a boy named Gilbert

I have spent 2+ months of Thursdays meeting, interacting with and handing our warm food to the streetkids here. Some of them I see every week and know them by name, some I haven't seen since the night we handed out Christmas bags. Many of these kids faces will remain in the forefront of my brain - even if I don't know all of their stories or can't remember their names.

I sat in an upstairs restaurant yesterday with a perfect view of one of the main intersections of town. While we were waiting for our food, I watched the truck with the pig in the back pull up to the feed store; the little boy walk out of the store (and his mother's sight) so he could relieve himself on the curb front. I also saw a group of 9-10 year old "rugby boys" that we see most Thursday evenings. They were standing in broad daylight sniffing away - getting high. I saw the storekeeper shoo them away, then as their "high" sunk in, I watched them playing a russian roulette of sorts in the middle of traffic. They ended by jumping on the back of a jeepney - another game to see how far they could get before the driver noticed them.

I've seen Gilbert numerous times during trips into town running errands or having my staff dates. He always recognized me and greeted me with a "hello my good friend". He never smelled of rugby and always appeared to be working.

Last night, Gilbert (possibly a nick name or name he's decided to call himself) gave me his smile as he said "hello my good friend". For some reason - maybe because it was my last opportunity - I decided to engage him in conversation and with the help of a translator - listened to him share his story. His mother and father are separated; they used to chop wood and sell it for money, but one day he returned with wood to find them gone. His mother now lives 7 hours away and his father - he thinks - is in Manila. Gilbert got teary as he told my  translator "I don't understand why they left me". Without much thought, I touched his arm and said "I don't know if you'll ever make sense of it or if you'll ever figure out why they left. Sometimes our parents make bad decisions or decisions that don't make any sense to us as kids. And it may not seem like it, but I am sure your parents still love you".
Gilbert is 18 (so he says) and comes across in a typical quiet, cool demeanor. But as we continued our conversation, that facade changed. He told me he does not do rugby and works hard - trying to save money. He has an aunt in Carmen (less than 2 hours away) and I encouraged him to try to get there. He also mentioned a sister who is a Nun. This woman sees him on occasion and apparently has given him a bible (I had not mentioned anything yet about a bible or jesus for that matter). He almost chuckled as he mentioned a verse he had read that "said something about do not be lazy".

He looked at me with tears and said "if only someone could give me money for my education". I told him that I would pray about that and he should do the same.  I told Gilbert that we have a god who does crazy things - like sending a white woman to Butuan to find him and look him in the eye to tell him that HE MATTERS; even if his parents have left him, the god he read about in the bible has not left him and in fact has a purpose for his life. He let me hug him before we all left the plaza and I whispered in his ear again - "you matter".

I always think that I am drawn to the little girls and get so excited when I get a chance to talk to or play with them. Interestingly enough, these encounters keep happening with teenage boys. As I've said before, our god has a sense of humor as well...