| As I stepped out of the taxi onto the cobblestone sidewalk, I nearly landed in a puddle full of murky, grungy water. My friends tumbled out behind me, and we joined a few others huddled together a few feet away. Men and women scurried past us, eyes averted, as we joked and laughed. I shuffled my feet back and forth, avoiding puddles while trying to keep warm. Our bright winter clothing contrasted sharply with the dull, dingy tones of our surroundings. Shades of gray and brown clung to everything from the sky, to the ground, and to the people themselves. An excitement obviously foreign to this area thrilled my heart. We waited a few more minutes for the other taxis to deposit the remainder of our team before our translator, Volodia, maneuvered us between two buildings. We quickly discovered a set of stairs to our left and trickled into an old, run-down church. As we crept through a dim hallway toward a thick red door, voices and music invited us to enter. My heart quickened and sensed a challenge. This is where I’ll give a testimony. Volodia inched open the door, and light invaded the hallway. Small, round faces peeked out, curious at this interruption to their meeting. A man somewhere in his mid-30’s motioned to us. We filed in, through the door and to the right, and quietly joined the moment. I listened as Ukrainian voices mingled with unfamiliar melodies. An atmosphere which outside felt isolating and oppressive now felt warm and inviting. Here was a spirit of life and hope. Here was evidence of lives transformed. There must have been about 30 children sitting across from us. As the music swirled around me, I studied each face. So young. So precious. What have they seen? What have they known? Oh God, how Your heart must ache over little ones such as these. What could I possibly say to them? If You really want me to speak, I’ll do it, but I need to know. In their eyes I saw innocence lost. Life on the streets of Ukraine had not been kind to them. Though I could only guess at their stories, their eyes spoke of the refuge they found here. After the music faded away, we shuffled through some sort of transition. Introductions were made. We met Joseph, the man who had invited us in earlier. Joseph introduced our team to the children. Now we realized that it was our turn. We rushed to take our spots. Someone pressed play. Energy shot through the room. Attitude and rhythm embraced as we cut across the floor. The beat of a hip hop song entitled “Soldiers” coursed through us, and we responded to its pulse. Volodia did his best to translate for the children as the song progressed. The energy in the room expanded as they followed the words and experienced the music. Then suddenly, we were suspended. The CD player started to skip. We froze. The room was silent. Now what? Someone said it needed new batteries. We moved back to our chairs to wait. “Do you want someone to speak while he’s fixing that? Make use of the time?” Volodia suggested. The rest of the girls shrunk back, shrugging their shoulders, not willing to volunteer. My heart, too, shrunk back momentarily, but then it quickened. Energy surged through me. Words welled up within my heart. My body responded and stood. “I’ll do it,” I said, shocking myself as well as my friends. Before I knew it, I was again studying each and every face, with Volodia at my side. Words tumbled out. I had to force myself to pause, so he could translate. These words were not my own. This was an energy and a passion straight from the heart of God, and I was just the one willing to be His mouth. “I want each of you to know that you are special to God. You are fearfully and wonderfully made, and He has a plan and a purpose for you. It doesn’t matter where you’ve been, or what you’ve done. You have a unique place in His heart that only you can fill. He has given you gifts and talents that only you can do. You are special and unique, and God wants to use every single one of you.” It probably lasted less then a minute. By the time I finished, the CD player was fixed. We danced the rest of “Soldiers,” as well as another dance. Then we followed the children downstairs, where Joseph served them a warm dinner. A few of the older boys asked Joseph if they could share their stories with us. We heard incredible testimonies of drug use, alcoholism, abuse, stealing, fighting, and hatred. The beauty of it overpowered us. Each one was able to say that God broke through. Each one, in his own way, could say that God had rescued his heart. I have a picture that someone took of me speaking to the street kids. I’m standing in my black cargo pants and yellow camo shirt. Volodia is next to me. My face is full of passion, and I’m pointing my finger at an unseen audience. That night my heart expanded, and I felt it beat in time with God’s own heart. I also caught a glimpse of a dream. I want to reach out and touch the broken, hurting children of this world. I want to watch their eyes come alive as they meet the One whose love dives deep into the midst of their brokenness. Only He can reach that deep, but I can be His mouth. written 9/21/06 |
