Thailand is to the right, Burma is to the left. The middle is known as “No Man’s Land,” and if you look closely you can see the boat filled with illegal immigrants casually crossing the border. Soldiers and armed officials look on, saying nothing as people flee one country, going to another. This land is neither owned by Thailand nor by the newly named Myanmar(still known as Burma by many). Drugs and alcohol are sold here. Crimes are committed here. No one seems to want to claim this land. Maybe because of the filth, maybe because of the politics it could cause, or maybe because they just do not care.
Two street kids, two precious, Burmese girls, approached us asking for money with cold looks, dirty clothes, and greasy hair. They were maybe 12 or 13. After a few minutes of trying to communicate through a tough language barrier, the girls followed us as we walked along the river that divides the two countries. One of the girls could tell me her name, but that was the extent of our conversation at the moment. They walked behind us as our ministry host explained the dynamic of the life of street children. How their “mama” sent them out to get money and bring it back to her. How they lived in No Man’s Land. How they were sometimes sold across borders. The girls followed and sat with us when we stopped. One of them had jumped in the river to swim alongside us, blowing kisses as she went. She ran away to grab something and quickly returned with her two prized possessions: a picture of a baby in lip gloss which was not her or related to her. And a newspaper. Jeanne began to make a flower out of the newspaper. The little girl pretended to smell it and was giddy with excitement. Soon all of the children who had congregated around us wanted one, even the thug teenage boy who strutted around, only wearing underwear and a necklace. They began to soften and be more open to talking with the out of place white people. We made paper airplanes, fans, and more flowers. Katie shared her water with them. They giggled as I made fishy faces at them. One boy had scars on his wrists. Another was still full of sweet innocence, despite his living conditions. The girls made silly jokes and sang us songs in their own language.
What surprised me was how I felt toward these kids. Yes, I wanted to give them new clothes and a bath and a good supper. I wanted to satisfy their physical needs, but I was even more concerned about their futures. This was the first time that I had a face to face encounter with a child who, at the moment, has no chance at going to college, let alone high school. A child who might not ever leave this city. Who might not ever find a career they love. Shoot, they will probably never dream of doing anything, because their biggest concern is living until tomorrow. What do I do in this moment of realization? Do I go buy them a meal? Do try to share about Jesus with them when they do not understand me? Do I just pray silently in my head over them? Crap. What. Do. I. Do. My heart broke. Why God? Why do these sweet kids have to fend for themselves? Why have they had to go through more than I probably will in a life time?
He is so good.
Love, He said. Show them you care. Hug on that sweet little girl who probably hasn’t had her hair washed in weeks. Goof around with the thug teenager. Make silly faces with the sweet, innocent one. Try to learn words in their language and say them over and over because they think it is the funniest thing in the entire world when you say them wrong. Love them. Deposit Kingdom in that space. Pray for them. Keep praying for them, but most importantly love them where they are right now.
I do not claim to have all of the answers. I am not saying that showing kindness is more important than sharing the gospel with someone. I am not saying that you should never buy someone a meal when they are hungry, but the Lord showed me a little bit more today. He showed me that a meal is great, but how much more would that meal mean if you sat down, ate with them, and asked them to share their story with you. Our time with those street kids would not have been near as special if we had just prayed and left. It was that we stayed. We engaged. We laughed and played and made silly faces. We loved them through an overflow of the love Christ has given us. That’s what made it special.
I have always been an advocate of AID organizations, which are so needed and I am still an advocate of. I got to study the patterns and causes of hunger in different societies in school which opened me up to the world of poverty that exists today, but I think my view of what loving impoverished people looked like was tainted. It was almost complete, there was just a piece of the puzzle that had gone missing. I found that piece today in the giggles of a street child.
My old view: get in fast, feed them fast, that’s all.
My new view: get in fast, feed them fast, love them faster.
