Brent James
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| "Juan" sleeps with his new hairdo. |
As the day came to a close, I said to
Debbie with a bit of a chuckle, "There's nothing like reality to challenge
a person's theology." My mind had wrestled with lots of big questions, all
brought to the surface by a filthy little street boy.
I first saw Juan (not his real name) from the safety of an air-conditioned van. After searching at some of his favorite haunts, we found him on a corner with several other street kids. His face lit up with a giant smile when he recognized some of the COTN staff and he greeted Ginny (one of our team) with a great big hug. But then, as if to live up to his reputation of violence, he immediately launched himself on the street kid who happened to be closest to him. Gripping him firmly by the neck, he proceeded to choke the hapless boy with all of his 9-year-old strength, until they could be pulled apart.
Then he spotted me sitting in the van and to be honest, my heart skipped a beat. (You haven't heard all the stories!) He wagged his finger at me as if to say, "Watch out! I'm going to get you too!"
So when the staff loaded him into the van several minutes later, I wasn't 100 percent sure how he was going to react to me. The story that came to mind was when he had gashed a stranger's head with a rock he had picked up off the road. But my apprehension melted away when he gave me a big smile and a hug. Apparently, though, he didn't feel the same way about the driver of the van. "I remember you," Juan hissed at him. "You chased me down when I escaped from the van before. I'm going to kill you!"
Moments later, the strong acidic smell of his urine soaked pants filled the van, attracting swarms of flies. But he was unaffected and screamed with delight at the pieces of fried chicken that Ginny had bought for him.
Back at the COTN guesthouse, the first order of business was to get him washed. Because of a life of severe abuse and no boundaries of any kind, he lives in the immediate present and answers to any impulse...which means he ran to investigate everything...and had several people scrambling after him. In the end, the solution to getting him washed was to entice him into the swimming pool, which only happened when I put my swimsuit on and waded in. He was quick to follow and it wasn't until a couple hours later (after I was good and sunburned) that it was time to return him to the street.
My second day with Juan, the one which had stirred up so many questions in my mind, began with a desperate phone call. It was one of the COTN staff. Apparently several men had brought Juan to the staff-member's house that morning and promised to pick him up in the evening. (Because of a national strike that day, they wanted him off the streets in case of any violence - Juan would be quick to join in.) The person on the phone asked me, "Since he had so much fun swimming with you, can you watch him today?"
Minutes later I found myself locked in an enclosed patio with Juan, surveying all the damage he had already done. Potted plants were already shredded with bits of leaves everywhere. The dirty underwear he was wearing when he arrived was on the floor and he had on a new shirt and short pants. (The clothes that were given to him the day we went swimming had already been stolen off of him).
As soon as Juan saw me, he gave me a big hug and with a big smile said, "Daniel! Mi amigo!" But it was a difficult day for me. He reminded me of a sky filled with a patchwork of dark clouds on a windy day. The sun would shine for brief moments, when he was present, when he was vaguely aware of himself and others. But the sun would quickly disappear and be covered again by storm clouds.
After quietly coloring together with a marker for a few minutes, he suddenly smashed the pen on the floor and threw it through the grills that held us in, beyond our reach. It was as though the brief encounter with quiet and pleasure was too much for him. It had to be destroyed and thrown away. Like others had done to him.
I first saw Juan (not his real name) from the safety of an air-conditioned van. After searching at some of his favorite haunts, we found him on a corner with several other street kids. His face lit up with a giant smile when he recognized some of the COTN staff and he greeted Ginny (one of our team) with a great big hug. But then, as if to live up to his reputation of violence, he immediately launched himself on the street kid who happened to be closest to him. Gripping him firmly by the neck, he proceeded to choke the hapless boy with all of his 9-year-old strength, until they could be pulled apart.
Then he spotted me sitting in the van and to be honest, my heart skipped a beat. (You haven't heard all the stories!) He wagged his finger at me as if to say, "Watch out! I'm going to get you too!"
So when the staff loaded him into the van several minutes later, I wasn't 100 percent sure how he was going to react to me. The story that came to mind was when he had gashed a stranger's head with a rock he had picked up off the road. But my apprehension melted away when he gave me a big smile and a hug. Apparently, though, he didn't feel the same way about the driver of the van. "I remember you," Juan hissed at him. "You chased me down when I escaped from the van before. I'm going to kill you!"
Moments later, the strong acidic smell of his urine soaked pants filled the van, attracting swarms of flies. But he was unaffected and screamed with delight at the pieces of fried chicken that Ginny had bought for him.
Back at the COTN guesthouse, the first order of business was to get him washed. Because of a life of severe abuse and no boundaries of any kind, he lives in the immediate present and answers to any impulse...which means he ran to investigate everything...and had several people scrambling after him. In the end, the solution to getting him washed was to entice him into the swimming pool, which only happened when I put my swimsuit on and waded in. He was quick to follow and it wasn't until a couple hours later (after I was good and sunburned) that it was time to return him to the street.
My second day with Juan, the one which had stirred up so many questions in my mind, began with a desperate phone call. It was one of the COTN staff. Apparently several men had brought Juan to the staff-member's house that morning and promised to pick him up in the evening. (Because of a national strike that day, they wanted him off the streets in case of any violence - Juan would be quick to join in.) The person on the phone asked me, "Since he had so much fun swimming with you, can you watch him today?"
Minutes later I found myself locked in an enclosed patio with Juan, surveying all the damage he had already done. Potted plants were already shredded with bits of leaves everywhere. The dirty underwear he was wearing when he arrived was on the floor and he had on a new shirt and short pants. (The clothes that were given to him the day we went swimming had already been stolen off of him).
As soon as Juan saw me, he gave me a big hug and with a big smile said, "Daniel! Mi amigo!" But it was a difficult day for me. He reminded me of a sky filled with a patchwork of dark clouds on a windy day. The sun would shine for brief moments, when he was present, when he was vaguely aware of himself and others. But the sun would quickly disappear and be covered again by storm clouds.
After quietly coloring together with a marker for a few minutes, he suddenly smashed the pen on the floor and threw it through the grills that held us in, beyond our reach. It was as though the brief encounter with quiet and pleasure was too much for him. It had to be destroyed and thrown away. Like others had done to him.
After throwing a few pots and a watering jug
at me (all of which I managed to catch!), he eventually fell asleep and was out
for four hours, exhausted. I used the time to pray for him.
I didn't have any sense that this was demon possession. When we went swimming before, and again on this day, I sang lots of songs to him..."Jesus loves me this I know...," "Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have give I thee. In the name of Jesus Christ, of Nazareth rise up and walk!" He had no reaction to the songs in particular, and even sang "Jesus Loves Me" a few times, after he had heard it enough. No lack of intelligence!
My prayers for Juan were that Jesus would have mercy on him, that the anger and violence would be replaced with gentleness and joy. At one point as I was praying, a butterfly landed on one of the nearby garden flowers. As the sun shone through the delicate wings, it was a picture of what I wanted for Juan; that the ugly caterpillar that was his life would be transformed into a thing of beauty, that radiated God's glory.
But I also wrestled with the question, "Why?" His body was covered with scars and some of his behavior indicated frequent sexual abuse. This is what I meant when I said to Debbie, "There's nothing like reality to challenge a person's theology." I told the Lord, "You've healed blind eyes. Cripples have walked at your touch. Even the dead have come to life. Why don't you heal Juan?"
I don't have any neat and tidy answers to that question, like a TV sitcom wrap-up. But sitting there with Juan, I did sense God's quiet whisper. I found God directing me to leave the question of Juan to Himself. One of the thoughts that occurred to me as I prayed over Juan, my hands on his shaved head, was, "Daniel, I have healed blind eyes and I could heal Juan. But I'm opening YOUR eyes."
It also occurred to me that in terms of my standing before God, in terms of my own righteousness, I am no different than Juan's abusers. Jesus had to be nailed to the cross, to be tortured, scarred and killed, in order for my heart to be drawn to Him. His sacrifice was what made blessing possible.
So rather than demanding an answer from God, as though it is His fault and not mine, I am driven to my knees with thankfulness and gratitude for choosing to cleanse and heal me. Oh the thought!
Societal problems, like abandoned children, are
complex and difficult to address. This week we visited the ministry of an
American couple who live about 4 hours from Juan, hoping that they might be
able to care for him in ways that he needs. Leaving everything behind in the
States, they've built a home in the DR and adopted eight street children and
will soon expand that to three more houses. As we visited with them and told
Juan's story, it broke all of our hearts to realize that he was beyond what
they were able to offer and would endanger the other boys they've worked so
hard with.
So I write this without a clean resolution. Juan woke from his sleep when he peed his pants and soaked the cushion he was sleeping on, with more energy for his troubled mind and heart. He had to be returned to the street, where he is abused and abuses others.
I didn't have any sense that this was demon possession. When we went swimming before, and again on this day, I sang lots of songs to him..."Jesus loves me this I know...," "Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have give I thee. In the name of Jesus Christ, of Nazareth rise up and walk!" He had no reaction to the songs in particular, and even sang "Jesus Loves Me" a few times, after he had heard it enough. No lack of intelligence!
My prayers for Juan were that Jesus would have mercy on him, that the anger and violence would be replaced with gentleness and joy. At one point as I was praying, a butterfly landed on one of the nearby garden flowers. As the sun shone through the delicate wings, it was a picture of what I wanted for Juan; that the ugly caterpillar that was his life would be transformed into a thing of beauty, that radiated God's glory.
But I also wrestled with the question, "Why?" His body was covered with scars and some of his behavior indicated frequent sexual abuse. This is what I meant when I said to Debbie, "There's nothing like reality to challenge a person's theology." I told the Lord, "You've healed blind eyes. Cripples have walked at your touch. Even the dead have come to life. Why don't you heal Juan?"
I don't have any neat and tidy answers to that question, like a TV sitcom wrap-up. But sitting there with Juan, I did sense God's quiet whisper. I found God directing me to leave the question of Juan to Himself. One of the thoughts that occurred to me as I prayed over Juan, my hands on his shaved head, was, "Daniel, I have healed blind eyes and I could heal Juan. But I'm opening YOUR eyes."
It also occurred to me that in terms of my standing before God, in terms of my own righteousness, I am no different than Juan's abusers. Jesus had to be nailed to the cross, to be tortured, scarred and killed, in order for my heart to be drawn to Him. His sacrifice was what made blessing possible.
So rather than demanding an answer from God, as though it is His fault and not mine, I am driven to my knees with thankfulness and gratitude for choosing to cleanse and heal me. Oh the thought!
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| Juan sleeping at the COTN staff house. |
So I write this without a clean resolution. Juan woke from his sleep when he peed his pants and soaked the cushion he was sleeping on, with more energy for his troubled mind and heart. He had to be returned to the street, where he is abused and abuses others.
I struggle with how to end this when we've
arrived at no conclusion for Juan. I simply return to the place I arrived at
when I was on the patio with Juan. For some reason, God has blessed my life in
ways that I don't deserve. The natural response of any true Christian to that
is to try to extend that love and grace to others, through acts of service and
sacrifice - a life of gratitude to use as God would please.
As "A Covenant Prayer" says:
Put me to doing, put me to suffering;
Let me be employed for thee or laid aside for thee,
As "A Covenant Prayer" says:
Put me to doing, put me to suffering;
Let me be employed for thee or laid aside for thee,
exalted for thee or brought low for thee.
Let me be full, let me be empty.
Let me have all things, let me have nothing.
I freely and heartily yield all things to thy pleasure and disposal.
Let me be full, let me be empty.
Let me have all things, let me have nothing.
I freely and heartily yield all things to thy pleasure and disposal.
Under His Mercy,
Daniel Watters (for Debbie too)
Daniel Watters (for Debbie too)
