So Will I.

It’s been almost one entire year since I wrote in this blog.  Between a six month furlough in the States and trying to reintegrate back into ministry, time has not been readily available.  Plus, after such a long hiatus, it’s sometimes hard to know where to begin.  But Friday night we went for our usual Night Outreach and I came back with so many thoughts and emotions, and an overwhelming need to write them down.  So, here we go.

Throughout my life, God has often used songs or certain phrases from songs to speak to me during different seasons.  Our time in the US was no different.  We heard one particular song over and over again during those six months, but it wasn’t until singing it at a Worship Conference near the end of our furlough that a certain phrase struck me in a totally new way.  The song is “So Will I,” and the phrase is:

If you gave your life to love them, so will I.

I remember weeping when I sang the words.  There we were, preparing our hearts to head back to Zambia to begin another three-year term of working with street children.  Never in my life has the “them” been so clear.  Those words were like a battle cry for me.  A mission statement.  A reminder of why I was once again leaving my family and friends behind to live on the other side of the world.  For love.  For THEM.  Because Jesus did it and still does it for all of us.

Since being back, the phrase has continued to follow me.  I try to keep it at the forefront of my mind every day as we go out to work with these young men.  Some days I’m better at it than others.  But one thing I’m learning is that loving someone looks completely different from moment to moment.

Sometimes it means holding a boy who just found out his little sister died from a tragic accident.  That’s one of the moments I had Friday night.  E, a 14 year old boy we’ve known for a few months, came up and said he was going home the next day.  I told him I was happy to hear that, but in my heart I assumed he would be back.  Lots of the boys come and go from their homes, taking “holidays” when they need a break from town.  But then he started crying and I pulled him close.  He said he had been told earlier that day that his sister died and he was going back for the funeral.  I held him, prayed with him, and begged him to stay home.  I explained how much his family needs him home right now.  I prayed for him to be strong and fight the temptation to come back to town, to sticka, to this life.  I’m still praying.

Sometimes this love simply means listening to music.  That’s how it was for Chris on Friday night.  One of the first boys we saw was P, one of the meanest and most feared boys on the streets.  You can literally feel the other boys’ apprehension around him, and most stay away until he’s gone.  He doesn’t come to any of our other programs, but he still stops by during night outreach to greet us and chat for a bit.  This night, he wanted Uncle Chris to listen to ALL of the songs he’s recorded and get his feedback.  You could almost FEEL the desire for affirmation in his voice as he explained each one.  Sometimes judging P comes a lot easier than loving him.  It’s easy to forget that he’s just as lost and broken as all the others…he just puts on a braver face to cover it up.

And sometimes love means sitting silently with a young man while he processes through his pain.  That’s another moment I had Friday night that simply wrecked me.  I was sitting with F, a newer boy who just started attending the Learning Center.  My heart was already broken for this sweet boy as I worked with him this week and saw how far behind he is; 18 years old and unable to even copy letters from the board.  But he’s been showing up.  And trying.  And warming up to us, little by little.  So Friday I wanted to hear more of his story so I could get to know him better.  I started asking the usual questions with Chris’ help translating.  Everything was pretty straightforward for the first few minutes.  We found out the basics of his family and why he came to town.  But then I asked, “So why can’t you go back to stay with your mother?”  Suddenly he froze.  Silence.  I thought maybe he hadn’t heard the question, but as I looked at him, I realized his eyes were filling with tears.  I reached over to put my hand on his shoulder.  We sat there for about five minutes.  Chris tried to switch spots with me and see if he would open up, but the silence continued and the tears kept falling.  All I could do was pray for him.  Pray that he keeps coming to our programs.  Praying that he doesn’t get fully sucked into street life.  Praying that we can continue building a relationship with him.  Praying that we can help him reconnect with his family.  Praying that Jesus heals whatever hurts he has experienced.  Praying that this boy comes to know the unconditional love of the Father.

Loving these boys is not always easy.  It can be hard and heartbreaking.  Sometimes loving them means correcting them or disciplining them to help them grow and change.  Other times it means loving them exactly as they are, even if they NEVER change.  Sometimes it means words; other times it means silence.  Sometimes it means action; other times it means doing nothing at all.  But in all of these moments, it means showing up and doing whatever Jesus is asking us to do.  As I sat with F, rubbing his back as tears rolled down his face, I vividly remember thinking, “This is why I’m here.  This is what Jesus would be doing.”  It may not seem like a lot, but I pray that it meant a lot to him.

And so we will continue looking for ways to love these boys as best we can.  Because if Jesus did it, so will we.