Perspective

He was homeless and hungry. His complexion matched the blackness of his thread barren shirt. The skin color of his face blended with his dark hair and made it difficult to detect a hairline. The pants he wore were several sized too big and were held up on his small frame with an old electrical cord. His feet, leathery and cracked from exposure, were covered with the red dirt. When he smiled, my heart broke for this sixteen-year-old boy.

He was one of thousands of homeless children who lived in Nairobi. Some as young as five.

As we finished preparations for the only hot meal he would receive that week, one of the leaders in our group asked him to lead the twenty-five young boys in worship. With a broad smile, he nodded and approached the other street kids.

“He has a fine voice and he loves the Lord.” Ruth said. She was one of the few local pastors who reached out to these unwanted kids.

He stood in the middle of the group and clapped a rhythm. The rest of the boys joined in. Before long, they were clapping, jumping, and singing. I knew the song, but hadn’t heard it sung with such passion. I didn’t want them to stop.

Ruth called to the young man and asked him to bless the food. Again, he smiled and nodded. He prayed.

I cried.

He thanked God for everything he had and asked Him to bless his friends who had nothing.

How different our perspectives were. I saw a teenager who lived on the streets, ate out of trashcans, and wore everything he owned to keep it from being stolen.

He had had an encounter with God. He knew he was blessed.

Seven years have passed and I have never forgotten the young boy whose face radiated when he smiled, the love of Christ so apparent in his eyes. His material possessions were so few, but spiritually he had everything he needed.

With Easter only a few days away, I’m reminded of what’s important through the eyes of a sixteen-year-old homeless youth.

He has risen indeed!