Waiting For the Bus

I placed my backpack on the muddy sidewalk and sat down with my book. I'd missed my bus yesterday when it came early, but two days in a row? It's a pain, but there isn't much I could have done about it now. I've had a lot of experiences in my life, but this one's new - and at the same time, it's old. But the good kind of old. I had originally planned to set up this blog so I could write about my grand adventures in Japan, but I hadn't accounted for this new job - a job that has opened my eyes to a world that is now so obviously worth writing about.
On my first day of work we were at the park and I watched as a woman not much older than myself staggered across the yard, completely and absolutely strung up on drugs. She fell all over the place, tossing and turning and muttering to herself. She pointed all around, calling out to things unseen - I could only sit and watch, praying for this lost and broken young woman. "It's sad", Amy said, as she sat next to me. Yes, my friends, it is sad.
I, work at daycare. we have about twenty kids who come every day from the roughest neighbourhood in the city, and heck, do I ever love them. We wipe noses and share crayons and tell stories about secret tunnels in the alleyways and read that book about the boy stuck in his snow suit, and all those normal daycare things. But one of the privileges - if you'd like to call it that - I have in this job, is that each day after work, I wait for the bus. I stand in the hot sun and watch the kids and youth and grammas and grampas walk past me on the sidewalk. They don't look up, the don't smile, they don't give me a chance to love. These are broken people - no more lost than you or I, but broken just the same. Then I go back to daycare the next day and I can't help but think to myself, that here before me sits Canada's Next Top Gang Member. But heck, do I ever love them. Today as I walked to the bus I was walking behind a homeless man. Yesterday I had to go back to the park because we forgot one of our boy's jackets, and I hurried along, sure that a mentally challenged/drunk man was following behind. Tuesday as I waited for my bus I made sure I was capable of jumping the fence behind me in case I needed to run from any incoming attacker. You know, I really thought I was tougher than this. I thought I was this courageous kid who could take care of myself..yet I walk the streets and too often "remind" myself that I'm not afraid. I, am a chicken. But ya know, it's ok. I'm a pretty dedicated chicken. And even when I'm not as dedicated as I should be, well, God is.
You know that song "Jesus loves me"? It hit me yesterday, so hard. There are kids in my group who don't want to go home at the end of the day. I can only imagine what awaits them in their sad homes, and I sit, I wait for my bus, praying. Praying for these hopeless kids who have behavioral problems coming out the wazoo, (I never quite figured out what that meant, but it seemed appropriate here) and WHAP! my head got hit by God Almighty...not physically, of course. Jesus Loves them - individually, even. Like, it isn't like God just looks at them and sees a project and loves them but keeps his distance a bit because they're a little hard to deal with. He loves them, the same as He loves me. He has the same hope for each of these kids, the same as He's had hope in me. I'm far from perfect and I mess things up more than enough, but I'm in His hands. And God has that same hope, that same compassion the same ability to work in each of these kids hearts and lives, as He's done for me. I'm now gonna leave you with these two things: Hope, my friend. And love, of course. This job will never be just a walk in the park, but I'm sure thankful God's walking me through it regardless. Rest in His love. "We love Him because He first loved us." (1 John 4:19)