“BANG - BANG - BANG!” and that was all it took – the man who
had beaten you and opened up your face with his fist, fell to the floor and you
were safe. But no one knew that that night of victory would be cut short and
change your life forever.
I can’t prevent my mind from replaying
the weeks leading up
to that event. Things were going so well.
The centre was buzzing and it was a second home for you. Jocasta and I poured into your life and I
remember you looking into my eyes one night pleading me to take you to church
because you needed God in your life. I
said I would love to take you, but you wanted me to know that you were serious.
We talked deep that night and I know you soaked in every word spoken.
I knew that you had gotten into trouble while I had been
away in the States. I knew that you had
returned to robbing yet this time it had gone further than stealing the average
Joe’s home belongings. When I had returned,
I noticed you were harder in your heart and you knew it too. Just seeing me again convicted your spirit
and I could see you were crying out for help, for change, for freedom.
We picked up from where we had left off, and I could see
relief in your eyes. Relief that I accepted you for you and relief that I put
my trust in you regardless of the rumors and the past.
Many nights you’d ask if you could stay longer at the
centre, you were happy messing with the DJ function on my computer and you were
content, you could be yourself.
Things were going well.
We helped our friend take his mind off his depression by dressing up as
the characters from Dragonball, and making a lasting impression on the people
in Galerias. We laughed and joked and it
was pure and innocent fun that restored and refreshed our souls.
I could see you were struggling; you didn’t want the
streets, you didn’t want the zany life, you wanted stability and acceptance,
you wanted change.
We took many trips in those few weeks; We focused on Jocasta
having those final glimpses of Nicaragua and we drank in some of the beautiful
landscapes and features of this country.
I cherish the time I visited you and your Mum. I thoroughly loved sitting in the plastic
chairs outside your humble home and talking through your passion of want you
wanted Capital Edge to help you achieve. You wanted us to host a soccer
tournament for the barrio and you promised you’d help me achieve this in
practical ways.
That night I bonded with your broken mother. I remember thinking what a strong woman she
is and I loved speaking positive words about you to her and seeing her eyes
twinkle with delight.
You were sick one night and you came to me for help - I took
you to hospital and I know that you felt loved and cherished.
Do you remember the time, we karaoked the night away at the centre and we
repeatedly sang, “Stand by me” over and over and over again until our voices
broke on us.
You were actively willing to help me fix things around the
centre and you served and loved just being a part of my daily life. But sadly I
was distracted and I allowed many opportunities to pass by and unfortunately,
greed got the better of you.
One night you came to visit, but I was out. I didn’t realize that this would be the night
that you most needed the centre – the protection – the acceptance. That night you borrowed our motorbike, but
you didn’t return it. That night, the
outdoor speakers were stolen, and that night changed the course of a life!
After three days, I contacted you. I knew you were renting out the bike to
others. I know that bike has stories – horrific stories. You returned the bike but things were
different. I was angry and I told you
that if you wanted to be welcomed into the centre again, you would first have
to think hard about your actions and you would have to return our stolen
speakers before the doors would say “bienvenidos”.
You were offended. You were hurt. I watched as my words stabbed you and your
dreams. You tried to justify your actions, but I wasn’t in the mood for
excuses.
I didn’t realize the safety and security our centre provided
to you. I was at a low point, feeling
the pressures of the world and doubting the calling God had given me. I had many verbally express their concerns
over the facebook photos I had posted with you in them. People thought the worst and I allowed their
narrow mindsets to eat at me, and I saw this as an opportunity to keep you at
arm’s length.
I didn’t value the beauty of what we provided for you, I
listened to my critics and believed them when they hissed that all we do is
provide a party and nothing more. From
every inch of my being, I am sorry that I didn’t value the influence I was to
you, I didn’t see how you valued the acceptance that we offered you, and I
didn’t believe that we were making a difference just by opening our green gate
to you and allowing my home to be yours too.
I passed you in the streets and you were rejected and I was
harboring unforgiveness and confusion. I
felt used and abused and focused on earthly matters rather than heavenly
achievements.
Your pride and culture wouldn’t allow you to say a direct Sorry
to me, but you desperately tried to display this to me through your actions the
night I visited your cousin that you happened to be at too. I knew it wasn’t an accident or coincidence
that you were there, but I was stubborn and tired and listened to earthly
options instead of God’s.
I missed the opportunity to speak words of life to you and
as a result the streets became your home once again.
“BANG”
I am sure this sound will haunt you and your mother for the
rest of your life.
You had gotten into trouble and trouble had decided to fight
back. You were fighting for your life
and this time you called for your mother instead of me.
That night, she took the law into her own hands. She pulled the trigger and freed you for a
moment.
Now I see why God called us to open our home to the youth on
the streets, now I can see that beyond the laughter and fun there is so much
more taking place, now I am convinced of my calling… but it is too late to turn
back the clock and redo the past - now you are on the run, now you are not
welcome back to the barrio, now your mother is behind bars.