Broken

Growing up, my mom always taught us Bible stories. We would often host a 5-day Bible club in our front lawn. The neighborhood kids knew to come to our house to hear Bible stories. When I was 12, our pastor’s wife joined our efforts to reach the children in our area. The kids who came were mostly from broken homes. One day, a boy shared that he didn’t have a dad. “Me neither.” Another kid agreed. Then the class clown blurted out dramatically, “I have too many dads!” He came from a home where almost all of his siblings had a different father. His mother appreciated the Bible club. She once told us that as long as she kept having children, she would keep sending them to Bible club. They usually started coming when they were about two years old. One time, we picked them up and the youngest marched out carrying his own extra diaper. This mother also told us that she was thankful that, for one evening a week, she knew where her older son was (with us at Bible club).

Years later, we had another neighbor's boy who used to climb over our fence into our backyard. He wasn’t allowed to come to our regular Bible club, but when he was in our yard, we would tell him Bible stories and let him colour pictures. One day, he asked what our last names were and was shocked. He was five years old, and he had never heard of a family where each one shared the same last name!

I wish I could say that each one of these got saved, but sadly, I cannot. However, even just spending time under our influence and hearing about the love of God affected them. “He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.” Psalm 147:3

These children I mentioned had obvious scars, but there are hurting people all around us. Do we have the ability to see and love them as Jesus does?