I have seen

​

I have seen a light and a hope and a joy that one can’t express in words but can only feel,

Children laughing at your horrible Spanish, brown eyes dancing, shy but curious

​

In a place where hearts are as warm as the sun on my skin and who give generously, even when there is nothing to give.

Relying so wholly on God because they know that without Him they will be hungry that night, and sometimes they are, but praising His name with tears running down their cheeks because He is faithful.  Always faithful.

I have seen.

​

A boy, only 2 years old.  Crouched over, dirt streaked onto his tiny face, putting stones in his pockets because money is not for toys so this is how he plays. Collecting stones.

His mother begging us to pray for her because she does not have a husband and she is going blind and she has three young children and her house has collapsed.  She makes four dollars a day but it is not enough.

My heart breaking, we pray and we cry.

I have seen.

​

A dear woman sitting on a bed, just a shadow. 97 years old, chickens walking through her house like it is theirs, but it is hers.  Not even a house -a shanty. She sits, eyes unseeing, her skin parchment paper. Ankles swollen, causing so much pain.  A toothless smile.  Left to take care of herself, when she can not even move and she should be honored and taken care of as her life fades but

No.

She sits on a soiled mattress in the dark.  We pray, I kiss her withered hand.  Gracias, she says. Thank you.

I have seen.

​

Children in the street with nothing to eat, let alone afford school during the week, so they go on Saturdays.

Trying to learn something but they can’t because it takes food for one’s brain to grow.  So eventually they don’t go. Work instead because at least there will be a dollar or two to take home to mother.  They are only children,

and I have seen.

​

A slum lined with bullet-pocked walls and shacks called homes where mothers live with their children

But fathers nowhere to be found,

I have seen

​

A broken girl on this street

Her flip-flops six sizes too big, wearing a ragged shirt and pajama pants even though it’s hot,

I have seen.

Hair uncombed, empty eyes, lips that don’t speak, feet that do not play. She has a sore on the right side of her face, I don’t know from what. What causes a seven-year-old girl to not speak on this street where gangs prey on the vulnerable and there are no fathers to protect? She does not smile.

​

Reluctance when I hold her hand, kiss her right cheek, give her a candy, pull her onto my lap and hold her tight, because she has never known kindness.  Before I leave I tell her “you are beautiful.  I love you. Jesus loves you.” I have to tell her these words she has never heard; love she has not felt.  She is seven years old.

And I have seen.

​

Here, back in my home town.

And I am Lucy from Narnia, stumbling out of the wardrobe and back into this world where I am no longer a fierce warrior fighting for God’s kingdom, but just a child who “really needs to think about their future”. And, “what about university? You need to be realistic.” Because getting into the university that will get you into the job that will get you into the house and into the life that you are entitled to have is what they see.

​

What they see.

Their world, no longer mine.

Because now I see

​

That there are people who more than anything need to hear about Christ’s love so that they can be free.  There are single mothers who need to be given resources so that they can feed their children and send them to school.  There are vulnerable people to take care of, and little girls who need to be protected. Boys who need to be kept out of gangs so that they can grow up and protect their own little girls one day.  There are children who need a childhood and to know that there is a God who loves them more than they could ever imagine.

​

I see, and I will, because they are my world.