I was asked to do the dishes in the boys home. I never do the dishes since I am always bouncing between our compound, the boys home, and the children’s house. So I might as well help where I can. We went in the green tiled kitchen that always had a hint of wet dog smell from the street dogs on the other side of the window. He showed me where the powdered soap was kept in an old plastic box that once held butter. The water was freezing. We were in El Alto, Bolivia where the Spring season is always 35 or 40 degrees outside. I started washing the soup out of the plastic blue bowls and hung them on the metal sheet rack behind us. He wanted to wash, so I stuck to rinsing and drying.
I put a huge stack of bowls on the drying rack, one by one, hanging them between the metal rods. When I turned around there he was with a serrated knife against his wrist. I dropped my last bowl and shot him a look. He never broke skin. He let out a smile towards me to show he was joking, but by the amount of vertical scars that ran up and down his right arm and left I knew it wouldn’t have been if he was alone. I hurt for him. My Bolivian friend that I had only known for a few weeks didn’t know his worth.
He is only fourteen and did annoying things that fourteen year olds do like take your water bottle when you’re not paying attention. I didn’t know what to say to him to make it better. I only knew that God gave me a story that could line up with his. I told him about my mom. How she couldn’t go on living thinking she was worthless. How she did these same things to escape from the pain. I told him that she sadly didn’t win the battle and the darkness over took her. I told him that she committed suicide 8 years ago and it still sucks to this day. He seemed shocked, as if a girl from America who appears to have so much can relate in this dirty Bolivian kitchen.
He asked me about my red bracelet. The WWJD one I got from my team leader, Jack. They were all the rage in the 90’s, and Jack brought a bunch of them on the race under one condition. If anyone asked me for it, I had to give it away. Emerson asked, and there it went. I explained to him in Spanish, “Que hacías Jesus.” What would Jesus do. I don’t know if he just wanted something, or if he was interested in Jesus. Either way, he asked for it and it lives on his left wrist now in front of the scars.
Honestly, I hate that this is something that I bring to the table. We all have stories that can help other people, and I am glad that my pain can be a source for others to get help. I just don’t want to be this girl that has survived this thing.
The week before I did dishes with Emerson, he was on suicide watch. However after our conversation I never heard anything of the sort. Did I heal him? Maybe. Maybe not. But I did give him something to chew on. I did let him know that this outlet of pain is a big deal, and there will be people hurting if he goes through with it.
I didn’t know if I could keep going to the boys house after this. I didn’t know if it would be healthy for me to be around people struggling in this way. But I knew if I never saw him again, he might blame himself for making that cruel joke with me. I continued to go, and saw him at each lunch. He was always playing with his lunch knife in between bites of soup. The same kind I saw him with in the kitchen that day. Sometimes I sat next to him, sometimes I didn’t.
On the last day of ministry at the boys house they distributed cards for anyone they wanted to give to. Some of the boys made rap songs for us. Some of them made graffiti and some of them made cards. I had only been there on the lunches so I wasn’t sure if I was going to get anything from any of them. Some of my teammates had been to this house all afternoon every day so I knew they made an impact. When the other 7 boys had distributed their gifts Emerson stood there with his one card, and it was for me. He tied a blue and purple bracelet around my wrist before I left the house. Something to replace my red WWJD.
This was my hardest month. I was emotionally drained from the boys, physically drained from the kids and cold as ever from the location. However, God was still here, He knew I could handle it if I let Him in.
