouth, his sleeve slips down and I see the armband that proclaims, "I love Jesus." And I am relieved. It gives me an idea where to go with this conversation.
The truth is, I'm not good at knowing what to say sometimes. Put me in a group of moms and I don't get stumped. We relate to each other. But put me with a young man who has walked 10 kms, hoping to get to eat and I just don't know. Is it embarrassing if I ask where he lives? Is it painful if I ask about his family? Is he uncomfortable being the beggar while I watch him eat?
It all started about 20 minutes before...
As we approached the drive thru lane, we saw a figure in tattered clothes, hiding in the shadows. The fact is, living here has trained us to be on high alert and study every situation for danger. So, for a moment, we paused because you just never know who else may be lurking. As we pulled closer, we could see a sweetness in his youthful face and decided/hoped/prayed we were probably safe. He extended his hands in a humble gesture and asked for money because he was hungry. Brian asked if we could buy him dinner and he eagerly nodded but stayed in the shadows, moving along with us in the drive thru lane but keeping his distance. We got the food and pulled into the parking space but saw him hesitate. Maybe he'd been burned by empty promises before. Brian hailed him over and he pulled his skinny arms out from his armholes where he kept them in a futile search for warmth. He thanked us profusely and went to sit down on the dark curb with his dinner.
And the sight of this little boy eating in the dark and cold just does not sit with me so I figure God will be good enough to tell me what to say because you can't just leave a kid like that.
So, Sanele and I visit. Years of recruiting showed me my favorite way to get to know someone is to just ask questions. Which is good because it took pressure off me to do the talking. I learn Sanele is in 7th grade and 15...though he looks no older than 12. Malnourished kids look much younger than they are. He lives with his grandmother and older brother. His older brother, he says, is hiding in the bushes across the road to keep an eye on him. It turns out there are other teens who "smoke drugs" who sometimes rob Sanele after people have given money to him.
He is 15 years old.
And he just told me he's been mugged. Multiple times. In the same kind of steady conversation like a kid might tell you he has homework. Just a fact of life.
I run to the car to grab something and, when I get back, Sanele has a friend. Seriously, I have no idea where he came from. There are shadows everywhere. So much for being alert. Another teen, he's Syrin and he's 16. He's also here to beg. I see kindness and sincerity in his eyes, too, and I see he is hungry. So, back to the line I go. I look out to see a third boy has joined them before he runs back across the road into the shadows. That must be the big brother, coming to snag some fries, but he is off before I return.
We talk about school and how Syrin loves soccer and has been playing since he was three and how amazing it is to watch people who move like they are one with the ball. You can see the excitement when he talks about his favorite sport. And, when I see that Sanele nods that he likes soccer but is not as effusive about it, I ask if maybe he likes drawing or music and it turns out he likes to draw and I see him light up when he talks about it.
We also talk about that bracelet Syrin is wearing and how he believes in Jesus and how he loves Jesus "very much." And we talk about Sanele's necklace that he made out of a zipper. It's seriously a zipper and he was so proud of his workmanship.
You know, they really are just regular teens.
But then we talk about things that regular teens outside of poverty don't normally talk about. Like how these boys walk 20 kilometers roundtrip each Saturday and Sunday night just to beg for money and food.
Syrin is who tells me they live 10 kms from there. I want to know more. "Doesn't it take a couple of hours to walk that distance?" I ask. He tells me, no, they run the distance. They leave McDonalds at 8 pm to run home. I ask if they are safe running; if anyone ever bothers them. He says not really because they run near where they know there are security guards. And they've learned not to come during the week because the weekends when it's safer. The guys who do drugs have "made enough money" by then. I'm relieved to hear that. And yet, I'm not okay with it. It's not right that a kid runs 20 kms in the dark and cold (or ever) just to eat. And that they get mugged. Nothing is right about what they tell me.
These boys melt my heart. I love that they don't ask for more. I hate that they have to ask for any. I love that their eyes are soft and sweet. I hate that boys with hard eyes put fear in them. I love that they are willing to share their stories with me. I hate that I am only hearing them because they have no food at home. I love that the Lord gave me this moment. I hate that I can't do more. I love that they are sincere in their gratitude. I don't need it, but I love good manners in a kid. I tell them this was a gift for me, too. That God blessed me with them. I encourage them to stay in school and make right and honest choices. Again, what can I say to them?
Before I go, I ask if I can pray for them. But here is where I really struggle for words. How do I pray in a way that they understand God loves them but it's so hard to explain why they had to run 20 kms to eat? That is always hard for me..."Lord, provide for them," when it often seems so helpless. Yet, I love that, as I prayed for them, I heard Syrin utter, "Amen." They trust the Lord even when it often seems so helpless.
And, tonight, I think of all the other things I could've/wish'd I'd said but all it comes down to is, I hope they saw Love. I hope they saw Jesus' Love. I hope they know it's not from me. It's all from Him. I could only give them a few minutes of love. He is a lifetime of Love. I pray that Love gives them hope. I pray that Love whispers to them in the dark and cold that they are not alone. I pray that Love ran ahead of and all around them and protected them from harm. I pray that Love provides enough for them, much more than food.
*******
Lord, Jesus, I really don't know what to say sometimes. I don't know what to do. I feel helpless most days when I see so much need all around and there is just no way to make it end. It isn't fair, it isn't right, it's not what you want for people.But, Lord, I love that you minister to young boys' hearts in ways I cannot. I love that about You. You have such a heart for the poor and for children and I love that you use simple people to step in in even little ways. That, even if I didn't have the words, You modeled the actions because You are deeply compassionate toward the wounded and the poor. Thank you, Lord, for letting me hear even a small bit of their story. You used simple children to step in my life in such a big way. Teach us, Lord, to use our money wisely and keep our hearts open widely. Soften our hearts for the wounded and poor because they have a story that can bless and challenge us.
