“My Mommy doesn’t miss me.“
Mondays I help a 1st Grader read at our nearby elementary school. As I entered his classroom, one of his classmates yelled out, “Hi Chris!” That little boy has attended Renovation Community’s summer day camp and feeding program the last two summers. He continues in a loud voice, “I think I’m coming back to your camp next year!” I give a big smile, put my finger over my mouth, and encourage him to focus on his work.
My reading buddy and I leave for the library. It’s “Free Dress Pass” days at the school. As we walked down the hall, I complimented his handsome outfit, a red plaid shirt perfect for the season.
We had another tough session. He obviously didn’t get enough sleep. We took a brain break.
Me: “Did you go to your Dad’s this weekend?“
Him: “No.“
Me: “Don’t you normally stay with Dad on the weekends?”
Him: “He didn’t want me to come because [dad’s girlfriend] kept making him mad.“
Me: “Did someone tell you that?”
Him: “No. I just thought it.”
Me: “How did that make you feel, not seeing your dad?“
Him: “Sad.“
Me: “I bet it made your Daddy sad, too. I’m sure he loves being with you and misses you when he can’t see you.”
Him: “My Mommy doesn’t miss me.”
Me: “Why do you say that?”
Him: “Because she says she can’t wait for me to go to school.”
I took about 10 seconds to compose myself, looking away so he wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes.
Then I defended his mother, a woman I’ve never met, hoping my words were true.
“I’m sure your Mommy didn’t mean that. I’m sure she loves you very much and misses you when you’re gone. You’re a special, special boy. And I’m sure *anyone* would miss you when you’re not around.”
No more
We stopped our session. He was done. I was done. No more.
Hiding behind this little boy’s handsome outfit and sweet demeanor is a hurting heart, repeatedly wounded by those who *should* care most about his wellbeing.
The world his filled with Hurting Hearts. They’re in our nearby schools, neighborhoods, and workplaces. Often, those who have hurt the longest end up homeless on our streets, in our shelters, and in our jails.
Find them.
Tell them they are loved. Tell them they are special.
And, if you’re a Christian as I am, tell them about a Jesus who loves them more than they know.
“When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.” Matthew 9:36
