I wanted to tell this story today about this one mother, but I couldn’t get all my words together. It was during that time that I realized, it wasn’t my story to tell. So, as much as I want to be the one telling all these stories, I will take a break today and let you read the words from my partner in crime (literally… I crack myself up…), Jodi, as she tells this story…
I knew it was going to be a great day. There are just some days you wake up feeling like that. I put on a cute outfit, to match the expectation in my heart and even decided to try to put on some makeup using the only mirror around save the occasional glimpse at your reflection in a passing car or a store front window, a 2 X 2 compact mirror. It was a cool morning, so I didn’t think that I would sweat the make up off. I had a skip in my step as we set out to accomplish some things before heading to the jail that afternoon. However before the morning was over, my cute clothes were hanging on me like a clothes line. My jeans were rolled up around my knees and I was carrying my flip flops. It is rainy season but the morning sky didn’t seem to have any hint of an impending storm. Regardless, it rained – a lot. And the rain brought mud – a lot of it. Apparently, the mud here isn’t a match for 2″ thick soles. And my make up? I didn’t sweat it off, but the rain certainly did a number to my hair and face. Cute outfit = ruined. Day = even better! Here is why.
We pulled up to the market and asked the first person we saw for the person to match the name Jonathan gave us, Nilda, the name of his mother. Jonathan (the red hoody, 16 years old, murder, also one of my favorites) told us that the only thing that was keeping him from freedom was someone to present his birth certificate and claim custody. I was intrigued because all drug cases require 6 months of rehabilitation and yet, this was a murder case and he was about to get out without any rehabilitation. I asked Jonathan if we could meet his mother. He agreed, gave us some directions, and almost as a warning said, “she is very thin.”
Each person we met along the way knew this woman and gave us enough information to get us to the next person. It was like a scavenger hunt. In the rain. No rain coat, umbrella or rain pants would have been sufficient for this mission. So, we hiked up our pants and took off our shoes and made our way through the market village. Over a precarious bridge and up thin mud ridden paths that led to huts. Many huts. Hut after hut. Mud path after mud path. We kept walking and kept asking and kept looking for a thin woman who sold bananas. That was all we knew. Just when I thought we couldn’t go any deeper into the village or any deeper into the mud as we walked, the next person would tell us to continue. We came upon a hut that was our next stopping point. It took a while before anyone answered the door. We were about to give up when a woman opened the door and I immediately knew we had found Jonathan’s mom. Before I noticed her emaciated body, I saw her face. She had Jonathan’s eyes and lips and ears. She looked just like him.
She timidly stood at the doorway, almost looking as if the door was holding her up. The translator introduced us and as soon as she heard her son’s name she invited us in. We crossed a thin piece of wood that connected her hut to the path and we made our way into her home. It was easily the size of closet I have used. With wide eyes, I looked around and as I did, learned that it was home to 6 people. The rice bag was in the corner, next to the folded up mats they used to sleep on. The rice was all they had to eat. And it is borrowed. She owes a neighbor 1200 pesos ($25) but she is too sick to work to pay it back. That was why it took so long for her to answer the door, both because she is sick and because she is hiding.
She has had a fever and a cough for more than 3 weeks. She was too sick to go to Jonathan’s hearing but she was able to tell us that if she presented a birth certificate, he could go home. If someone else wanted custody they could pay 15,000 pesos ($330). She then said she approved if I wanted custody. She doesn’t have the birth certificate. A cousin of the family does. I don’t understand why nor do I understand why this cousin is making the mother pay 50 pesos (about $1) to get it back. But she can’t even afford the rice debt to feed her family much less the $1 it would take to free her son. I asked her is she thought he was ready to get out, and she cried saying that she was ready. Jonathan is her favorite son, she told us. I didn’t think you were allowed to openly admit that especially since another of her sons had made his way in to see the spectacle of the drowned, mud caked American.
Jomar is her oldest son and he too is in jail. Oddly enough, for the same thing. Murder. She told us that the pain of having Jomar in jail was bearable but Jonathan is too much to bear. That is why she is sick. At least that is what the doctor tells her. She said that she had been praying for someone to visit Jonathan because she couldn’t, one because she is too sick, two because she can’t afford the transportation, and three because it is too painful to see him. So she cries out to God every night for someone to visit her son. She then thanked me, because I was an answer to her prayers. I wondered if she knew what an honor it was to be an answer to prayer, especially on Jonathan’s behalf.
She asked what my plan was for Jonathan, I told her about the rehabilitation home. She then told us she was happy. None of her kids have gone to school. Her youngest is 7 and asks her daily if he can go. But she doesn’t have the 900 pesos ($20) it would take to enroll them, not to mention the money for school supplies. She said Jonathan is fearful of school because of where he grew up. It made perfect sense then why he thanked me for teaching him that he could learn. Not only did he think he couldn’t do it, but he was afraid of it. Afraid of failing, before he ever got started.
She lamented in how she wanted to see him but hadn’t in so long. We told her we were heading to the jail after we left here (back over the river and through the woods) and her face lit up with the invite. She changed clothes, warmer clothes, to go out in the rain and followed us back into the mud. There was one point on the path that was a little hard to get up. We continued to slide back down the incline with each try up. Using our hands and basically crawling up using grass as traction, we made it and waited for Nilda to catch up. At the top, Joy, our translator and amazing ministry partner, looked at her feet and told me that she had a pedicure yesterday and that it was ruined. I looked down at my own and realized the same thing about the one I had done before I left. I apologized because clearly our feet were destroyed, but she stopped me and said oh, no. That was 50 pesos (about $1), this is priceless. And we said in unison the verse from Romans 10:15 – how beautiful are the feet of those who bring the good news!
We made it to the jail and had Nilda, his mom, sit in the area where we normally do our lessons. I asked the guard to only bring out Jonathan. I met Jonathan at the door of his cell and he greeted me with his smile that lights a room, and perfectly displays his missing two front teeth. I put my arm around him and led him to his mother. I could barely contain myself as he continued to look at me, wondering what was going on. Then he saw her. He looked at me again, almost to see if it was real. I nodded my head and gently nudged him toward her. He turned his head away from both of us. He was crying. Through tears, he walked over to her and sat right beside her, almost in her frail lap. He hugged her with such a sweet embrace and hung his head into her chest as she rested hers on his back. They both cried. I cried too.
She stayed as we did our lesson. She watched as Jonathan spelled words and did math problems. I wonder what she thought as she saw her son, the one afraid of learning, actually able to do what I asked of him. They said goodbye and she sat in the back of the truck with a weak smile on her face the whole way back to the market. By the time we reached there, she said she was feeling feverish again. But she made her way back to her home. Before she turned to leave, she told us again that she was thankful that we were answers to her prayers. All I could do was just look at this woman, realizing I was even more thankful that God uses His people to do His work. We walked back to the truck and I just stared at my feet. When we returned home, I hesitated in washing off the mud. My feet had walked great lengths to be apart of what God was doing, and it was my honor. My great honor.
We pulled up to the market and asked the first person we saw for the person to match the name Jonathan gave us, Nilda, the name of his mother. Jonathan (the red hoody, 16 years old, murder, also one of my favorites) told us that the only thing that was keeping him from freedom was someone to present his birth certificate and claim custody. I was intrigued because all drug cases require 6 months of rehabilitation and yet, this was a murder case and he was about to get out without any rehabilitation. I asked Jonathan if we could meet his mother. He agreed, gave us some directions, and almost as a warning said, “she is very thin.”
Each person we met along the way knew this woman and gave us enough information to get us to the next person. It was like a scavenger hunt. In the rain. No rain coat, umbrella or rain pants would have been sufficient for this mission. So, we hiked up our pants and took off our shoes and made our way through the market village. Over a precarious bridge and up thin mud ridden paths that led to huts. Many huts. Hut after hut. Mud path after mud path. We kept walking and kept asking and kept looking for a thin woman who sold bananas. That was all we knew. Just when I thought we couldn’t go any deeper into the village or any deeper into the mud as we walked, the next person would tell us to continue. We came upon a hut that was our next stopping point. It took a while before anyone answered the door. We were about to give up when a woman opened the door and I immediately knew we had found Jonathan’s mom. Before I noticed her emaciated body, I saw her face. She had Jonathan’s eyes and lips and ears. She looked just like him.
She timidly stood at the doorway, almost looking as if the door was holding her up. The translator introduced us and as soon as she heard her son’s name she invited us in. We crossed a thin piece of wood that connected her hut to the path and we made our way into her home. It was easily the size of closet I have used. With wide eyes, I looked around and as I did, learned that it was home to 6 people. The rice bag was in the corner, next to the folded up mats they used to sleep on. The rice was all they had to eat. And it is borrowed. She owes a neighbor 1200 pesos ($25) but she is too sick to work to pay it back. That was why it took so long for her to answer the door, both because she is sick and because she is hiding.
She has had a fever and a cough for more than 3 weeks. She was too sick to go to Jonathan’s hearing but she was able to tell us that if she presented a birth certificate, he could go home. If someone else wanted custody they could pay 15,000 pesos ($330). She then said she approved if I wanted custody. She doesn’t have the birth certificate. A cousin of the family does. I don’t understand why nor do I understand why this cousin is making the mother pay 50 pesos (about $1) to get it back. But she can’t even afford the rice debt to feed her family much less the $1 it would take to free her son. I asked her is she thought he was ready to get out, and she cried saying that she was ready. Jonathan is her favorite son, she told us. I didn’t think you were allowed to openly admit that especially since another of her sons had made his way in to see the spectacle of the drowned, mud caked American.
Jomar is her oldest son and he too is in jail. Oddly enough, for the same thing. Murder. She told us that the pain of having Jomar in jail was bearable but Jonathan is too much to bear. That is why she is sick. At least that is what the doctor tells her. She said that she had been praying for someone to visit Jonathan because she couldn’t, one because she is too sick, two because she can’t afford the transportation, and three because it is too painful to see him. So she cries out to God every night for someone to visit her son. She then thanked me, because I was an answer to her prayers. I wondered if she knew what an honor it was to be an answer to prayer, especially on Jonathan’s behalf.
She asked what my plan was for Jonathan, I told her about the rehabilitation home. She then told us she was happy. None of her kids have gone to school. Her youngest is 7 and asks her daily if he can go. But she doesn’t have the 900 pesos ($20) it would take to enroll them, not to mention the money for school supplies. She said Jonathan is fearful of school because of where he grew up. It made perfect sense then why he thanked me for teaching him that he could learn. Not only did he think he couldn’t do it, but he was afraid of it. Afraid of failing, before he ever got started.
She lamented in how she wanted to see him but hadn’t in so long. We told her we were heading to the jail after we left here (back over the river and through the woods) and her face lit up with the invite. She changed clothes, warmer clothes, to go out in the rain and followed us back into the mud. There was one point on the path that was a little hard to get up. We continued to slide back down the incline with each try up. Using our hands and basically crawling up using grass as traction, we made it and waited for Nilda to catch up. At the top, Joy, our translator and amazing ministry partner, looked at her feet and told me that she had a pedicure yesterday and that it was ruined. I looked down at my own and realized the same thing about the one I had done before I left. I apologized because clearly our feet were destroyed, but she stopped me and said oh, no. That was 50 pesos (about $1), this is priceless. And we said in unison the verse from Romans 10:15 – how beautiful are the feet of those who bring the good news!
We made it to the jail and had Nilda, his mom, sit in the area where we normally do our lessons. I asked the guard to only bring out Jonathan. I met Jonathan at the door of his cell and he greeted me with his smile that lights a room, and perfectly displays his missing two front teeth. I put my arm around him and led him to his mother. I could barely contain myself as he continued to look at me, wondering what was going on. Then he saw her. He looked at me again, almost to see if it was real. I nodded my head and gently nudged him toward her. He turned his head away from both of us. He was crying. Through tears, he walked over to her and sat right beside her, almost in her frail lap. He hugged her with such a sweet embrace and hung his head into her chest as she rested hers on his back. They both cried. I cried too.
She stayed as we did our lesson. She watched as Jonathan spelled words and did math problems. I wonder what she thought as she saw her son, the one afraid of learning, actually able to do what I asked of him. They said goodbye and she sat in the back of the truck with a weak smile on her face the whole way back to the market. By the time we reached there, she said she was feeling feverish again. But she made her way back to her home. Before she turned to leave, she told us again that she was thankful that we were answers to her prayers. All I could do was just look at this woman, realizing I was even more thankful that God uses His people to do His work. We walked back to the truck and I just stared at my feet. When we returned home, I hesitated in washing off the mud. My feet had walked great lengths to be apart of what God was doing, and it was my honor. My great honor.
