I’m just going to throw this statement out and say, I hate fighting. I know, hate is a strong word but I do. I hate it. I hate when I see strangers fighting on the street. I hate watching any fighting match on TV. It makes me cringe and feel sick to my stomach.
Why am I blogging about fighting? Last Thursday, the whole squad went to IHNFA (not sure what this stands for) to do ministry for the afternoon. INFA is a place where kids, mostly between the ages of 11-16, go to be taken off the streets for awhile. The majority of the kids are girls and all of them have had a rough life at such a young age. We set up different stations for the kids to go to such as a beauty parlor, arts and crafts, dance and exercise, and games. I helped out in the arts and crafts station and realized how difficult it is to get these girls to warm up to me. They were cold and looked emotionless, which I don’t blame them. They have gone through things that I can’t even imagine. That along with my very limited Spanish skills made for challenging conversations.
About an hour or so being there, I saw a group of young girls run into the building and begin beating up one of the girls. I sat at a distance while the male racers and several females tried to hold back the punches and break up the fight. Then one of the staff men came and carried a girl out who was still kicking. The whole debacle took about 30 seconds. I sat there with Marian, an 11 year old girl I was making a bracelet with, and just felt sick. Girls stood in corners of the room crying and consoling one another. It broke my heart seeing these pre-teen girls be thrown to the ground and kicked and punched. They live a life that is so foreign to me. One of the girls said she was afraid to leave because the other girls would kill her.
I don’t know why I have a weak spot for violence. Even hours after the brawl, my stomach felt like it was in knots. Maybe God gave me that so I would have a heart to stop the injustice and compassion to help the hurt. Our afternoon at INFA ended positively with my good friend Kat sharing her testimony and several girls asking for prayer, being moved by Kat’s story. I have a feeling that every Thursday we go there will be a test, but I know those girls need hope that only Jesus can provide.
