I was walking along the pavement on my way to the prayer room. The weather was humid, yet warm; the sky grey, bordering on black, as if it was just waiting for an opportune moment to relase rain (which I was really hoping would be after I’ve reached my destination and not before). I was walking with a heavy heart.
The whole day I’d been feeling a bit strange, but I hadn’t managed to identify why. Then it hit me. It was because of the really bad news I received in an email yesterday. Two of the boys, now young men, I’d worked with on the streets from my first week in Fortaleza, Brazil back in January 2001, had been killed. I still feel kind of shell-shocked. It’s strange to think that Cesar, who was such a wild boy, yet with such sweetness to him at times, is gone. And Eduardo Vitor, who always meant that he knew best, is no longer with us. A few weeks ago I was told about how one of the girls I’d worked with on the streets had been stabbed to death after severely beating her 3-month old baby.
What do I do with this kind of news? I remember always holding on to the reality that as long as there is life there is hope. What about when there is no more life? I don’t know.
Tears whell up in my eyes writing this, and I know that the best response, the only response, is to continue to lift up those who are still alive to God, believing that the intecession I do here impacts and changes situations there, giving them opportunities to make choices which will bring them life and not death.
The whole day I’d been feeling a bit strange, but I hadn’t managed to identify why. Then it hit me. It was because of the really bad news I received in an email yesterday. Two of the boys, now young men, I’d worked with on the streets from my first week in Fortaleza, Brazil back in January 2001, had been killed. I still feel kind of shell-shocked. It’s strange to think that Cesar, who was such a wild boy, yet with such sweetness to him at times, is gone. And Eduardo Vitor, who always meant that he knew best, is no longer with us. A few weeks ago I was told about how one of the girls I’d worked with on the streets had been stabbed to death after severely beating her 3-month old baby.
What do I do with this kind of news? I remember always holding on to the reality that as long as there is life there is hope. What about when there is no more life? I don’t know.
Tears whell up in my eyes writing this, and I know that the best response, the only response, is to continue to lift up those who are still alive to God, believing that the intecession I do here impacts and changes situations there, giving them opportunities to make choices which will bring them life and not death.