Christian Living
It was my second week at the school. During the previous week, I learned that the next two months of my life would be nothing like what I had expected. Originally I was to hold babies, but instead began assisting in the six to thirteen year old class. God must have known it would be more fruitful for me to work with older kids. My first piece of fruit was gathered that night.
As eleven year old Sharon spoke, my brow furrowed, my mind questioned, and my heart softened. Tragedy had struck the family twice in her short life. What wounds she must carry!
“I have five brothers… Well, two of them died, so now I have three brothers. Michael and Jonathan annoy me. I do good in school…” she went on to mention dreams of being a doctor and helping sick people.
The ease at which she mentioned the deaths surprised me. Several of the other boys thought she had said “dead bodies” and they began to snicker over that. Their insensitivity was just a glimpse at the multitude of problems each of these kids have. In this unusal class of ten students, it was difficult to get anything accomplished. Rowdy behavior, talking out of turn, and giggling kept the group from moving forward. But that day we managed to draw pictures of our families.
There are no traditional families among them. These kids all come from troubled family situations, which brought them to the Alliance’s doorstep.
At my table, there were four children.
The most creative drawing belonged to Nelson. He is eight and is a talented artist. He drew very odd shapes to represent the various members of his family: three kids, a mom and a stepfather. He seems in desperate need of an authority figure and boundaries.
Another child, Ben, a sweet, soft-spoken, over-sized seven year old boy, drew very nice pictures of his mom, his little brother, and himself. I haven’t quite figured out why he is in the class, except for his social awkwardness. He does not interact with the other kids much, and says he likes to sleep, not read, play game boy, sports, or watch TV. Sleep is good enough for Ben.
Veronica, the twelve year old, the self-proclaimed “mature” one of the class, loudly proclaimed her maturity while drawing a sad picture of her home life. She talks big, but I wonder where she goes when there is no audience, and what hurts she is covering with her attitude.
Young Paul, at age nine, has his “bling” of silver plastic medallions hanging from his neck. The focused activity quickly drains him and he hastily draws seven circles to illustrate his living situation. His dramatic reactions and his inability to keep his mouth closed for two seconds together has me imaging how he would do in a home with two parents who loved him.
Veronica, Paul, and Ben finish their drawings and join the other kids on the carpet. Nelson strives for perfection in his picture, but time has run out. He hastily writes his sister’s name, and scurries to the carpet. I walk around the classroom, picking up crayons and stray pieces of paper. Soon the teacher channels the children’s energy into an enthusiastic round of Simon Says. As the other classes let out, they join the crowd. Soon Anthony’s authority problems rear their head, as he tries to be his own Simon. But his antics are ignored. He quickly tires of the game and leaves. Some children are full of wonder, excited by the commands of, “Simon says… stand on one foot. Simon says… rub your belly.” Other children are dutifully playing along, while keeping a sharp eye out for their parents. They’re ready to leave.
Soon it is time to make rain. The children and parents stand in a circle and slowly rub their hands together, followed by snapping fingers, followed by thigh slapping, and finally, foot stomping. As the rain fades into silence, the group seems calmer than before. Time is up. They swiftly make their exits and return to their respective disorganized lives.
We volunteers gather up our things and head out.
As I make my way across the parking lot, thinking on their behaviors and gaping emptiness, I am left with one thought: If I ever work with needy kids full-time, it must be with a Christian organization. Without showing them Jesus, with His forgiveness, love, and provision, what good is teaching them to obey rules? Where will they find hope, if not in Christ?
It is at that moment, that compassion firmly establishes itself in my heart. Oh, Lord Jesus, forgive my blindness to those who need you. Forgive my judging thoughts and hard heart. Thank you for revealing yourself to me through the needs of these precious children. I pray that they each come to know the full measure of your love someday. And may I never again lack in compassion for lost sheep.
*When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.* Matthew 9:36
*For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.* Luke 19:10
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First of all, writer to writer; I would like to have seen a more in depth exposition of the emotions that had to have been comparable to an angry flood ripping through a sleepy village at night. Now, for the best part; I just love your vulnerability, honesty and the ease with which you shared your humility when once you'd seen what you shared here. An inspiration? Absolutely.
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