One evening in Honduras, our host decided to take us out with his young adults group from Youth for Christ. We were purposely going to one of the most dangerous places in Tegucigalpa to share the love of Christ. We were going where not many go.
We weren’t to take anything with us except our bibles, a bin of pre-made plates of food, and a jug of juice, which we would divide into baggies once we got there. We had a small caravan of vehicles loaded with people ready to love the least of these.
“When we get there, we will remain in the park and the youth will go out to gather the people. Whoever they find they will send to us. You guys are going to see all kinds of people; street kids, people high, people drunk, prostitutes…” and the list went on.
Before we left the meeting place where everyone came together, it had begun to rain and our host was wondering if it would ruin our plans for the night. Once we got to the park, unloaded, and began to pray, the rain eventually slowed to a very light drizzle.
As I looked around it was quiet and dark. There was a man who appeared to be passed out on the cold, wet sidewalk, and not very many people were in sight, which was no surprise as our host figured they would have taken shelter from the rain.
We prayed, divided into groups, received instruction, and then the youth went out while we gringas made the bags of juice with the help of some of our new friends.
Right as we neared the bottom of the jug of juice, people began to come out of the alley ways and streets. Fairly quickly the once quiet park turned into a hot spot filled with people who carried their belongings with them in garbage bags, an older, thinning, weak man who was so drunk or high that he could barely stand, a woman with heels and a short, tight skirt, some other men and women who were a little rough around the edges, and a few people who were huffing paint out of old soda bottles. One of those who was huffing paint was 12 year-old Gustavo.
Gustavo carried with him a small bag of things, which I think is where he put the plate of food we gave him. He was dirty and looked like he had some physical disability based on the way that he walked. I told the girl who I was with in my broken Spanish that I wanted to pray for him so we quickly walked over before he left the park.
I introduced myself, asked him his name, his age, and if he had any brothers and sisters. Then I asked him if it was okay if I prayed for him and if so, if I could do so in English. He told me that I could and then he said some other words that I didn’t understand, so I just began to pray. In the middle of my fast-paced prayer, he asked me if I could slow down. Those must have been the words that I missed, he said that he wanted to repeat the prayer. So, I slowed down, and decided to make it something short but powerful. If he was going to repeat the prayer, even though he didn’t understand what he was saying, he was still choosing to repeat, so I prayed that God would overwhelm Gustavo with His truth and with His love. We prayed that God would rock Gustavo’s world, and I expect that God will do just that.
Throughout our time there, I looked up a couple of different times to see the youth pouring out God’s love all over these people. People who otherwise might be ignored, looked down upon, or feared. There was one moment when I looked up to see the unbalanced man who was drunk or high fall to his knees only to have a group of the young men from the group rush to his aid and find him a seat on the bench. Then one of the young men wrapped his arms around the older man in a loving embrace and began to pray for him. The man was wholly enveloped in the young man’s arms, strung out, and out of control of his own body, but I have no doubt that for a minute that guy was feeling what it feels like to be embraced by the Father.
That night in the park we were only there for about an hour and a half, but we were in a place that was supposed to be dangerous and instead we saw Christ pouring love on the hearts of some of His lost children.
“Just come to me,” I could hear Him cry out. Every time we gave them food or a drink it was as if the Father was handing them the plates and bags Himself taking advantage of this brief exchange, a moment when they would drop their guards long enough to receive the smallest taste of what He has died to give them.
I can’t imagine the series of events that eventually lead them to the park that night. I don’t know their circumstances and the details that compound them but I know that we all have our stories to tell.
I just hope they recognize their true identities sooner then later. I hope they choose stop being kicked around by life’s unfair circumstances and choose to take our Savior by the hand and at His promises. They were created to be son’s and daughter’s of the Most High, which means living a victorious, hope filled life.
Wake up, you who are sleeping, and recognize your true value. You were never meant to live this way. Freedom is yours, you just have to choose to stand up and fight.
“This is why it is said: “Wake up, sleeper, rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.” Ephesians 5:14
