The teams alternated so that every
other day each team ran the optional chapel for the kids. Every
evening was different, but the most powerful one for me was the
prayer session. There were several stations; pray for your friend,
pray thank you, and listening prayer. One of my teammates suggested
that instead of picking one station, I should look out for any kids
that were stray/not ‘getting it’, then help explain if I can.

I noticed that there was one
little boy who wouldnt sit still for the friend prayer.
Instead he was chasing his friend, and hiding under a table,
and generally bouncing off the walls. I tried to get him to settle
down, but he wouldnt really. And when his group rotated to the
next station I looked around to see I there was anyone I could help.
I stood there, scanning the room, for a while.

Then I noticed a boy,

actually the same boy as
earlier, come to think about it. He was acting kind of sullen in the
listening prayer area. I mean, its not like every other kid was
hearing the audible voice of God, or struck by visions. They were
mostly writing or drawing quietly, it is just listening after all, it
is not the end of the world if nothing happens- or seems to happen.
But this boy angrily drew a picture of a car then crumpled it and
threw it away. I prayed in my head, God, please give him something,
please show him listening prayer, works. Then I thought- maybe I
should listen instead, so I did. Nothing seemed to be coming but then
I kind of got the idea that maybe I should try talking to the boy.
As I took the six or so steps over to where he was sitting I thought,
oh no Liz, you don’t know what to say, who knows what is wrong or
what he is dealing with. I sat down near him, and began to talk. In
the beginning I asked him a couple of times if he wanted to move to
the next station with his group, or to leave, but he shook his head
no. I realized that chapel was not mandatory,
children could (and many did) choose not to go
This boy wanted to be there.
I think part of him was drawn
to prayer,
at the same time as part of him rebelled (which is why he was
bouncing off the walls) I asked if I could pray for him and he
nodded yes. So I prayed for him and spoke truths
to him and over him. I have never
done anything like this before- or since, but we
sat there side by side for the remainder of chapel and I continued to
pray
and speak over him truths; like
that he was loved and that
God
loved him, and that he
can tell God
even things that make him angry or hurt or happy.
At
one point tears began to fall down his face. Then they stopped. I
thought what am I doing God,
I am not the person for this, I don’t
know what this boy has gone thorough I don’t
know what to tell him, I would need like six degrees
in psychology and counseling. But I was the only one sitting there.
So I did what I could and sat there, sometimes in silence,
mostly in prayer and speaking truths and promises
over him. I touched him on the head and shoulders,
wanting to gather him up and
hold him- but not knowing what kind of abuse he had suffered and
fearing the worst. When chapel was over, and all the stragglers had
left and the last of my teammates
was walking
out the door he showed no signs of being ready to leave.
I had to tell
the boy
that we were not allowed
to be alone with them and so we would
have to leave. We got up and walked toward an area where some kids
were playing soccer. As we walked I continued to talk
to the boy.
He had not said one word yet, but once again I noticed tears leaking
down his face. We
came to a halt and I told him that God
thinks his tears
are
precious
that he saves them, and that the things that make him
cry make God
cry, his pain is Gods’
pain and He
loves him so much, the
things that hurt
him hurt God.
One
sob. We stood there a
while, a short while, I was in agony. I felt so inadequate
for
this situation, The boy needs
someone wise
and available long term to council and pour into his broken heart.
But in the present
I still felt we were too far away from other
people. I didnt
know what else to do, so we walked to the soccer game and through it,
and split as he wondered toward his
dinner and I continued down
to the dorms. Shaken by what
had just happened. I walked into the kitchen, searching for the
pile of informational sheets
on each of the un-sponsored
children. He was the one I feared, (if I had known for
sure before I would probably
have convinced my
self that I was not qualified
to talk to him, thank you
God)
he and his little brother
and infant sister were the worst of the stories we knew. The sister
was an alcoholic
by the time she was one because her mother would take her to the bars
and feed her alcohol
to keep her quiet. The boys were sexually
and physically abused
by their father.

I
would like to end this with words that stick to your mind and linger
for a while as you crawl through the ideas they carry.

But
I don’t know how to do that
right now. So Ill just present some
raw material for your
consumption. There is evil in
the world. I didn’t know what to do (I still don’t). I am not
qualified, I was there. (and
that does not make me awesome.)
Please pray for this child.

There
are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal.
Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations – these are mortal, and their
life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we
joke with, work with, marry, snub and exploit – immortal horrors or
everlasting splendors. This does not mean that we are to be
perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of that
kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between
people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously – no
flippancy, no superiority, no presumption.

C. S. Lewis
The Weight of Glory