The street we live on in San Juan is a cross roads between the middle and lower classes. Our neighbors are quiet (for Dominicans) and upper middle class. As we have brought some sort of disruption to this class structure, I have seen the effect on the children we have been given the opportunity to share life with these last three weeks. Here are their stories.
Daniella is a beautiful ten-year-old girl who lives in the apartment across the street with her family. She freely loves those around her and gives me a kiss on the cheek every time we meet. She loves to laugh, tease, and play games. My favorite are the moment she sits in my lap and asks me how to say words in English. Mostly words like “you crazy” or “I love you.” Daniella goes to private school, has two parents who love her dearly and a little brother who follows her around teasing and playing with her. They have family in the United States and Spain, all seemingly well off. Daniella’s concerns are that of most American children- how to maximize her fun for the day. It is clear to me they come from a solid family life where love rules the day. I love the joy Daniella brings to my heart when we are able to spend some time together. She is famous on our Squad and we all love her gentlenss and joyful spirit.
be at home. As I have noticed throughout San Juan, David is immersed in a culture of dominance and violence. He came to see us one day with a scratch on his face. I asked him what happened and this sweet, shy little boy told me the story of how he got in a fight with a smaller boy who scratched him. He told me he punched the other boy in the head and stomach and I have heard stories of him fighting more extensively in his neighborhood. I wonder at his home life and what is really going on that provokes these acts of violence. 
ichael in front of our house as he sat with his brother and some other street boys. He loves to laugh and that makes me happy since his laugh is somewhat contagious. He is always trying to get my attention and showing off his tough exterior. I love the way he says my name and always comes to sit by me. One day he told me I was his girlfriend. I told him no, haha. “You are eleven, I’m twenty-two. We can be friends,” I said. He didn’t love that response, but didn’t fight me about it either. Michael is always hungry and often angry. He is not shy about fighting or calling names and will certainly let you know it. Somewhere underneath, though, I see this little boy who just wants to eat and protect his little brother. I found out the other night that he lives in a part of the slums with his father. His mother is dead and his father does not work. They have no source of income and no opportunity to change their circumstances. All Michael knows to do is beg for food and money. I was given the opportunity the other night to bring him and his brother some peanut butter and jelly for dinner and share the Gospel with them. My Spanish is pretty poor, so I hope they really did understand what I was sharing the love, death and new life in Christ. He seemed to understand and soak in what I was saying, so I can only pray that it resounds somewhere deep within him. 
One day this past week the lives of these three children collided in a dramatic way. I was sitting outside first with Michael and the street boys, then David came and played with me as Michael was distracted by some other game or gringo. Daniella came out finally and we sat together and played little games and laughed together. While I was playing with her David was sitting next to me when Michael approached him in anger. They exchanged some words in hostility I did not understand and began to fight. These are ten and eleven-year-old boys fist fighting. I was sitting outside on the street with others sitting behind the gate in the yard. I was able to separate them, but only for a moment. They walked down about ten yards away from me and started getting in each others faces, seeking dominance, once again. I called for Dave to come give me a hand and he came out and stood between David (with his friends) and Michael (with the other street boys). It was amazing to me the class warfare I was witnessing in front of me.
Something inside me broke for these children. They had no idea what they were doing and did not care about the individual at all.
The amazing thing to me about these three children is how much I love all of them. They come from extremely different circumstances, but my heart is no more or less for any one of them. I wish I could take each of them with me and carry the joy they bring me everywhere I go. I will sincerely miss each of them and cannot believe I only have a week left with them. What breaks my heart, though, is how class separates them. David would never be deemed suitable for Daniella and Michael would never be David’s friend. These beautiful children will never know each other the way I know them.
I wonder at the brokenness of the world caused by money and our class systems. I cannot begin to fathom the pain these children experience. Michael is continually rejected by a society that hates him and a family who has already failed to care for him. Daniella is ignored entirely and assumed to be a certain way because of her wealth. David is somewhere lost in the middle with violence and confusion surrounding him. Can this be changed? I think the love of Jesus Christ is honestly the only answer we might chance to see peace and renewal come to these streets. Or perhaps just this street here in San Juan where lives of three children have crashed with such sudden resentment.
