Good Friday

This week has been a hard one. Boys that I was bribing into coming to the center all this week decided not to cash in, and so we won't be going to the mountains with them tomorrow.

I found out that the twins I've been working with won't be returning to the center, either. Their mom believes they know how to read well enough now and don't need to come anymore.

And so, two hard disappointments for me. On top of others.

Then, there was this: by His wounds we are healed.

And as I sat in church, thinking about these words, I saw the faces of the kids I love. Boys struggling with street-life, who find the freedom it offers so attractive, but are unaware of the prison it can become. Kids abandoned by their parents. Kids who at 9 years old know how to read well enough. Children who have lost both their parents in the last 2 years. Others who soon may no longer have a home.

I saw these faces in the wounds of Christ, and then I saw my own face, too.

By His wounds we are healed.

I think for the first time I am understanding what these words mean. As my own heart breaks under the weight I carry for the kids I love, I also struggle with my own brokenness, recognizing how much I need healing.

I pray anew, that we would find healing in His wounds. That we would find ourselves in those spots left raw and bleeding on the body of Jesus. They are our healing.

And the resurrection, our hope.