9:11 pm, Thursday night

I wasn’t there when this picture was taken.  But I imagine it to be at about 5:00 am, while all the other street boys are asleep.  On the floor, on benches, on each other.  That’s what usually happens on Friday nights when Gene goes into Iquitos (from the boys’ home in Puerto Alegria).  They play soccer, have a meal, play more soccer, watch movies, more soccer, and then fall asleep.  I imagine Angelo waking up for just a few more dribbles of his soccer ball, just a few more hours awake before he goes out onto the street, his home.

God has placed Angelo on my heart.  Just click on Angelo on my sidebar and you’ll see several posts where he shows up.  At first, I didn’t know his name, but his face was pressed into my heart. Then I learned his name, and now my heart is beginning to wrap itself around his little heart, even from this far away.  I wonder what he’s doing at this moment, 9:11 pm on a Thursday night.  Is he safe?  Is he sleeping, playing soccer on the street somewhere, begging for money, stealing money?  What is he doing now?  I can only pray that God will protect him and, most of all, bring him to an understanding of the sufficiency of Christ.

Angelo. 13 years old. Loves soccer.

…but I wanted shoes.

So I’ve been thinking about the lessons I learned from this trip.  It seems that every trip has a spiritual theme (or themes) that resonates in my heart.  Let me first tell you about Angelo.  

Do you remember him?  He’s a 13 year old boy who lives on the streets of Iquitos.  He’s not part of Puerto Alegria because he doesn’t want to be.  He prefers the “freedom” of the streets rather than the “confines” of Puerto Alegria.  Gene is building a relationship with him in hopes that he’ll eventually agree to come.  

I brought Angelo a gift.  A sketch pad and colored pencils.  I wanted to give him something that might perhaps be an outlet for him to express himself.  

So we arrive for our Friday night event (Gene plays soccer with them and feeds them every Friday night, from 12:00 am–5:00 am).  I am so excited to hear him shout my name as soon as he walks in.  After our greetings and hugs, I pull him into the room where my backpack is.  I pull out the gift that I had so thoughtfully bought for him.  I wait anxiously to see his reaction.  He looks at the gift and says, “Pero yo queria zapatillas.”  He wanted shoes.  He doesn’t even read (or let me read) the note I had written for him on the inside of the notebook.  He eventually leaves for the night without even taking the gift with him.

Rejection was a bit of a more constant companion on this trip.  Bring a gift and they don’t want it.  Reach out for a hug and they jerk their shoulder away.  Teach them English and they misbehave.  

The theme?  LOVE THEM.  Bring them more gifts.  Reach out for more hugs.  Teach more English.  LOVE THEM.  Even at the expense of your own heart.

Angelo

Angelo looks up at me, faint recognition in his eyes.  I ask him, “Do you remember me?”  He says, “A little.”  ”Remember, we stood right over there and I bought a necklace from you?”  ”Ah, ya,” he replies, nodding and smiling.  We stand there and talk for a while.  I squeeze him tight.  His arms lay limp at his side, but I know he wants a hug.  I ask him where he lives.  Right here, he tells me, pointing to the sidewalk.  My heart breaks.  More hugs.  (He probably thinks I’m crazy)  I ask him if he goes to school.  He says, “No, but I’m going to.”  I know there is little truth in his words.  He is a street kid, and living on the street is about survival.

Angelo stands at about 5’3″, kind of tall for a Peruvian, especially a thirteen year old.  He has a raspy voice and the most beautiful skin, apart from the scars.  Angelo’s older brother died on the streets, and his younger brother is in Lima.  He has no one. 

It isn’t fair.  While some children sleep with a down comforter and a night light, Angelo curls up on the sidewalk.  While some children ask Mom and Dad for money to buy candy, Angelo sells trinkets on the street so he can buy some food or a can of glue to sniff.  It isn’t fair.

So how do I pray?  What is the “right” way to think on this?  I have no answers.  I don’t know why some have and some have not.  I have asked the Lord, but He is silent on this one.  I can only rest in knowing that He knows loves them far more than I ever could, and that He is sovereign.  Lord, help my unbelief.  

PS–I blogged about Angelo (although I didn’t know his name)here, here and here.   

PSS–I wish I had a picture of Angelo, but bringing my camera to work with street children would not have been a smart move.