Have you ever interacted with a child that has a tummy ache? They curl up in a ball and cry for their blankie. And as much as you know that their blankie brings them comfort, it doesn’t help solve the pain of having a tummy ache. So you offer them Pepto Bismol, telling them they’ll feel better if they drink it. They look at you with those miserable eyes and nod a pouty yes, so you pour some into those small doctor-approved shot glasses, but the moment they see the unnatural pink liquid and smell the artificial flavor, they frown and turn their nose up in the air refusing to drink it. Sure, it’s disgusting, but you, as their caretaker, know that the several seconds of this obnoxious drink are worth getting better. Yet, they refuse to drink it.
How many people do you know or have heard of that contract cancer refuse chemotherapy? My guess is, the majority of people with cancer do choose chemo, because when offered it allows an opportunity for them to live. Despite the pain that cancer inflicts on them and the side effects of chemo, they press on. What if you learned that your child had cancer? They’re offered an opportunity for chemotherapy, but they shake their head. “No thanks,” they say, “I’m fine here.”
“You’re not fine!” you cry to them, clinging to their shirt with tears pouring from your eyes. “You need help! This can heal you!”
But they don’t take it. “Chemo sounds too hard on my body. I don’t wanna go through that,” they tell you.
“But it would bring you life,” you plea.
I may not be a mom (or a dad, for that matter) but my guess is that would shatter your heart. But if you’re like me, young and childless, and this analogy just doesn’t work for you, think of someone you love telling you they’d rather die than put up with the pain of life. A significant other, a parent, a sibling, a best friend, a mentor, those classmates and coworkers we’ve grown to be friends with– someone whom you love so much if they left you’d feel that gaping hole in your middle.
There. Surely that covers my audience.
So there we are. Wrapping up the night in the streets, waiting at a corner for the other half of us to finish up talking to a man curled up on the sidewalk. A teammate and myself glance over to see a woman standing still on the sidewalk, feet away from a small group of men who seem to be talking to her. Whatever they were saying, I didn’t like it, so I grab our translator, Mar, and a few teammates. We approach her on the side walk calmly. “Hola,” we peep, checking the scene for any trouble. It was an older woman, short, worn and hunched over, clutching her small purse and a lit cigarette.
“Whatever you have to say, say it now,” she said quietly.
That took us aback, frankly. As the night continued we had begun to develop a script to introduce ourselves to the street’s residents, but she wanted to get right to the point. We didn’t say much, though, before Flora began to speak.
“No, I’m not okay,” she croaked, sniffing. “I’m addicted to drugs. I can’t stop. No matter how hard I try I can’t seem to stop. I drink every night because I have nothing else. I live here on the streets. Sometimes I don’t find enough food in the day so I have to sell my body to have something to eat. I’m tired, I’m sick, and I don’t want to be here. Can you help me, please?”
In the middle of her pleading, a woman from the row of men sitting nearby got up to take the lighter from Flora’s hand to light her blunt. Not but five minutes later, she returned, leaned against the wall and joined in the circle to hear what these foreign women had to say.
Mar dove into an explanation of why we were here: we were a group of missionaries that worked with an organization called Teen Challenge, a place where people could come off the streets and have a home with food, clothes and showers while they worked in a one year program towards sobriety. It could be sexual addictions, drugs or drinking, but Global Teen Challenge was an opportunity for these women we were talking to. Mar shared the Gospel of Jesus. She spoke of the new opportunity we all were given, and we wanted to present that same opportunity to them.
While Mar talked, the woman beside us, named Raquel, became attentive to the presented opportunity. She was in the same position as Flora: desperate for help, and by whatever chance, here were these ladies that had exactly what she needed. The drugs were nothing but an addiction now. The drinking to numb her reality was beginning to lose the desired effect. Her “boyfriend” lying next to her on the street couldn’t do any more to support her than she could– she’d have to sneak out to earn her money only for him to find out and abuse her for being disloyal. But these girls– they had a house? With a bed? And food? Warm, home-cooked food? They offered her clothes and comfort… and freedom. She didn’t have to pay anything, she only had to show up to the bus stop the next morning to be whisked away to an answered prayer.
Raquel had developed a gleam in her eye. A hungry longing. This life she was living wasn’t it and she knew it. With every word that Mar said, Raquel became more alert, her eyes wandering across all our sincere faces.
And for a moment, everything was perfect. She was going to the bus stop tomorrow. She was changing her life. She was going to be new.
But Raquel made one grave mistake.
She turned around.
And she saw what she had: she couldn’t leave these men. They had all sworn to protect each other. Sure, the bruises and scars said otherwise, but they would never let anyone else touch her. That was love, right? She had an eight year-old son that lived with her mother– she couldn’t lose contact with him… whatever little contact she had was still contact. The girls on the street that hissed at her as she walked by, they would call her weak for leaving the tough streets. Her dreams of the future turned to a pile of salt, blown away in the chilly San Jose air, and the gleam was gone. Her eyes turned dim, and despite the hopelessness that hid behind those high eyes, the bus stop was no longer an option.
Watching the gleam in Raquel’s eyes disappear launched our souls into a freefall. ‘No!’ our spirits cried, grasping for any string of hope, ‘stay, please! We’ll wait with you. We’ll sleep on the sidewalk with you. We’ll hold your hand as we step onto the bus together! We’ll be right here! Don’t stay, please! You don’t belong here! It’s too dangerous for you to stay! Come, please!’
But the gleam never came back.
Several hours before meeting Raquel and Flora we were face down towards the tile of the hotel room. “Break our hearts for what breaks yours,” we prayed. “Give us eyes to see like you see.”
And He did.
And that, friends, is a dangerous wish to have granted.
Thank you for not painting the full picture of that day with the pink stuff, but what a vivid picture, as well as the others. There is such a difference when the Good News falls on deaf ears vs when the Holy Spirit is there and opens the ears to hear and takes the scales from the eyes. I am praying God opens up their eyes and ears and the words you spoke and the Hope only God can give them will continue to be replayed in their minds until they finally surrender. I love your heart for the lost.
Hello Sweet One! This is so well written but the script is with a heartbreaking ending. Praying for your aching heart. We love you so much. Looking forward to seeing you soon!