His eyes stared at me with a sad and weary expression. His young body was stooped, and the droop of his mouth tells its own story. The young boy has found nothing much to smile about. Dear God, he’s only 14.
I remember meeting him when he was only about six or seven. He was so cute, so happy and alive that I was instantly drawn to him. He was one of my new Sunday school pupils. I knew right there and then that this boy was very special. Let's call him Joey.
I wasn't wrong in my assessment of Joey. He was that one boy who helped me clean up the classroom after Sunday school- stacking the chairs, cleaning the board, and putting back the toys in their boxes. When he sees me coming, he would run immediately to my side and offer to carry my stuff. During class, he may be slow to catch up, but I could easily see the hunger for knowledge, the eagerness to memorize scripture verses. And I started praying that this boy will grow up to be an instrument for the ministry.
But life has a way of springing up unexpected punches that are too much to handle, especially if they are aimed at a defenseless young boy. I've seen how poverty has driven this boy's mother into becoming an entertainer in Japan, heard stories of how she had been sexually abused, beaten and how her body was filled with drugs so that she will be controlled easily by her pimp. She came home after her ordeal, a broken woman, a mentally-deranged drug addict.
The father, who was a lazy good for nothing lay-about soon turned to drugs, too, probably to forget how his irresponsibility towards his family has driven his wife to that pitiful condition. The other two sons, followed in the footsteps of their parents, and started inhaling rugby (contact cement, a kind of solvent) and later on turned to other drugs. The only daughter, 13 years old, went to live with her maternal grandmother. Some days, I’d see her standing outside in the street, staring at nothing, her pretty face blank of all emotions.
And Joey. He has continued to come to my church and has shown the same enthusiasm to learn about God. He will come to my house every Sunday, expecting to be given a free ride to church and free meals. Every time I see him coming, all done up in his best clothes - the pair of jeans not so faded as his other pair, the T-shirt that’s too big for him, probably a hand me down, and the pair of rubber shoes that has seen better days- well, my heart swelled with thanksgiving. I thought to myself that while the boy believes in the goodness of God, he may survive and not get caught up in the pit of blackness that the rest of his family has fallen into. I kept praying and hoping that he will continue to resist the bad influence of his own family.
Then, I left and moved to a town where my adopted daughter was studying. I talked to my friends in church to keep an eye on Joey. They promised they would. I left with a heavy heart, for I felt that the odd collection of misplaced kids in my Sunday school ministry were too much. Most of them have a history of dysfunctional family life, and if you don’t have much patience and a big supply of understanding, they were a bit difficult to handle. My friends keep telling me not to worry, and I tried not to. I knew that if I leave, God will anoint someone else to handle my ministry.
Years passed. I got so busy with my own life in my new home, attended a new church, and met new friends. I forgot about Joey and the other children. Until today, when I came face to face with Joey.
“Hey, how are you?” I greeted him. “You are all grown up. You must be graduating from high school now.”
“No, Ate,” I smiled at the term. He hasn’t forgotten. Ate is a form of address meaning older sister.
“What? You are not grown up? Or not graduating?” I joked.
He smiled sadly at that. “I quit school after you left.”
And church? Have you quit that, too? I didn’t say that aloud, afraid of the answer I might get. But as if he could read my mind, he blurted out, “I don’t go to church anymore either. There’s no money for the fare and it’s too far too walk. Lot’s of times, there’s no food either. I have to do odd jobs like running errands for a little food.”
“And the others?” I asked.
“They don’t go anymore either. Totong has turned to gambling, And the other boys are either into stealing or just making trouble for the fun of it.”
I asked him if he himself has turned from God. He smiled crookedly at me, and said that he still wanted to know God, but how can he? Besides, the people in church didn’t want anything to do with him or any of the others. They were mischief-makers, not exactly said to their faces, but their actions implied that. If that were not so, they would have come and visit them when they stopped coming, wouldn’t they?
I was saddened by that comment. What is going to happen to this boy? He has gone older than his age. He has been stripped of the joy of being a child, and the security that should have been provided by his parents was taken away at such an early age. What more, the chance to know God has been denied him by these bible-toting people who professed to love Jesus. But wasn’t it Jesus Himself who said to let the children come to Him?
My sister has started a bible study with this group of unwanted kids when she came back to live there again. Not a church sponsored ministry, but an independent one. She buys the materials and food for the kids from her own pocket. I just thank God that there will be someone to continue to lead these young people to God. And I pray that she will have the stamina, the resources, and the guidance of the Spirit as she goes about her ministry,
As for Joey, nothing can take away the scars of his childhood, except Jesus Himself. I just want him to know and learn that he could lay down his burdens at Jesus’ feet and find rest there from his weariness.
