As I pass through El Centro with Jhon to buy him a snack post-drum lesson, I run into a few of our typical street crew. They are silently sniffing their glue bottles as they sit at 'their spot'--a concrete ledge inscribed with the words "Cuida las plantas" ("take care of the plants"). Yeah yeah yeah, and the people?
Ignoring the flourishing vegetation, I make my way over to the disheveled, distant-eyed teenagers. I notice that one of the girls today is especially drugged out. I kneel down and repeat her name over and over--"Ana... Ana... Ana..."--until she finally receives my gaze. Once I have her limited attention, I ask, "¿Está bien?" She wearily shakes her head and shows me a long cut on the side of her neck; then she points a finger at the equally checked-out girl behind her: "She did it!"
This previously wordless teen suddenly jumps up to defend herself, "Only because Ana is so annoying! She won't stop bothering me!"
I look up to the sky, taking a moment to draw a deep breath and pray for wisdom. "Listen, girls," I say with a firm voice and raised eyebrows. "I want to see you treating each other how you want to be treated, understood?" (I feel ridiculous giving such simple advice to these high-as-a-kite girls caught in a cat fight, but since it's what I believe the Lord put on my heart to say I continue:) "I want you to know something. When God created the universe--the stars, the creatures, everything--he called it good. But do you know what he called very good?"
By this point, another street girl has wandered her way over to me to answer my prompt: "Us."
"That's right," I affirm. "Of all creation, God put his image in us. And he didn't come to die for the stars, he came to die for you and me. God gave his very life to purchase us, and if that is the price he paid then we are very valuable. You are very valuable. So treat each other like it, got it?"
I look around at their attentive faces and can tell the "you are valuable" thing has struck these kids' hearts by the way they are staring at me--somehow they heard me through their drug fog, and I know that deep down they hope what I said is actually true. It is. Just to remind them, I take the two 'frenemies' to buy a simple snack. They follow me like puppies and longingly look at me to repeat what I had spoken earlier, "You are very, very valuable. So treat each other like it, got it?" The girls nod and walk back to their ledge, slowly munching on their chips... and hopefully on my words, too.
You are very, very valuable... It's no surprise to me that these girls have a difficult time believing me. We go to great lengths to protect what we value most. And how have these girls been treated? Like they're not even worth a second glance by the majority of passerbys. Like a self-affirming pat-on-the-back to all the do-gooders who occasionally fork over a sandwich. Like a piece of meat to the hungry-eyed men of the night. You know, maybe that's why these girls cheapen sex--taking men's few flimsy flatteries as their highest bid, hoping that maybe just maybe their desired bodies prove that they are at least worth something... but where does that leave them in the end? Abandoned--with a baby, an absent father, and feeling even more worthless than before.
But whether they know it or not, these girls are worth something. A whole lot, actually. After all, how do we know what an object is worth? By the price someone is willing to pay for it. And I know the One who paid the cost. The highest cost.
Later this same evening I watch a fourteen year old girl in our neighborhood hitting on literally all of our guys as she strolls down the street. This girl, who has recently started attending the ladies' Bible study my roommate and I lead, has an impressive talent of being able to accentuate each of her, errrm, 'endowments' as she pops them all out with each swaggy step. As she puts her gropy hands on one of our younger guys' shoulders with a giggle and a hair toss, I look at the lost young lady and tell her in front of the guys--because I love her and them--"No, don't you sell yourself like that." She snaps her head in my direction, shocked by the implication of the words. I didn't mean to insinuate anything, but I use the blow to my advantage, hoping that somehow I am speaking healing into her apparent wound.
Pulling her aside I say, "You want to be loved for who you are--in here," I tap my finger on her chest, where her heart is. "If you use your body to get the love you are looking for it's never going to work. You want to be loved for who you are, not for your body... and you already are."
I then point my finger up to the sky and show her the stars. "Beautiful right?"
She nods.
"When God created the stars he called them good, but when he created us he called us very good," I repeat this simple message from before to another pair of thirsty eyes. "God didn't come and die for the stars. He died for you. You are very valuable. Live like it."
The girl's masked hardness is broken in my presence, and her tender spirit shines through as she looks at me with widened eyes. As if I've just given her heart a small drink of hope, she nods. In this precious moment, the young woman before me looks utterly and undeniably beautiful.
We know how much something is worth by the price someone is willing to pay for it... And the Someone who was willing to pay for us is the very One who made us, loves us, and died and rose for us, because for some crazy reason he wants to spend forever with us. When I try to look inside my own dark and twisty heart, I certainly have a hard time finding anything of value. But when I look to Jesus and recognize His infinite worth, I take the price tag dangling from my heart a whole lot more seriously. I'm His, and that's worth more than I could ever imagine. Jesus, our Redeemer, really is utterly and undeniably beautiful... so let's treat the people he paid for like they are, too, got it?
Ignoring the flourishing vegetation, I make my way over to the disheveled, distant-eyed teenagers. I notice that one of the girls today is especially drugged out. I kneel down and repeat her name over and over--"Ana... Ana... Ana..."--until she finally receives my gaze. Once I have her limited attention, I ask, "¿Está bien?" She wearily shakes her head and shows me a long cut on the side of her neck; then she points a finger at the equally checked-out girl behind her: "She did it!"
This previously wordless teen suddenly jumps up to defend herself, "Only because Ana is so annoying! She won't stop bothering me!"
I look up to the sky, taking a moment to draw a deep breath and pray for wisdom. "Listen, girls," I say with a firm voice and raised eyebrows. "I want to see you treating each other how you want to be treated, understood?" (I feel ridiculous giving such simple advice to these high-as-a-kite girls caught in a cat fight, but since it's what I believe the Lord put on my heart to say I continue:) "I want you to know something. When God created the universe--the stars, the creatures, everything--he called it good. But do you know what he called very good?"
By this point, another street girl has wandered her way over to me to answer my prompt: "Us."
"That's right," I affirm. "Of all creation, God put his image in us. And he didn't come to die for the stars, he came to die for you and me. God gave his very life to purchase us, and if that is the price he paid then we are very valuable. You are very valuable. So treat each other like it, got it?"
I look around at their attentive faces and can tell the "you are valuable" thing has struck these kids' hearts by the way they are staring at me--somehow they heard me through their drug fog, and I know that deep down they hope what I said is actually true. It is. Just to remind them, I take the two 'frenemies' to buy a simple snack. They follow me like puppies and longingly look at me to repeat what I had spoken earlier, "You are very, very valuable. So treat each other like it, got it?" The girls nod and walk back to their ledge, slowly munching on their chips... and hopefully on my words, too.
You are very, very valuable... It's no surprise to me that these girls have a difficult time believing me. We go to great lengths to protect what we value most. And how have these girls been treated? Like they're not even worth a second glance by the majority of passerbys. Like a self-affirming pat-on-the-back to all the do-gooders who occasionally fork over a sandwich. Like a piece of meat to the hungry-eyed men of the night. You know, maybe that's why these girls cheapen sex--taking men's few flimsy flatteries as their highest bid, hoping that maybe just maybe their desired bodies prove that they are at least worth something... but where does that leave them in the end? Abandoned--with a baby, an absent father, and feeling even more worthless than before.
But whether they know it or not, these girls are worth something. A whole lot, actually. After all, how do we know what an object is worth? By the price someone is willing to pay for it. And I know the One who paid the cost. The highest cost.
Later this same evening I watch a fourteen year old girl in our neighborhood hitting on literally all of our guys as she strolls down the street. This girl, who has recently started attending the ladies' Bible study my roommate and I lead, has an impressive talent of being able to accentuate each of her, errrm, 'endowments' as she pops them all out with each swaggy step. As she puts her gropy hands on one of our younger guys' shoulders with a giggle and a hair toss, I look at the lost young lady and tell her in front of the guys--because I love her and them--"No, don't you sell yourself like that." She snaps her head in my direction, shocked by the implication of the words. I didn't mean to insinuate anything, but I use the blow to my advantage, hoping that somehow I am speaking healing into her apparent wound.
Pulling her aside I say, "You want to be loved for who you are--in here," I tap my finger on her chest, where her heart is. "If you use your body to get the love you are looking for it's never going to work. You want to be loved for who you are, not for your body... and you already are."
I then point my finger up to the sky and show her the stars. "Beautiful right?"
She nods.
"When God created the stars he called them good, but when he created us he called us very good," I repeat this simple message from before to another pair of thirsty eyes. "God didn't come and die for the stars. He died for you. You are very valuable. Live like it."
The girl's masked hardness is broken in my presence, and her tender spirit shines through as she looks at me with widened eyes. As if I've just given her heart a small drink of hope, she nods. In this precious moment, the young woman before me looks utterly and undeniably beautiful.
We know how much something is worth by the price someone is willing to pay for it... And the Someone who was willing to pay for us is the very One who made us, loves us, and died and rose for us, because for some crazy reason he wants to spend forever with us. When I try to look inside my own dark and twisty heart, I certainly have a hard time finding anything of value. But when I look to Jesus and recognize His infinite worth, I take the price tag dangling from my heart a whole lot more seriously. I'm His, and that's worth more than I could ever imagine. Jesus, our Redeemer, really is utterly and undeniably beautiful... so let's treat the people he paid for like they are, too, got it?
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