It’s my first month without easy internet access, so I apologize now for the several emails flooding your inbox as I post blogs today. Maybe take a few days in between reading each of these. Also sorry for the complete lack of pictures. My camera has decided that it’s function is NOT to work. So i’m sans camera for the time being.
Our life this month is incredible, heart-wrenching, fruitful, full of love, full of rest, full of laughter and tears.
Our team is serving with Team Divine Collision this month. We’re living on a farm outside of Tegucigalpa and God. is. Moving.
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**This one I wrote the first night we were on the farm. So much GREATNESS has happened since, so it’s written in two parts.
“He’s Your Baby Boy”.
We were greeted at the bus station in Teguc by a brilliantly blue-eyed, middle-aged American named Tony. With him were five Honduran boys of all ages. Within a few minutes of talking to Tony, he told us these street boys were our ministry, that all he he wanted from us was to spend our month loving and living with all the boys from the barrio on his farm. He pointed out one rail-thin kid, Cristofer, and said “He’s the big one for ya’ll, and he’s on the farm with us all month.” I had no idea what was truly in store, but would soon be blown away by this sixteen year old.
Early in the evening four of us racers piled in Tony’s car with Cristofer to head to the grocery store. During the drive, Tony began to tell us about the youngster wedged up against me. “When I thought you all were coming on Thursday, I went to pick up Cristofer. He was nowhere to be found. His ten year old brothers pointed to the backyard and said he was under the pile of trash. It was the middle of the day–blazing hot! And I spent a few minutes digging through their thick trash dump before I unearthed Cristofer, bloody-nose and high as a kite. I’ve been pursuing this kid for two years, and this was rock bottom. It took a few minutes for him to even realize I was with him, but he still barely recognized me. I got him a Pepsi and came back a few hours later. We talked and I let him make the decision whether or not he wanted to come live on the farm with me, wth the world race teams for the month. Going home was not an option. In or out. It’s his time to get clean. After two minutes, he finally shook his head “yes”. And he’s here now. If he makes it through this month, it will be the longest in four years he’s been clean from paint thinner. His friends, his community, his family, and even my Christian friends here tell me that it’s impossible, that Cristofer is a lost cause, a waste of my time. I’ve been with him for two years, two rough years. This month is about him, about loving him. You all will be the reason he makes it through this month and maybe turn his life around.”
…How do you react to that? Cristofer has lived in a life devoid of hope. He has no father, his mom is never around, he’s in charge of his little brothers. He sniffs paint thinner six days a week with other youngsters in the same living situation. He does not do it for the high, though; he sniffs it for the numbness–he doesn’t remember his aching hunger, or parched throat, or even realize that he’s alone. He gets to escape from his own hell. His addiction has left him smaller than a pre-pubescent twelve year old. Tony has been a father figure to him for the last two years, and he says he’ll never leave Cristofer’s life. And right now he’s on the farm, fighting hard to be free of addiction.
While grocery shopping, Cristofer and I began talking, tossing around a few laughs, and he even danced with me to the ridiculous American music blasting through the speakers. He has so much life in him. SO much. He wants so much more for his life and has had no hope until recently.
Later that night, Tony gathered all 17 of us racers and told us more of Cristofer’s story. He told us that nothing short of God working through us could save this boy. Previous race teams on the farm had made life turn arounds in so many other boys like Cristofer. Cristofer is ours. Tears streaming down all of our faces. We laid our hands on him and began to pray. I knelt down and held both of his hands, knowing how strange he must have felt. The whole time we prayed, I squeezed him, I felt his tears fall on my hands. We locked wet eyes together.
During those fifteen minutes, I could not formulate words. I could barely think. But I know those tears falling from my eyes were God’s tears for his baby son I was holding. That’s his little boy who he loves so much. So much. His little boy is not an orphan at all, but has a perfect daddy who delights in every last ounce of Cristofer’s spirit. His Papa waits so patiently, full of so much love for Cristofer to call out, “Abba, Daddy!”
…
Now, that was written almost two weeks ago. So. Here’s the updates. God is answering radically. The Cristofer I met that day is not the young man who we have been living with. The Cristofer who is now on the farm is one who reads the Bible, who hungers to learn English, who plays soccer, who laughs, dances, and cooks dinner with us. The Cristofer who is now on the farm was BAPTIZED two days ago. And on that glorious Sunday, he was one of SIX of the boys from the barrio who entered the Kingdom.
Like I said, God. Is. Moving. Like WOAH.
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Everything Tony does on the farm comes straight of his pocket. God makes food multiply and keeps his bank account out of the red, but barely. Tony never ceases to take in a child in need, and he trusts in God’s provision. But this happens from people like us supporting him, supporting the kids, giving them hope for a future. If you’re at all interested in helping to get Cristofer back into school or helping just to feed him, please shoot me an email and I will get you in contact with Tony immediately. I promise that every penny goes straight to these children.
