We’ve been at COVi over a week now. We walk up the same dirt hill every morning at 9AM to catch the same bus for an hour-long commute to the heart of Quito. For the most part, the same group of kids come traipsing in and out day after day. The same kids that arrived with smiles on day 1 are still greeting us with wide grins. The same kids with standoffish personalities and sideways glances still cause us to pause as we wonder what damage has been done at such a young age. The same volunteer teachers still greet us with kind words and a kiss on the cheek. In just a week’s time, this place has already grown into a habitual place for us to do ministry, head home, and then come back the next day.
Well, yesterday my routine got a reality check.
I was sitting outside of the cafeteria at COVi talking with Tamarita and one of the volunteer tutors when a young boy walked up. I had never seen him before, but the COVi workers knew him well.
His hair laid flat on his forehead, his hands covered in what looked like car grease. He had a gaping hole in the seat of his tattered sweatpants, and he carried a wooden crate with what seemed to be small milk bottles. in his left hand, he held a sick pigeon. With a darting glance, he dodged my question of “como te llamas?” and muttered softly under his breath, “Dennis.”
“Mucho gusto, Dennis. Me llamo Eva.”
After what seemed like an hour of sitting and talking with him, I learned the following:
Dennis is 13 years old, and without a father. He cares for his two younger siblings, 8 and 3, by working the streets alone everyday from 5AM-12PM, shining shoes. Some afternoons he attends COVi, until 6PM, when he goes to school from 6PM-9 or 10PM. 17 hour days. 13 years old and he works 17 hour days. Dennis likes futbol, and he’s darned good at it. He wears the age of the responsibility that he takes on in ways that no 13-year-old should. He sat on the ledge outside with his face in his hands for most of the afternoon, exhausted.
Now this wasn’t one of those “I saw the circumstance of someone less fortunate and it made me sad” kind of things. The plight of the poor and the destitute has always burdened me. Something about Dennis struck me in a new, unsettling way.
I saw Dennis and his pain, and Jesus showed me a tiny glimpse of how much He loves Dennis. He showed me how unending and unfathomable his love for Dennis is. Jesus conveyed in a new way what it means to love simply out of the fact that that this is a fellow child of God. This child, despite his destitute circumstances, on his way to COVi from work, he saw an injured bird and saw value in taking it in and caring for it. He is probably looked down upon and cast aside all day long, but the Father sees Dennis and knows his pain. Just as He sees each of us and knows all of our pain.
“See that you do not look down on one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven.” -Matthew 18:10
-The Father sees you and He knows you….you are not forgotten by Him.
