Stateside

Right now we are in our Stateside Outreach phase. During this time, we have split into five teams and have gone across the Midwest and East Coast of America. We are telling our stories and raising awareness of the various issues we have seen and encountered along the way.
Tonight, we went to a youth group here in Madison. I shared the spoken word I had written about my time in Mae Sai with the street kids and sang a song with the ever so needed help of a teammate.
Here is what I wrote:

Memuyl, Mae Sai, Thailand 2013

I was with two friends the first day I met him. It was like I entered a trance; I became mesmerized by the scene unfolding before me.  There he was: so young; so precious; so dirty. His face was covered with dirt and grime. It made him look so much darker than he already was with his tan skin and dark eyes. His eyes captivated me. They told a story of too much hurt, too much rejection and extreme brokenness. And then they would shut off and I could see nothing. There he was in his torn, ratty blue shirt begging for money. He would switch back and forth between Thai, Burmese and English Asking for only a baht, less than a cent.  I wanted to call him over and hug him. Hold him. Keep him in the safety of my arms. I wanted to defend him from more of life’s cruel blows.

His name is Memuyl. He is nine years old. He and his friends live under the bridge they beg on during the day. There is no mother, no father. He does not go to school. He is addicted to glue. He acts tough because he has to be. And he is sassy like nobody’s business.

We took him and three of his friends out to lunch that first day. They led us to a restaurant they said they liked and we ordered food. The meal came and the children offered us food before they began to shovel it into their mouths. It was like they had not eaten all week. Have they eaten this week?
We begin to ask them questions, all directed toward Memuyl, as he is the only one who speaks English. What are your names? I repeat each one and everyone at the table laughs. Memuyl spells his name for us; pride evident in his voice that he can do so. I try to pronounce his name again and fail, but I do not mind as the children laugh again. How many times have they laughed today?

 How old are you is our next question. Their ages amaze me. They are street kids, they are not going to be as big and strong as those who eat daily, of course they are older then they look. They turn the questions on us and giggle as we tell them our ages, especially when I told them I was fifty-nine and a half. They ask questions about our families.  Do you have a mother and father? I cannot turn the question back on them for I cannot bear the answer.

They finish the meal and my heart drops: we have to say goodbye. We walk to the bridge with them, extra food in their hands. They climb back over the barbed wire fence. The boy in blue and the boy in yellow., would we ever see them again? Goodbye we tell them. Goodbye they say.
All around me is noise. People walking, talking, going about their day as if nothing significant has happened. But my world just got tilted. We stand there, the three of us completely absorbed in the moment. How many people pay attention to him…to all of them?
I saw him daily. We would stand at the bridge and talk- he on one side, me on the other. Sometimes, he would come over the barbed-wire fence and we would sit and chat. When was the last time he talked to someone who cared?
The day I had to say goodbye, I realized how fast this little boy had changed my life. How much he had affected my heart. Still affects my heart. I walked away from him crying; I could barely see through my tears and as I continued to walk away I could hear him screaming my name, telling me to smile, to yim. Telling me not to cry.  It was as if he thought he was not worth the tears. As if he thought he was not worth all the time we had spent together. It was as if he thought he was just not worth it. But he was. He is. He was worth getting to know, as little as I do know. He is worth all the tears I cried. He is worth all the money I spent. He is worth it all.
You, you see a street boy; you may see a hopeless cause, but I refuse to believe that my precious boy is just another case. That he is just another number in the faceless numbers. Cause he is not. He is more than that. He is precious. And bold. And brilliant. And too street- smart. He is adorable. And protective.  And broken. And sad. And addicted. And angry. And hurt. And rejected. And in such desperate need of love. He is a child of God. A world-changer. A valued life. He is Memuyl.

Pizza is here! Thanks for reading!