I’ve never held so many filthy hands in my life. Coarse palms blackened with dirt. Grunge suffocating between fingernails.
Last week I had an opportunity to take photographs downtown with my friend Paulo. He grew up at Children’s Garden, the boys home that I’m serving at this month. Our mission was to capture photos for a poster that our director, Sharon, requested. However, what I took away from night are memories that will last a lifetime.
We arrived at a sewer where some street kids live and Paulo asked permission to take their photographs. To my surprise they were extremely receptive–excited, even. I reached my hand out to introduce myself and held each callused hand one by one. In that moment, I was overcome with a feeling that is hard to put in words. I didn’t not want to let go.
They ranged from around age 10-early 20’s. Each of them had a look in their eyes that told a striking story of hopeless freedom. Some of the boys there that night had previously lived and run away from the Children’s Garden.
In a perfect world, all language barriers would have dropped. I would sit with each of them, listen their stories, and learn why they choose to live on the street in lieu of a shelter. In turn I would offer them an escape from the prison they were choosing to live in. But unfortunately, that world doesn’t exist.
Most of them were in a daze off a glue called Rugby that offers a cheap high for many street kids. I watched as they sniffed and passed the bottle of glue around in the darkness of the sewer. They laughed amongst themselves and held each other tight while simultaneously teasing and pushing each other around. Though operating in dysfunction, they were a community nonetheless.
While everything in me wanted to take all of them in my arms, give them a home, and attempt to get them sober, that was literally impossible. It was clear my only role that night was to love them well and capture their beauty. To see God in each of them and extend his love and grace towards them. They simply needed to understand they are seen and appreciated for their willingness to be photographed, even in the darkest of places. After each photo, they would giddily ask me to show them their reflection and it brought them so much joy.
After the shoot, Paulo and I paid our models with some McDonalds, the least we could do for their time. They aggressively reached for the burgers and scarfed them down. I wondered when was the last time any of them had eaten a hot meal.
Though I cannot imagine God is happy seeing his children suffer on the streets and choose to live in addiction and filth; one thing I know for sure is that he loves them deeply. I could feel it.
Many of them were happy living under a bridge. They truly believe access to cheap drugs, no curfew, and the community they have cultivated is their freedom. As an outsider looking in, however, it is heartbreaking knowing that the trajectory of their lives will likely lead to jail or death in their current lifestyle. I wonder if that’s how God looks at us when we choose against his will for our lives.
Even with these thoughts in mind, I kept feeling a nudge–just take them by their hands and show them how much I love them. Nothing more, nothing less.
God reminded me of how filthy my hands have often been, and how he gladly washes them clean if I let him. Those kids are no different.
That night I learned that though my heart’s desire might be to change the problems before me, that’s not always possible. However, Jesus does not tell us to simply ignore the issues we cannot change, but rather, to face them head on and bring his light into darkness.
35 For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36 I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’ 40 “The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’
– Matthew 25: 35-36, 40 (NIV)
