A Moment of Rest

As
the sun sets on the streets of the Philippines and darkness begins to cascade
throughout the city, they begin their journey back home. Children as young as 4
carry their overstuffed bags of bottles and garbage to a side street.

With
the signature mark of consumerism painted by the golden arches of McDonalds
glowing across the street, they come together.

 

Street
Children.

 

They’ve
come back from a long day of some kind of work to make a few pennies. The hunger
pangs tend to be too much, so the easy escape is paying one of the older kids a
few cents for a plastic bag with a little bit of industrial glue. All for the
high.

 

The
escape from feeling anything by sinking deeper into oblivion with each huff. But
despite their altered state, they still desire love.

 

A
hug.

A
piggy-back ride.

To
be held even for just a moment.

 

They
are desperate for the love that so many of us take for granted, and God’s love
came to the streets during our time in Manila this February.

 

Each
night we left to return to our base only to be reminded of where we had just
been by the dirt and grime that had traveled from their clothes to ours. I was
reminded of the smiles and the laughter of children who literally have nothing,
but still find joy in our presence, the meals we would bring, and the games we
would play.

 

On
my last night with these children I met 6 year old Greg.

 

His
clothes covered in the dirt of a city that doesn’t see him.

 

I
spent most of my time that night with him riding on my shoulders, playing tag, and
laughing at our charades trying to communicate. With each passing moment my
heart broke a little more.

 

As
our night began to draw near its end, Greg’s exhaustion began to show and he
began to huff the glue that brings him comfort. There’s nothing you can do in
those moments, as this is their life. You risk losing any relationship the
second you take their only comfort away. So you must patiently wait for them to
turn away from the inhalants that take away feeling.

 

As
I set myself down on the pavement and leaned back on my elbows, Greg crawled
onto my lap.

 

I
remember being a small child and when I felt sick at night I would sometimes
crawl on top of my dad and just drift into sleep on top of him. Here I was, 23
years old, with a six year old now fast asleep on me.

 

My
heart was broken beyond repair as I realized how rare it must be for this child
to be able to close his eyes and rest in the comfort of someone’s presence who
doesn’t want to hurt or steal from him.

 

He
had found safety and comfort in the arms of a stranger, but I believe I was
just there because God wanted to hold him that night. He wanted his precious
child to know a moment of peace; and I had the privilege of being those arms.

 

I
felt everything within me start to break when it came time to leave. Having to
see the look of sadness in his eyes when he was awakened to the streets once
again caused a lump in my throat and a burning in my eyes as I gently helped
him to his feet. As I drove away that night the tears fell down my dirt-stained
cheeks.

 

This
world is full of sadness and despair. But I serve a God who desires to see His
joy and love pierce the darkness of this world. That is why I left.

WE
are His hands.

WE
are His joy.

WE
are His love.