I have not yet left the country, but God has begun to swing ministry into effect already. Here is a story about what is going on in my “Jerusalem”…
I walked up to the church watching the sky. Grey clouds were moving quickly in and blackening the light from bouncing off the church windows. It is going to rain and then the trip out will be out of the question I thought to myself. I have never done ministry with this group in Atlanta before so I eagerly walked into the building unsure what to expect. I walked in and almost one hundred students turned to watch me walk into the room. A short guy with thick framed glasses and a well kept beard was speaking with more authority and confidence than any other person I have ever seen speak to a group of youth. He spoke to them as though they were equal. Equal intelligence, equal capability, equal missionaries all staring back at him. Because of the way he spoke the children responded like so.
They all were completely engaged with what he spoke about. He pulled up proverbs from the Quran and Bible verses talking about apologetics I myself didn’t even know. The kids were soaking in it with a hopeful look in their eyes. They have seen something I haven’t and I wanted to know what it was. They have the motivation that proves some sort of longing and personal connection with the people and children I had yet to meet. This pastor poured a Biblical, historical, social, and moral tidal wave of information onto these eager kids. He had kids come up and practice reading in front of people and continued to empower the very children most say are “too young”. He knew they weren’t, and they are not.
The tin roof began to roar with sounds of rain. The anxiety in these youths eyes had most of them looking towards the doors. They all began to mouth to each other their fears of not being able to go. Then the pastor stopped. He stated regardless of the rain we were going to get onto the buses and we will pull into the neighborhood and play with these kids. We were going to continue to be a presence in their lives. All of the youth’s faces softened and they were refocused. I couldn’t help but feel a longing and waiting excitement to see what had these youth so captivated.
We pulled up into the apartment complexes and instantly I felt my expectations drain from our surroundings. The rain had stopped. It was as though I was in a different country. Screaming children with headdresses and traditional Muslim garments came running out of their houses. Smiles bigger than the biggest ocean you can find were plastered all over their faces. Before I knew it a little girl grabbed my hand and excitingly screamed she had a secret for me. So unsure what to expect I lowered my lanky, tall, white as snow body down next to her rich dark face. She giggled and I knew I either I was going to get tackled down to the ground or told something she thought was way too hilarious.
My ear against her mouth she blew air into my ear and fell to the ground giggling. I grabbed her and swung her back to a standing position and she declared her name to be Jasmine. I shot my hand out and said “Pleased to meet you!” Shaking it with a giggle she ran off. Laughing I shook my head and knew I already loved this ministry. I felt a warm little hand grab mine. I looked down and saw another little girl, before I could even say anything she took off running with my hand in hers screaming for me to follow her. So I did and we ran right down to the monkey bars. Not knowing her name or how old she was, I asked her if she could write her name. Her smile grew as I watched her little face beam like the tiny gold diamond earrings that framed her face. She looked at me half hanging upside down on the monkey bars and began twisting her dark little body to drop on the ground. There we wrote our names for each other. N-I-M-A… she wrote really slowly into the dirt below. Nima is a Persian named that means “Someone who treats others right and fair”. Nima handed me the stick and I drew my name into the ground next to hers. She smiled said my name a few times then looked up when a loud laugh errupted behind us. Nima buckled over in laughter as a little girl being carried by one of the high school students finished her laughing tantrum. Nima proclaimed her as her little sister. The tiny little girl with dark pigtails made eye contact with me and boldly said to me “ What’s up buttercup?” Beaming with the tiny bright white teeth of a mere baby I poked Nima’s little sister Rima in the tummy and said “Goofball”. Rima dying and bubbling over with laughter took her tiny hand and held it out for a high five. I loved them already.
Nima took my hand and said she wanted to tell me something. We walked down to the creek a little ways into the woods and she began to tell me that she was scared and her family was robbed a few days before I came. She told me they didn’t take all the money but she doesn’t sleep well. I felt as though the conversation we had was no longer between a youthful 8 year old. Rather, a conversation between two grown women. I let her talk it out and then when we parted from the woods. As soon as we walked out it seemed as though the eight year old repossessed her old spirited and tiny body.
As we walked I noticed her face dropped around a certain group of girls. I asked her why she acted the way she did and anger over took her face. “Those girls told everyone where my secret hide out was.” I laughed and asked her to tell me more knowing she was extremely bothered by the betrayal. Nima went on and on about her hurt heart. I gave her a big hug and let her talk for a little while longer and then after a few minutes I began to try and teach her about forgiveness. She stared at me when I asked if she was lonely. “Yes” she said to me as she climbed her way back onto the monkey bars. The rest of our conversation Nima proceeded to have with me upside down. I couldn’t help but laugh because children, I have come to realize, are very serious in conversation if an adult treats them as though they have something important to say. Nima proceeded to tell me about her personal faith and beliefs on the concept of forgiveness. I stood quietly holding the shoulders of the upside down, goofy, beautiful, and dark girl. She continued to explain her current philosophy of life. I made it my point to have these little girls reconciled before I left.
Nima fought everything, every game, every idea, every story we read. She didn’t want to do it. She would run away at the idea of being around those girls. So finally I figured out what to do. I left her alone.
Yes, I left her by herself and joined the little kids she seemed to hate. Nima sat angry and alone on the swing until she realized her poor attitude and then slowly walked to the story circle to sit next to me. She pulled my head down to hers and told my why she didn’t like story time. I hugged her and instead of being empathetic told her to stop being a grumpy girl. She let out a sigh and buried her head into my shoulder. I knew the whole time most of her attitude had direct ties with not feeling secure so I never let go of her hand and hugged her the whole night. Nima didn’t trust her friends and didn’t trust her house door to keep bad people out. I longed to pour the whole gospel into her but knew she could only take bits and pieces with her right now. I feel like sometimes we all feel like Nima. We all feel betrayed, not willing to forgive, and alone at some point or another.
Nima continued to become more and more comfortable with the games, skipping rope, playing with the other kids, and pretending to be a monster with me and “eating” bad guys. I knew perhaps the idea of forgiveness was growing on her. At least she was a bit more willing to socialize with her peers. As the end of my time with them approached I didn’t want to leave her but she hugged my neck knowing that we had to part and with a big smile said, “ I love you.” I gave her a kiss on her forehead and said, “ I love you too.”
What is going on in your Jerusalem?
