The month I spent in the Philippines changed me. It was exactly the kind of month I consciously or subconsciously wanted to have while on the Race, but that I never really dared to hope or believe would happen. Yet here I am.
My team and I worked in Antipolo, east of the capital Manila, at a place called Children’s Garden (CG). CG is a home for boys who have been living on the street, some of them orphans, but most of them not. There were 13 boys living there while we were there, ranging in ages from 13 to 18. They are the most amazing young men I’ve ever known.
I got to know them and hear their stories, about their pasts before they came to CG. These are boys who have known pain, abandonment, betrayal, hunger, injury, brokenness, despair…. My heart broke for them. I was overwhelmed by the injustice, the unfairness of it. Most of the boys had started living on the street, for various reasons, as young as six or seven. They had been treated by people around them, even friends and family, as worthless, disposable, a means of selfish gain. It sickened me. They had been beaten, stabbed, sold. Many of them had joined gangs. Practically all of them had to resort to stealing to survive.
The boys bear scars, some horrific, that are a testament to their stories and the way they were treated as less than human. Several of them went around one night, lifting shirts and pants legs, baring their scars and telling the stories of how they came to have them. How they had been stabbed with beer bottles by a drunk man, or with an ice pick through the leg, or cut with a knife by a “friend.” They spoke matter-of-factly, even nonchalantly. This was the life they had known and the world they had lived in. I listened intently and said very little, but that night in bed I wept for them. I could so clearly see them as small children, surviving in the streets, and being treated with such brutality; little children who should have only ever known love, kindness, compassion, who should have been handled gently and with care. It pained me to imagine, and to know it wasn’t simply a story but truth. Reality is often harsh and hard to face.
However, the boys I heard about in the stories were not the boys I saw before me. The boys I saw were joyful, caring, loving, kind, generous, smart, capable, funny. The Lord has drawn them to Himself and transformed them and their lives. Yet I feared their pasts might still affect them, particularly how they view themselves and their worth. My goal for the month was simply to love them like Jesus, and to help them see themselves as God does. I didn’t know exactly what that would look like, or if I could even do it, but I trusted the Lord.
By the end of the month, I found these fun, goofy, crazy boys had ended up teaching me so much about God’s love and how He changes us. They loved me so well, from the very beginning, when they had no reason to do so. They didn’t know me, but they constantly did everything in their ability to make sure I was comfortable, to make sure I wasn’t hungry or hot or unhappy. They asked me countless times a day, “Are you OK?” or “Are you good?” I smiled most of the time I was there with them, because I was genuinely glad to be there. But if they ever found me without a smile, they would make sure I was alright. It was humbling and touching.
I came to truly love these boys so dearly, so much more than I could have ever imagined I would love a group of teenage boys within three weeks. But they made it so easy to love them. And I hadn’t known I could have the capacity to love even one person that much or that quickly. Then the Lord showed me what I felt for the boys, how I saw them, was the tiniest piece of what He felt for me. I was so overcome by the beautiful truth of that, and so thankful that God’s Spirit had created in me the ability for this love.
I also discovered meeting my goal was not as difficult or complicated as I thought. I merely had to give these boys my time, give them my attention, seek them out and be present with them. God was working in every moment.
Of the 13 boys, I became particularly close with three: Teng, Tisoy, and Ruel.
Ruel, 15, I naturally bonded with. He is quiet, smart, witty, and kind. He was the only one of the boys who didn’t like to play basketball and I’m not especially fond of it myself. So we would talk while the other boys played. I loved his quiet and gentle spirit, and his unexpected sense of humor.
Tisoy, also 15, was possibly even quieter than Ruel, probably because his English is not as good. But even he would tell you he is shy. Being a shy person, too, I was drawn to him. I found he has one of the kindest hearts of anyone I’ve ever met. He loves and serves people so well, so humbly, almost clandestinely. He does for you what he sees needs doing, without you ever asking. He was hard to get close to, though, he’s so guarded. But I kept pressing in and he opened up to me.
And Teng. Teng is this 17-year-old, amazing, smart, kind, beautiful, funny, crazy kid. He was shy at first and didn’t approach us, which I discovered was mainly because he didn’t think his English was good enough. But the first night, I sat down next to him and asked him his name, and the Lord took it from there. I became closest with Teng. He told me I was his best friend and his brother. “I love you, my brother,” he’d tell me. “Take care, my brother.” (He said that a lot after I told him what “take care” means. I made the mistake of saying it’s something we say when a person leaves. So I’d leave the room for a moment and he’d tell me to take care.) My favorite interactions I had with him, almost on a daily basis, went like this:
“Are you happy?” he would ask.
“Yes, I’m happy,” I would reply.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes I’m sure.”
“Why?” he’d say.
“Because I’m with you.”
And it was the truth. I couldn’t have been happier to be with him and the other boys, to spend time with them, to live and share life with them. All of them felt like younger brothers to me, but especially Teng. In fact, in his most vulnerable moments, when he was sad, when he told me about his past, when he shared with me his hopes and dreams, when he was falling asleep with his head on me, I felt almost like he was my child. I felt a strong sense of protection over him, to take care of him, to take away the pain from his past, to make sure he was never hurt again, to give him an amazing future. It’s really what I wanted for all the boys. Which of course falls far outside of my abilities, and frustrated me. Until I remembered that God is doing all of those things.
That’s a difficult thing about loving people, that we, as humans and as Christians, struggle with: we are not needed. People need God. They don’t need us. But the wonderful thing is God allows us to be a part of what He does in others’ lives. He uses us to meet those needs. When we love someone, He will use us in ways we could never conceive or comprehend: to teach them, to grow them, to suffer and rejoice with them. It’s such a beautiful privelege. This is what God allowed me to do for these boys for a month, and my heart had never been so full. It was such a great joy and honor to pour out my life for them, even if in the smallest way and for the shortest time.
Because loving is what we were made to do. It is the example Jesus set for us, to love God and love people. And the most loving thing we can do is point them back to Him. But still we have to remember, it is He who does the work, not us. His children belong to Him, not to each other, and we must let Him have them.
So that’s what I did with my boys at CG. I had to leave, and it hurt me, but I left them in the Lord’s hands because they were never mine to keep. And if they felt even a fraction of how I feel for them, I would be happy. And if I helped them to know and love God more, then I rest knowing there is no way I could have loved them better.
