”What do you want to be when you grow up?” inquired one of my fellow interns to one of our twelve year old boys while we were cleaning up in the kitchen. 

After a moment’s pause, he replied, “I want to fix things.” 

“What do you mean ‘fix things’? Do you want to fix people? Or maybe cars or bicycles or houses?” 

Raising his head from the paint covered tin in hand, he replied, “Yeah. All of those things. I just want to fix things.” 

I was blown away by those profound words that echoed the true and sincere cry of his heart.  As I reflected on the simple, yet thoughtful conversation, I became all the more convinced of the source of his desire.  

A few moments later I joined him while he was collecting a bounty of fruit on a napkin and asked, “Do you know where that comes from? That desire to fix things?” 

Pensively, he stared off, then replied saying, “No, I’m not really sure.”

“Well, I think I might know why. When God created the world, what was it like?” 

“Perfect.”

“But it didn’t stay like that, did it? What happened to it?”

“Sin messed it up, broke it.”

“And what did Jesus come to do?”

“To die for our sins.”

“And by dying for us, what was He doing?”

“Fixing stuff.” 

In that very moment, it all became very clear to him.  He began to understand the root of his desire in life was Jesus.  With a fresh spark in his eye and an enlightened smile on his face, he walked away to enjoy the sweetness of his fruit, as well as to bask in the beauty of the profound call on his life that came directly through Jesus.  I am confident that young man is now and will always be in the heavenly occupation of “fixing things”. 

“I have to be famous. I have to be on television!”  

These words, spoken emphatically and confidently, came from the mouth of one of our adolescent kids. The depth of his desire to be on television ran so deep that he already had planned out his next step of actions that would act, for him, as an “in” to the world of cameras and lights: a hair cut.  It should be made clear what type of television star he wanted to be: a WWE fighter. (Of all things to tell me, the girl who abhors physical violence and fighting)  The hair cut to be desired would mimic that of his obsession and therefore would align himself all the more to the sport.  By proving his allegiance, I believe, he was certain he would eventually have a chance. 

It should be noted that any from of preparation for the sport has come only by way of, well, video games. An avid gamer, he constantly and consistently enters a ring with thumbs ready to fly.  I am not certain he is aware of all that is involved in fighting, but to be honest, I am confident that his desire is rooted in something far deeper than simply wanting to wear small underwear and have big muscles. He wants to be known. He wants to be heard. He wants to be seen. He wants to prove himself and in turn, disproving what everyone else has said about him. 

This boy, both in the past and in the present, has endured a great deal of bullying.  Being white in a largely black, Jamaican community, being less than average in stature for his age and having a nervous lisp and stutter has placed him in a vulnerable position with the other children.  Relentless in their jeering, other kids have ostracised him, physically hurt him and openly mocked him, leaving him embittered and rage-filled.  As a result, he is driven by revenge. He makes it his prerogative to be equally annoyingly obnoxious as they are mean. He vies for the attention of those in authority out of a competitive spirit, attempting to prove himself better than his assailants.  He can come across as quite arrogant and proud, but the truth is, he is none of those things.  

“I will not do anything else in life. I have to be on WWE. I have to fight. I have to be on television.”  

“You could just be on a cooking show instead if you want to be on television so badly” 

Those words came from another dear boy (the “Lion” I talked about in my previous post).  Having insight into the depths of the other boys despair and longings, he spoke such wisdom into the situation.  If the other boy so badly wanted a means to an end, this boy was confident there were better ways.  He knew that by entering into that life of fighting would be far from beneficial; rather, he was aware that it would be a detriment to this boy.  If he so badly wanted to be on TV, to this other boy, it made far more sense to go down the route of the culinary arts and the like.  

The difference between these two boys is that one fails to recognize where his value lies while the other has a stronger grasp of who he has been created to be.  The first boy believes that the only way people will be able to truly see him, to completely accept him, he has to do something large and fanatical.  Bright lights and stage make-up need to be his life. On the other hand, the other boy knows that his value does not come from the attention that he gets or the fan club he establishes.  He knows that doing things because you are passionate about them, because you want to love others and serve them are the best reasons for pursuing something.

Throughout the next stages of his life, I am praying that his desires will begin to change-that where he derives his worth and value will no longer be in fanciful dreams that will rob him of any joy or true fulfilment.  I am praying that he will learn to forgive and let go, therefore, walking in complete freedom to be the young man he was created to be.  And I’m also praying that one day, he will be on a cooking show because honestly, I’d much rather see him in an apron with a chef hat than in a scantily dressed wrestling suit.   

As we stood waiting at the bus stop (a regular occurrence in my everyday life here in Toronto), two of our YMAD kids engaged in the all too common game of chase and hit, or beat, depending on how you are looking at the scene. In an unsuccessful and half-hearted attempt at breaking up the jaunty tumbling, I put myself between the opposing forces. Before I could complete my task, I found myself wrapped in the middle of a group embrace initiated by one of our other YMAD boys.  He was repeating over and over, “Let’s hug it out. Let’s hug it out.”, while gently holding us all in place, preventing any more fists or hands from carrying out their evil intent.  Within the peaceful arms, I felt the other two relax, trading in their high strung spirits for a more calm state of mind and body.  Once confident they would remain this way, he released his grip and returned to his thoughtful place of listening and observing.

The spirit behind the “Let’s hug it out” young man is one of peace, of protection and of genuine love.  He is a placid amiable boy who seeks to bring peace to strife, calm to chaos, respect to contempt. With the heart of a lion, he instinctively protects all those around him. On many occasions, I have watched him run in front of a group of other kids who are aimlessly or carelessly about to cross the street. Putting himself between the potential traffic and the children, he holds them in place until he is confident they are entirely safe.  When asked about what actions we should copy of other people, one of the things he wrote on his list was “protecting others”.  

This young man was not always like this. Coming from a background where darkness has resided, he used to fall prey to a lot of spiritual warfare. During worship times at camp, he would freak out, screaming and losing all ability to communicate.  Other times, he would completely shut down, narrowing his eyes as if he was shutting the world out around him. He rarely came out of his shell, never letting people into his head.  But over time, as the Truth of Christ has been exposed to him, It has been setting him free. His most cherished point of the day is “Word Up” which is the time we study the Bible. He devours the Word of God and we have watched it transform his life. He searches for knowledge like treasure, always desiring to know more than he did before.  

I have loved watching his faith grow because of the circumstances God places in his life. One night on a kid trip, we lost one of the tickets (which was for this boy). A woman stood outside of the train station and was graciously giving away her day pass since she was now done with it. the rest of us had gone ahead and all politely rejected the woman’s inquiries because we assumed we were all covered. What we didn’t know was that one was in fact missing.  Upon hearing the woman’s offer, one of our leaders jumped at the opportunity.  We all piled onto the train and then once seated, we heard the story.  God had answered prayers before they were even asked. He saw the need and orchestrated it perfectly for us to meet that woman.  The boy was amazed at God’s care and attention to detail in his life. That week, he had the opportunity to share this faith story with the rest of the group.  He definitely was convinced that God is present in our everyday life and was confident that He would continue to be!

He is a strong young man with such a depth of character. I am fully convinced the mark of Christ is on him. God has specifically called this young man out of darkness into light so that he could be used as a vital instrument in God’s kingdom.  Please pray that this young man will continue encouraging others to “hug it out” and lead them to the Truth. On the surface he is no different than the other kids-no dad in his life, living in government housing etc. yet he has a hope for his life that he will never let go of. and neither will I. 

as we headed out on the road into the november sun, the late fall heat soaked into our fully covered bodies. having anticipated cold weather, we layered our clothes appropriately. however, it was soon evident that minimal layers would be necessary and therefore decided to leaving some on the wayside to later return to on our journey back.  we ran with ease which allowed for conversation to flow with each stride- everything from our families to heartache, from struggles to joys. 

upon reaching the point of turn around, we went back the way we had come.  something was very different. within a split second conversation became extinct and implausible. we were hit with the force that at one time had been carrying us along-the wind. with a gust of sheer strength and power, it stole the breath from our lungs and the energy from our bodies.  with a valiant effort, we broke into the freezing cold wind, letting out gasps of air and sheer determination every few moments.  the once warm breeze, now extremely cold, cut into our less than prepared clothing to our skin.  how much harder it was to run into the wind than to have it at our backs! 

as we ran, the parallel to life became very evident. often times, even since being here in toronto, we feel like the wind is at our back. whether it be from encouragement from others, the prayers of friends, the Word spoken, the laughter of a child, the break through of a question, the conclusion to a problem, each one acts as a kind of “wind” that propels us forward.  in the last week alone, we had two different Urban Promise supporters “blew” us along with their hospitality and generosity.  what an incredible experience to be in forward motion by the work of the body of Christ.  

there are other times though that it would seem like the wind is in our faces, pushing us back further than we are going ahead. the piercing words of a broken child, the sickness plaguing ones body, the injustice and lostness in the world around us, the hurtful interactions between strangers-all act as a wind competing for our breath, for our energy.  

the One thing that remains the same, unshifting and steady no matter what change of wind direction is the ground. the solid ground. as we ran, the earth did not move below us.  our footing remained sure in spite of the swirling winds above. and like this ground, Christ remains our Rock, our Solid foundation. He holds us steady, pushing us forward knowing that He stays the same…whether the wind is at my back or blowing directly into my face. 

As I sat wondering what the afternoon would bring, the ever-dreaded sound of the fire alarm rang through the apartment, echoing obnoxiously in my ears.  Assuming it was another drill, we carried on doing our respective tasks, attempting to ignore the perpetual ringing.  However, on this day, there was something distinctly different than any previous alarm-emergency sirens echoed the blaring of our own alarms. And like the alarm in our apartment, the sirens were continuous. One emergency vehicle after another raced towards our building confirming this was certainly not a drill.

 Joining the rest of our building on our balconies, we watched as the fire trucks lined up below.  Three. Seven. Oh now ten. By the time we finished counting, there were fifteen trucks overtaking our driveway and the street.  The background noise of the alarm was interrupted by the sound of a man’s voice over the loud speaker: “This is not a drill. There is a fire on the 20^th floor of the building.  We encourage you to remain in your apartments as emergency workers are in need of going in and out.  We will keep you updated on what is going on.” 

 A real fire. As we continued watching the chaos below, our thoughts and prayers began going to the families directly affected by the flames. Were they safe? How much damage was done? How fast could the firefighters extinguish the fire?  There were many questions each of us had that were not going to be answered anytime soon. 

As the minutes went by more vehicles arrived, perplexing us all the more. How big was this fire? How many firefighters would it actually take to put out the fire? We still were not certain. As we watched the chaos we caught a glimpse of a young man being put on oxygen and pulled out on a stretcher towards the ambulance.  He was one of three victims of the fire. 

As the afternoon progressed, ‘normalcy’ returned to the residence.  Those outside returned to their homes, cold, but safe and those who had remained inside carried onto life as usual. 

 But I couldn’t.  I could not come to grips with why all of this had happened or why I had been a witness to it.  I would soon find out.

 I met up with a friend and the evening unfolded with a great deal of conversation as well as a worship service at his university, Tyndale.  My soul was craving corporate worship where His presence was evident in all aspects-music, voices, words, attitude.  As I sang and prayed, I recognized the fire of God. The unquenchable flame that burns brighter and stronger than any earthly flame.   One song in particular shook me to the core as I reflected on the events of earlier that day.

 Set a fire down in my soul

That I can’t contain

That I can’t control

Cause I want more of you God

I want more of you God

 Those words rang through my body like the ringing of the siren in my ears. It was persistent and unrelenting. My heart began to consider that there is a fire that is deep, that is overwhelming. That is beyond what words normally can describe. It cannot be contained nor can it be controlled.  It is the fire of God the courses through the body and consumes anything in its path.  No number of firefighters, no weight of water could quell the flame within the human body. 

 But why do I not sense that flame burning within me always? Why do I feel like it is but a light on a match rather than a raging fire?  My conclusion was this: there is too much of me.  I am too selfish. I am too independent. I am too fearful. I am too foolish.  I try to contain and control the fire. But how can I do that? I need to let the flame burst forth in my life, let it consume everything that is of me so that all remains is God. 

 When I am consumed by God, then all that I come in contact with will be affected by the flame. People will be drawn to the light, will be drawn to the heat, will be drawn to the passion. That’s what I want.  I want sirens to go off and never relent.  I want the fire to rage within and never go out. Ever.

“But I don’t understand”

“Have you ever done it before?”

“Nope,” she says with a perplexed look on her face. 

“Give it a try.” he says. 

“Really, but I’ll get dirty.”

“But if you don’t, you won’t feel what I feel.” As he says it, he frolicks about, digging into the sand and squishing it between his toes. 

“Okay.” she says, as she sits down on a thick dark piece of drift wood. She hesitantly takes one shoe off, then carefully pulls of her sock.  She then steps down, letting her foot sink into the strange world of millions of granular pieces. As her toes find their fit in the earth, her face lights up with awe and wonder and utter excitement.

“This is incredible! You all have to try this!”  She walks about, looking a lot like a child learning how to walk on uneven ground, but is overjoyed in spite of her unsure footing.  ”I have never done this before. This is wonderful!”

She is twelve. She is twelve years of age and has never felt sand touching the skin of her bare feet.  She has never seen her own footprint in the sand, only to see it get washed away by the lapping waves on the shore.  Her first experience ever like this.  

And the moment of firsts continues as we begin gathering and foraging for kindling and wood for our fire.  Most of them have never seen a real open fire on a beach before and certainly have never had smores.  The concept still sounds rather strange and all are holding onto their scepticism. In spite of it, they participate in creating the fire.

“What elements are needed to create fire?”

“Paper, a lighter, and gasoline.”

“Uhh, no. There are three things necessary for a fire-heat, oxygen and fuel.”

“No, that’s not true. I have seen a fire before that didn’t use any gas.”

“Oh, well fuel does not simply mean a gas. It also means anything that keeps a fire going, such as wood.”

As the fire begins to wave back and forth in the wind, more of the kids gather around intrigued by what will happen next.  Having chosen their sticks, they load up their skewer with a freshly chosen marshmallow.  Some are really quite hesitant, standing miles away from the fire with the false hope that there will be a sufficient amount of heat to reach their very white marshmallow.  As they approach it and grow a little more confident, the games begin. Golden browns and charcoaled blacks are produced in the fire which are then quickly transferred to the next step of the smore-the sandwich making.  The process is hilarious. Sticky fingers, oozing marshmallow and white sticky smiles make up the essence of the experience. And they love it.  

After many smores, we experience an incredible exercise of thanksgiving. each one of us grab a stick and find an area in the sand which we can use as our blank page, our canvass. Each of us then draw or write what we are thankful for in this world to God.  One boy whose heart beats to the rhythm of our God writes “Bible. Family. Christ.” What a sight to behold! The heart of this child is worn on the sand.

As we leave, many of the children struggle to actually put their shoes back on. The confines of the walls of shoes around ones feet is beautifully liberated when one walks on the beach shoeless and no one wants to return from where they came.  But all of them will not soon forget “God’s creation beneath their toes”.  

(This adventure to Scarborough Bluffs, one of the most spectacular places in Toronto, was one in which we desired for our kids to be able to step outside of their world and take in something of God’s beauty, of His creative design that was not tainted or painted.  So, this beach which I described was that best possible place. ) 

Those words, had they been said with anymore attitude, could have been put in a bottle and sold for a very high price. Following a session that resulted in many time outs, I had the very common privilege of accompanying one of the culprits to the hallway. To my chagrin, many words directed at my person came out of her mouth, though having done nothing to deserve them.

 The sassy young girl sat with her back against the wall, staring at the square in front of her, while I sat at a distance from her with the hopes of not upsetting her further. This was day three. Only day three. She had already made it clear, on day three, that she did not care for me being there, that I was a bad leader and that she did not like me. But, for some inexplicable reason, as I gazed at her raging face and upset body, I loved her. I loved her even in her miserable, stubborn state. I loved her even with her sheepish grin and taunting eyes. I loved her in spite of her angry words and empty threats. I loved her because my heart, in that moment, was beating to a rhythm that is far too faint at times, but was especially audible in that moment. My heart was pulsating to the beat of His heart, to God’s heart.

 As I looked at the situation through the eyes of the Father, I began to recognize that her behavior and her response to the disciplinary actions that she in fact chose point back to the reality of being what I now understand in far greater detail as “at-risk”. UrbanPromise Toronto President Colin McCartney defines an at risk person as “someone who is in danger of hurting themselves or others, or being being hurt by others”.  There are many factors that contribute to a child, especially, reaching the point of being at-risk. Although there are many, within our Warden Woods, the main factors are as follows: few positive role models, especially fathers, single-parented households (children raising children), parent or sibling that has been incarcerated, illegal drug use and trade in immediate community, gang activity, persistent problems with authority, inconsistency academically, lack of hope and purpose, feeling of abandonment, have become accustomed to failure, experienced significant pain, feel powerless, lack biblical understanding and have yet to have truly encountered Jesus. All these factors directly affect the behavior of these children that we are working with, including my “I don’t like you” girl.

As I pray through each name of each child, I am again reminded of how the Potter uses even marred clay, the broken lives of these children.  He desires for me to be a part of shaping these children and in turn, having them shape me into whatever the Potter desires. I want to be a part of being consistent and persistent in their lives, not giving up and walking away, like almost everything and everyone in their life before. I want to hear more “I don’t like you“‘s if it means there is one more opportunity to share Christ’s love and extend His grace and compassion to that child. 

It is far harder than I ever imagined, but no less beautiful. In this first week, I have come to realize there is beauty in the brokenness, joy in the sadness, heaven in the hell.  In each child because of Christ, the powerful name of Jesus, there is hope beyond this moment.  There is freedom beyond the “I don’t like you”.  I believe that…more than I ever have before.

Arriving at Bessarion. Bessarion Stationthe computerized woman’s voice echoes throughout the train.  people come in and out while I sit doing what I do best: people watching.  one man sits engrossed in today’s news, while another woman bobs her head to the rhythms of the train attempting to get some rest for the day ahead. two young lovers speak sweet nothings into each others ears while two others argue about who took out the garbage in the morning.  a handful of students are entranced by their cellphones, ipods, smart phones and tablets (words and objects that are quite foreign to me), listening to music, texting and being filled in on “Laura’s new boyfriend” via facebook. 

i am of course drawn to one young man. he is well dressed with a sports jackets and baggy pants, black Vans and a saggy black hat. his face is scarred from a knife it appears. he is fidgeting and uneasy.  his eyes dart back in forth. nervous.  the more i observe him, the more confident i become that there is a decision he is going to be making in a few moments that he may regret. he gets up and waits directly in front of the door. he sways back and forth looking in front and behind him every few moments. he adjusts his clothes, pulling up his pants then pulling them back to their original position. then, he takes out his wallet. the boy is loaded. bills of every color flash out of the top. he counts. then counts again.  

“Arriving at Don Mills. Don Mills Station”. taking it as his cue, he waits with inches between his nose and the door. at the ring of the bell, he dashes out the door. getting lost in the herd of humans, he weaves in and out making his way to the top of the escalator. my curiosity wins me over and i take the stairs, staying close behind him to see where he is heading.  once his foot hits the top, he takes a run for it. within moments, i lose him in the sea of people. 

my mind races as my gaze remains locked on where i saw him last. where is he going? what will happen when he gets there? will he make good choices? how is his mama feeling right now? does she know where he is? will she have a son at the end of this night? does he know he is loved? does he know that he has such great purpose beyond today, right now? 

although i don’t want to think this way, my heart tells me he is making bad choices, probably involving drugs and gang related activity. my heart physically hurts. i pray a prayer of protection, of re-direction. i pray that he will not be able to carry through with what he is planning. that miraculously he would have an encounter with Jesus this night. 

i recognize this boy represents many young men and women in this city. many have fallen prey to the traps and bondages of sex, drugs, gangs, violence, popularity, worldly lusts. there are many who do not yet know that the Lord has “formed them in the womb to be His servant..” that they have been made by Him and for Him. that they are precious and wonderfully made. that there is a God and Father who has great plans for their lives.

my prayer is that my young fidgeter stops fidgeting and dashing because of a direct encounter with his Creator.  for i am convinced His desire for him is to stop anxiously running in the direction he is going and begin running peacefully into the purpose He has for him. 

I stood in the school yard feeling out of place and anxious. Worries, insecurities and fears were welling up inside of me as I anticipated what was to come.  Would they think I was strange because I was a Caucasian girl who wore funny clothes and had a piercing in her nose? Would they wonder why I had come? What would they be like? Would they be able to trust me?  What did I truly have to offer them? Would they know right away that I loved them? And more importantly, would they know that Jesus loved them through my life?…   My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the all too familiar sound-the bell.  Unlike Zack Morris, the bell meant a whole lot of unknown was going to come to reality.  The children came running out and within one beautiful moment, I was madly in love. 

Children with brilliantly white smiles and buttery dark skin colors of all tones and shades.  Some were timid and shy while others were bold and sassy. Each child was excited to see past Urban Promise supervisor Emma, making me desire all the more to know those children the way she did. One child, a little boy caught my eye immediately. he had a mischievous fire in his eyes and a playful spirit in his smile. when asked a question, he played mute marking the start of the friendship.

after an endless string of questions, he relented in his silence when i guessed him to be five.  he was certainly not five and had to make that clear with his words! as we talked more, i soon learned that he was in fact 10 turning 11 and was also the fastest child in his class. he was made to run. we were instant friends. 

i discovered quickly that he has very few male role models in his family, which is the norm within his community. he is being raised by his grandmother and young mother. in spite of that, he has been brought up in the Urban Promise community which certainly has given him much hope and a far brighter future.  there is such promise that he will come to understand that the cycles of which his family are tied can stop at him. he does not have to follow the footsteps of those who have lacked the understanding of their value and their worth and therefore give way to such things as greed and lust.  there is hope that he will seek after Truth, truth that will set him free. 

freedom. restoration. redemption. those are the words that are resounding in the walls of my head each day as i embark on this year long journey with Urban Promise. people need to be made free. people need to be restored. people need to be redeemed. i want to be part of that. i want to be part of bringing freedom, restoration and redemption through Christ by simply walking in His Spirit and acting as one who have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. i want to be part of reaching a child like the one i met. to raise him up as a leader. to then be a part of the restoration of community in a little part of Toronto known as Warden Woods. 

Come, ye sinners, poor and needy,
Weak and wounded, sick and sore;
Jesus ready stands to save you,
Full of pity, love and pow’r.

I will arise and go to Jesus,
He will embrace me in His arms;
In the arms of my dear Savior,
Oh, there are ten thousand charms.

Come, ye thirsty, come, and welcome,
God’s free bounty glorify;
True belief and true repentance,
Every grace that brings you nigh.

Come, ye weary, heavy-laden,
Lost and ruined by the fall;
If you tarry till you’re better,
You will never come at all.

View Him prostrate in the garden;
On the ground your Maker lies;
On the bloody tree behold Him;
Sinner, will this not suffice?

Lo! th’ incarnate God ascended,
Pleads the merit of His blood:
Venture on Him, venture wholly,
Let no other trust intrude.

Let not conscience make you linger,
Not of fitness fondly dream;
All the fitness He requireth
Is to feel your need of Him.

Joseph Hart, 1759

(if you want a good listen to this hymn, listen to Anathallo’s version)