junction

We squeezed lemon on our thin, local pizzas. Once rolled up with parsley we leaned in close to make sure the drips landed on the table. The crunchy crust tasted of the wood fire it had just left. Exquisite flavor burst in upon us with each bite. But our focus was the children. The kids we each seek to pour our lives out for. Rachel has spent seven years with the street children. Year in, year out she’s there, day and night, available. She goes to bat for them, takes them to hospital, gets them school clothing, even gets them up in the morning to get to school. Today her main concern is Tommy. His parents are finally back together again, but neither work. His fourteen year old sister pays the bills making belts in a windowless sweatshop for 12-14 hours a day. She used to take care of young Tom, but now that she’s old enough to work, he’s on his own. And he keeps disappearing during the day, and won’t say where he’s been. But Rachel can tell something isn’t right. He has the terror of a child who’s been molested.

Sue is here for a one week vacation. She’s a social worker in a European city and just poured a year of her life into three young Turkish boys who were found cowering under a table after their father murdered their mother in an ‘honor killing’ in the kitchen before their eyes. The father left town and Sue spent hours coaxing them out from under the table, out of their memories and fears, and into a place where they would finally eat and talk again. That took two weeks. Now they’re with a foster family. They’ve learned to kick a ball and go to school. But the father just came back and demanded his sons. And since the boys are the only witnesses to the murder and haven’t moved to a place beyond fear where they can talk about the event, Sue doesn’t know what will happen.

Kathy works with kids whose parents don’t get them to school because they are recent immigrants, don’t speak the language, and have never been educated themselves. Little things, like getting school books or knowing the rules are insurmountable. These can be compounded when the child has a disability. Kathy spent hours in the hospital with one family who couldn’t read. Their children all needed surgery on their eyes. Months later, the operations are done, but the kids are still home. The family just doesn’t comprehend the value of education. And this culture has no laws to enforce it.

Meg is a social worker with immigrant children in another country. Her office sees so many of one people group that they create focus groups to assist them. The state pours hours into training, equipping and financing state of the art social workers and a well rounded system, but sin slithers through every loop hole like mist. Recently a mother, whom they thought was being helped, killed her own child. Meg’s office is struggling to determine how to prevent such incidents, knowing that legalizing more rigid boundaries doesn’t solve the issues.

The realities are stark. Sitting here at this corner restaurant from five nations we know that when we part ways we will return to diverse settings, but common issues. Laws are created to protect the child, but all to often are misused to crush the wrong person. Elsewhere, laws are absent and raw cruelty captures souls and devours them, leaving us crying out before God’s throne. In other twists of daily life children are stolen from idyllic first world towns, and sold into sex trafficking half a world away before anyone knows what hit them. The global Goliaths of domestic abuse, honor killings, and human trafficking are growing on the Richter scale, with few obstacles.

David was the weakest and most unlikely giant slayer. Yet with his attitude and posture he won a simple victory by choosing to ask God for His power to overcome. With him we conclude that tomorrow we each will return to our fields of influence in that strength. Manmade armor, war plans, and attempts will fail, but victory is assured by the God who takes up the defense of the weak and poor. We wipe up our crumbs and take a group photo. It’s no mistake that we met at this junction. Yesterday we were strangers, today we are prayer partners. Tomorrow we pick up the stones those prayers shaped to pop into local slingshots. Look out Goliath!