Every Thursday, we had the opportunity to hit the streets with a partnering ministry, Children’s Garden. About 10 to 15 of us from our squad would hop in a truck and head to an alleyway by a mall about 20 minutes away, where kids would come running and barrel themselves into our arms. There were infants, there were toddlers, there were children of all ages…teenagers, young mothers, old mothers, grandmothers, gang members, boyfriends, girlfriends, women in prostitution, all kinds of people. This was a night of fun, love, and care. Young and old, alike colored with crayons. Boys were just boys if they weren’t too high on rugby (the local glue product), children who just longed to be held, to sit in your lap, for you to just look them in the eyes and let them know that they are seen, that they are loved. The people on this night felt comfortable.
We were able to just spend time loving on these people, these people who live most of their nights on the streets of Manila under a bridge or a stairwell or if lucky maybe they lived as squatters in an abandoned building (where many did until our last week when one such building was demolished and many families were displaced).
There was coloring, there was first aid, there was a warm meal (for some of their first meals in days), and there was a whole lot of love.
Some of you may remember, one night, I sat on these very streets with these very people, holding a young girl, as we listened to worship songs playing on my iPod, hearing songs of God’s love for us, songs He sings sweetly over us, and we sing over Him praising of His greatness, His faithfulness, and as we sat there she fell asleep and as the time passed I leaned back onto the sidewalk, sidewalk smelling of many things I won’t mention, but it didn’t matter because all I could think about was how much God loves me and this precious angel I held in my arms. Thursdays, quickly became my favorite night of the week.
