She looked through the cracked the door of a small house in Lomo De Corvina. Two toddlers curiously peaked around her legs, begging to come out into the sandy street, but they were immediately pushed back inside. The Peruvian ladies I was with invited her to a church service, but she hung her head and said that attending would not be possible.
Throughout the conversation I grasped for eye contact, but her eyes stayed on the ground. One of the ladies I was with asked if we could pray for her. After her lack of emotion I was shocked when she wanted us to pray for a rash her son had on his eyebrows.
From the moment he stepped out of the house I was in love. Three years old, huge brown eyes, chunky arms and legs, and a curious expression. After we prayed I asked his mom if I could pick him up and surprisingly she agreed. He gladly hopped into my arms, joyfully soaking up the attention.
After a second he started talking. I assumed he was babbling, going on the way that kids do, until Dana one of the translators started telling me what he was saying. “He’s telling you about how his mom hits him. He’s going on about the ways she hurts him. I don’t know why, maybe he thinks that you can help him.”
My heart fell. I tightened my grip around his body and looked at his small round face while he chattered on. When he finished I locked eyes with him and said, “You are a strong, handsome, boy who God loves. God cares about you.”
All I had to give were words and prayers. There was no Children’s Protective Services to call, no way I could take him with me (although the thought crossed my mind), and very little I could physically do for him. His mom stepped into the street and said that they had to go to the store. Reluctantly I bent over and released my grip.
To be continued…
