we must go.

This is a story post.  Lots of words, few pictures.  enjoy!

Disclaimer: Names of the kids in this story have been changed, but it is a real story and these are real kids.  Also, there are some parts with violence and implied swearing...I'm just quoting and relaying the events as they happened.  

Prologue:  A family from church mentors two kids from some rough neighborhoods in the Cities.  They are kids who are underprivileged and come from broken or poor homes.  the one boy has a paraplegic mother and so his brother and/or sister end up tagging along, even though they aren't officially mentees.  I am sometimes around my friends' house when they're watching the kids, and here is a little bit of what I witnessed the other day. 

"Stop right there or I'm gonna blow your head off!"  Little Ronnie had a wild grin on his face as he held the play gun to Evan's head.   Feet spread apart in a sideways stance, he held the gun in one hand at arms length, cocked to one side.  I was struck by how much he looked like a street thug...a 4-year-old street thug. 

Evan looked at me worriedly then back to Ronnie, "Hey, don't point that at my head.  you're not supposed to point that at people.  we don't play like that!"  He looked back at me for some support.  I realized I had been frozen in that moment.  Caught off-guard by the little scene that had just played out.  Just as I started to address Ronnie, his 5-year-old brother, Wyatt bounded up the stairs and began running around Mary's nice living room yelling, "I'm gonna shoot you!"  As Wyatt tore past the high glass-topped side table, his shoulder hit the edge and all the pictures wobbled, threatening to fall to the hard-wood floor.  Ronnie was momentarily distracted from his attack on Evan and watched his brother with a hint of pride in his eye.  I could see that soon Ronnie would feed off of Wyatt's energy and the situation would snow-ball out of control...psh, as if it wasn't already. 

I went to grab Wyatt but he slipped out of reach and stood behind the chairs.  As I moved towards him, he ran away.  I could tell that if I kept chasing him, he'd keep running and I'd look like a fool and he'd never get caught.  Finally he brushed past Evan, and Evan grabbed his arm and held him until I could reach him.  Even though he is 9, Evan is only about the same size as 5-year-old Wyatt.   When I finally caught Wyatt, I knelt down, took the gun out of his hand and gently turned his chin toward me.  He carefully avoided eye-contact and got a blank look on his face as he attempted to tune me out.  I found his eyes and said, "Wyatt, do you remember what Mary said about running in the house and especially pointing guns at people? What did she say?"   He looked at me briefly and said sullenly, "She say don't do it."   "That's right.  So don't do it, ok?" 
"Ok."

A little while later, Wyatt was downstairs contentedly watching a batman video on the computer, Evan had gone home for the day and little Ronnie was wandering around the kitchen.  "Whatchu got to eat, I'm hungry!" 
Mary responded, "What are you hungry for, Ronnie? Grapes or yogurt?" 
"Nah, I want a cheese taco. Ya know like last time!"
She prepared him a quesadilla and he sat at the table to eat it. 
"Hey white lady!"  He points at me, mouth full of food.  He loves talking, and loves eating and won't let the either stop him from doing the other.
"Ronnie, don't you remember my name." 
He gets a big smile on his face, his teeth brilliant white against his dark chocolaty skin, and slowly nods.   I am struck at how beautiful this little boy is. 
"Ok, what is my name?"
"Iiiiii dunno!?"
"It's Suzy, remember?"
"Oh yeah, Suuuuzy."
He's quiet for a moment and then says, "My daddy in jail. He done some baaaad things."
I wasn't quite sure what to say, so Mary stepped in, "We know we're not supposed to do bad things, right? Instead we do good things like say nice words and be gentle to each other."  
Ronnie set down his cheese taco, "Yeah, he broked her wrist one time."  He held out his wrist and pointed to show us where it had happened.  "He no good." 
Then he went back to eating his cheese taco.  Just like that.  As if talking about your dad being violent and in jail was normal table talk.  Mouth full he looked up at Mary and said, "Can I have 'nother one?  Just one more, please?!  I'm still hungry!"
I teased him, "Your little belly can't hold any more cheese tacos, Ronnie."
"Oh yes they can, I can eat a hundred of them and still eat more!"
 Mary went to make him another, and I sat there and looked at this little boy, wanting to wrap him in my arms and hold him close and never let him go. 
"Hey Ronnie can I give you a kiss?"  He buries his head in his arm and nods shyly.  I sneak a kiss on his smooth cheek and say, "Can I have one back?"  He grins and throws his arms around my neck and places a cheese-taco kiss on my cheek.

Oh, sweet boy.

My heart was breaking. 

When Mary announced it was time to pack up and go, Wyatt exclaimed, "But I ain't done yet!  I don't wanna go home!"  And little Ronnie yelled, "I ain't goin' nowhere B****!!"  Both Mary and I's mouths had dropped open as we looked from Ronnie to each other in disbelief.  Had his sweet little four-year-old mouth just said what we thought it did? 
Wyatt, who had been around a little longer and knew that the word Ronnie had said was bad immediately ran up to his brother and said, "Hey! we don't say those things here, remember what Mary said?  Don't say bad words like that here!" 
I was struck by his emphatic usage of "here."  Because at home, it was apparently okay.
Mary went up to Ronnie and said, "Ronnie those are naughty words and we don't say them.  You can't say them at my house, or at school or in the store or anywhere." 
Ronnie nodded innocently and said, "Okay."  And walked away. 

I was bewildered.  It's not like language and rough backgrounds are new to me.  But I had only really dealt with teenagers and some adults.  I was so not used to hearing children say those words and talk about things they should know nothing about at their age. 

As we got in the car (took forever because they were trying to delay going home), Ronnie would not get in his seat.  And when Mary asked him to buckle up, he said, "I don't wanna, B****!"  Wyatt again immediately set about correcting his brother, saying that he was going to tell Auntie or Momma when they got home.  Ronnie looked at him with a mix of concern and doubt, "You gonna tell on me?" 
"Yup, you ain't supposed to say those words here and I'll tell on you if you say them."

I had an overwhelming sadness fill my heart as I realized that Ronnie has no idea what he's saying.  He merely repeats what he hears at home.  Words that flow off the tongue so easily of those he's with become normal and sprinkle his conversation without a second thought.  I want to be optimistic for this boy's future.  I want to say that despite his circumstances, he'll be fine.  But another part of me knows deep down that this boy's future is bleak.  statistics don't lie.  I've worked with teenagers who were raised very similarly...and it is a hard road they are traveling...and it is not easy to turn and go back. 

Sometimes we talk and wonder if having these kids a few hours a week is doing any good.  Between Mary, Kallianne, Kent, Micah and I, we have a huge heart for helping these kids and staying involved in their lives as much as we can.  But is it even worth the investment?  As much as it may seem like it isn't, I really think it might be.  These little boys are being exposed to another way of life.  "Rich people" who are actually kind to them and give them hugs and kisses and food whenever they need it.  People who are white, but aren't like the white people their family members talk about.  As Wyatt said, "I don't like white people!"  Mary challenged him, "What about me, Wyatt, I'm a white lady."  He thought a moment and said, "Well, you different than those other white people. You a nice white lady...and so is that one girl [referring to me] and Kallianne... she my favorite white lady. And her boyfriend blake is nice too.  And Kent is a nice white man."

The day after that, I was listening to a song I had learned a few years ago in college and it fit:

We must go, live to feed the hungry, stand beside the broken

We must go.  Stepping forward, keep us from just singing,

Move us into action.  We must go. 

Acting justly

Loving Mercy
We must go

To the broken and the hurting

We must go...

You have shown us what You require
Freely we've received
Now freely we will give

Fill us up and send us out, Lord

[God of Justice-Tim Hughes) 

So these sweet boys are on my heart and mind this week.  If you think of it, pray for their little lives and hearts.  Pray that those of us who have contact with them can be used to show them the light and love of Jesus.  May they become boys and eventually men who seek after God.

 Evan

 Ronnie

Wyatt

I think I speak for Kallianne and Mary too when I say, I've come to love them.

And even more than that Jesus loves them.  

We cringe dropping them off at home, knowing that when they walk through the door, it's chaos, darkness and lingering hopelessness. 

But thankfully Jesus specializes in hopeless situations, he brings peace to chaos and his light has triumphed over darkness.  

So we won't stop loving these boys.  We must go...stand beside the broken.