My heart is broken.
Please, read on.
Well, maybe you should think twice before continuing, unless you want to end up a little bit on the wrecked side.
It started with a phone call from an acquaintance offering up a high-end crib. No, not for me - she was asking in case one of my students had a need. We got it over the weekend and I put the word out at school. Sure enough, one of my girls has a baby who outgrew his donated bassinet and has been sleeping in a pack-and-play, so I arranged to bring the crib to her after school today.
I wasn't prepared for what I saw.
The surroundings change slowly in her part of town, you don't feel like you're in a difficult neighborhood until you get a good look at the houses on her street. Actually, I'm pretty sure hers is the worst on her street. My husband and I drove past it the first time because the house numbers weren't visible behind the overgrown tree in the yard...I mean, in the dirt. (Just so you know, I brought him for the muscle, not because I had any preconceived ideas about where I'd be driving.)
We parked in front of the small house with a cluttered front porch and barking mutt. Even as we turned the car off, I whispered, "No way she lives here. No way." A little girl played barefoot in the dirt out front and was eager to give a happy welcome to a couple of strangers. The adult woman in the house greeted me and hollered for my student, who appeared from a dim area toward the back of the home. My husband and I took turns carefully climbing the rotting steps onto the rotting porch, carrying the crib pieces into the front room of the house. The little girl out front watched curiously, making conversation as only a 3- or 4-year-old can. My husband finally scooped her up to chat and to give her a little bit of attention for a moment before carefully putting her back down to play in what I wished was a grassy lawn.
Inside, there was a couch and a TV surrounded by stuff - blankets, clothes, trash - and that was just the beginning. As I took the last of the pieces in, I followed my student through the house to her room. And when I say "through the house," I mean through 2 of the 3 remaining rooms in the place. I don't even think I can call them rooms. I passed through a kitchen area, and all I remember is the trash and dirty dishes that covered every surface, including the floor (which, by the way, is also rotting). I went through a small space with a washer and dryer, through an open bathroom, into my student's room at the very rear of the house. All along my path, I dodged clothes, dishes, trash, and other unidentifiable items. Her room was about a 10x10 space with one window and just enough space for a bed, dresser, and the baby's pack-and-play. I'm not even sure there was a closet; at that point I was trying not to look around anymore, and just think of her room as the typical teen's messy room. We went over the directions to put the crib together; she thanked me and we hugged before my smiling husband and I walked out the front door which I realized was their only source of air conditioning.
It was 90 degrees today.
Fortunately we had pulled away before I lost it. I know some of my students have it rough, but I did not expect such conditions. What gets me is that in spite of it all, this 10th grade mom comes to school every day with a smile on her face, her baby in tow, and has earned As and Bs nearly all year long. Thankfully my husband was driving because all I could do was cry, and cry, and cry some more.
I know that as you read this, you will be compelled to ask how you can help her. There is no easy solution. She's not the only one living like this. And I wouldn't even know where to start, because I really don't know the root of the problem. (My husband, on the other hand, knew right where to start - he suggested we play the lottery tonight, win big and build a house to hold all of the students who need help.) Is it poverty? Is it cultural? Is it generational? Do we even know?
Samaritan's Purse founder, Bob Pierce, once prayed, "Let my heart be broken with the things that break the heart of God." I can honestly say that I've never asked God for that; it's too risky. You know, it might mean that I have to sacrifice or change my lifestyle or give up something that I find enjoyable. Today, He broke my heart. He allowed me a glimpse into a world that I know about but that I haven't experienced firsthand. This afternoon, He gave me a gift - the gift of sight - seeing things as He sees them.
And now, I am broken.
If you regularly read this blog, you know that I often close with some Scripture and a challenge for you, my readers. But, at this moment, I've got no such thing. I have spent the rest of my afternoon going through the motions in my comfy home and asking God, "Show me what to do." Not just for this one student, but for many. All I can offer you today is my strong encouragement to ask God to show you what He wants you to see, and then to show you what to do about it. We are His hands and feet here; we can bring the solution to what ails the lost, the hurting, the needy. Then, share it with us in the comments below so we can join you in prayer.
I dare you.
