It was ten in the morning when we were instructed to go retrieve our next class of the day. We had been teaching physical education at Simons Town School for the last few days and this is the moment I had been anticipating. First graders. For those of you who know me well, you'll know that I love kids. Especially six and seven year olds.
We walked up the stairs to the first grade classroom where we found little eyes peering at us through the window. "Why are we going with these people?" They asked each other inquisitively. "You'll have fun, I promise," our team leader assured them.
We led them to the field and sat them down on the bleachers. We introduced ourselves to them and gave them time to ask questions. It was during this time that I saw him. He was clearly picking on another little boy in his grade. It was my best guess that he was the bully of the group.
Fast forward to a chaotic game of soccer. The ball is flying in ways that don't make sense for a normal game of soccer. Kids are hollering and cheering. One kid seems to trip over the ball and fall on his face, and before you know it, my guess was confirmed. The perceived bully jumped on top of the kid on the ground and begins to smack him. Soon, there is a pile of muddy first graders jumping on top of one another, leaving the child at the bottom in tears.
I approached the jumper, with every intent of telling him never to do that again (in a not-so-sweet tone of voice). But God had a different plan.
"What's your name?" I found myself asking quietly.
"Diego," he muttered under his breath.
I noticed a scar hanging just above his left eyebrow. His demeanor made it difficult to imagine him being a normal six year old. The joy and the longing for adventure seemed to be absent.
A little while later, I turned my back on the game to make sure the others on the bleachers were doing alright. I turned back around just in time to see Diego punch another child in the face. This kid wouldn't let up. So I got down on my knees and told Diego to come with me.
He kept bracing himself, anticipating for me to yell at him, just like all the others in his life had done. He didn't seem nervous. Just ready. Class was almost over, and I just kept asking Jesus, "What do you want me to say?"
We sat on the bleachers and Diego wouldn't look at me. "So, how many brothers and sisters do you have?" I asked, while he looked at me like I had grown a mustache. He answered all of my questions and I found out that he had lots of people living in his house. He is the youngest in his family and gets bullied a lot by them and the kids at school. The more I talked to him, the more I noticed the six year old demeanor return. He began to relax. He laughed. He was a child again.
As it was time to return to his classroom, he promptly grabbed my hand. "A lot of people here call me mean names. But I don't like to be called mean names. I like to be called Diego." I squatted down to his level and said, "I promise you I will always call you Diego." I kissed him on the forehead, and hand in hand we made it back to his class.
As I was praying for Diego on the walk back, God showed me that the reason I was drawn to Diego is because I was so much like him. In high school, I was so defensive. I waited for people to see the worst in me and leave, so I pushed people away. I never kept friends for very long and my mother was the brunt of my aggression. I hated myself and didn't know how to cope.
I never punched people in the face, or tackled innocent children, but my demeanor was the same. My walls stood so high that not even Rapunzel's hair could reach the ground. And then came Jesus. He never scolded me like I expected Him to. He never told me I was a screw up, even though I felt like one. He just listened. He was patient. He sat down next to me, took my hand in his, and told me I was something special. And soon, my demeanor changed. I began to relax. I laughed. I was a child with her father again.
So, I pray for Diego. I pray that as He grows up, God's relentless pursuit of him becomes increasingly obvious. I pray blessing over his home, over his family now, and over his future family. I pray God speaks to him and that with every new morning, Diego draws closer to Jesus. I pray he would know that God does not see him the way he sees himself. I pray he would know Jesus. And I pray that He would hold onto who he really is. The boy without the abrasive spirit. The beautiful boy who just wants to be loved.
Financial update: If you're interested in helping me love more children like Diego, I still need $770 by the end of this month to stay on the World Race. Thank you so much for your continued support.
