"I find God in the suffering eyes reflected in mine.
If this is how you are revealed to me, this is how I will forever seek you."
-Kayla Jean Mueller, 26, about serving refugees in Syria.
Died while captive under ISIL.
Died while captive under ISIL.
On a fairly ordinary day at Potter's House headquarters, I sat working at my desk when I sensed someone standing outside my office window. Looking up, I saw a young boy of about five peering in, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was staring at the bowl of chocolates sitting on my desk.
 |
| The office window, as seen from my desk. |
Before I could lift my hand to wave, the closed office door swung open and, with a toothy grin, he got right to the point: “Will you give me a chocolate?”
“You’ll have to work for it,” I told him.
He wasn’t expecting a response like that. My eyes shifted to the crayons in his hand.
“Do you like to color?” I asked him
“Yes.”
“Who are you with?”
“Andrea.”
“Ok then, if you color something special for Andrea I will give you a chocolate.” He quickly drew a heart and ran off to Andrea's desk.
 |
| Andi and the bowl of chocolates |
“You’re going to have to work for it.”
“Ok"
And so our working arrangement continued like this for two more chocolates.
Andi's hands and face were dirty and a stream of mucous flowed from his nose. Each time he walked into the office the smell of feces and urine followed him. But I was bothered more by what he said.
"Will you give me a chocolate?" That was how Andi started the conversation. Too many times "Will you give me..." have been the first words dump community residents young and old have spoken to me.
Andi's hands and face were dirty and a stream of mucous flowed from his nose. Each time he walked into the office the smell of feces and urine followed him. But I was bothered more by what he said.
"Will you give me a chocolate?" That was how Andi started the conversation. Too many times "Will you give me..." have been the first words dump community residents young and old have spoken to me.
Pedro
A few weeks before meeting Andi, I found myself overheating inside a cramped walk-in closet filled with 9-10 large black trash bags worth of stale clothes. The clothes, donated from the US, carried a mothball thrift-shop scent. But they were my only tool to suck up sound and remove the echo from the room.
Throughout the day, several students came to the closet to film their part in my most current project. As the day of filming winded down, a knock sounded through the door. Pedro let himself in with a smile that would impress the Artful Dodger. "I'm really nervous," he insisted, and sat down lazily in the plastic chair prepared for him, as if it reclined. He looked like an anxious beach bum.
Pedro needed only a few minutes to record his lines, delivering them with ease despite the quizzical look I was giving him. He was, paradoxically, relaxed and nervous at the same time. I could not figure out what made him so interesting at first, until I noticed the quiver in his eyes.
As soon as I looked into them, they punched me in the gut. They were Robin Williams eyes...melancholy, pained, but kind. The kind that make you feel as if you've received a gift, because it's obvious how much effort it took to make them smile.
Pedro stood to say goodbye and as he left I felt as if he had given far more than I'd asked for.
An Unexpected Assistant
A few days after the video shoot, I found myself editing the footage quietly in my office. A loud thud nearly jolted me out of my chair, the sound of a shoe reaching the door before a hand.
I gave Pedro independent photo/video projects to get him out of my hair. Perhaps having to work for me instead of receiving lessons from me would discourage him from returning. But instead, Pedro began to stop by more often. One morning I walked in to find he had set up his things on the spare desk in my office. Somehow, I had inadvertently picked up an assistant.
"How was your weekend?" I asked.
"Oh, it wasn't very good."
"Why not?"
"It never is. I don't like being home."
"Why don't you like being home?"
Pedro walked to the other side of the desk and pulled up a chair next to me.
"I haven't enjoyed being home ever since my brother died."
Pedro's sad eyes smiled as he shared about the adventures he'd had with his brother, playing soccer, riding bikes, staying up late talking...they were inseparable. Then, on a tragic day two years ago his brother was killed in the crossfire of a gang shooting. Pedro's family was devastated.
Pedro looked to the ground. "I don't like being home because it reminds me of my brother." As he spoke, memories of being home after my mom's death, grieving and unemployed, rekindled in my mind.
"At home I have nothing to do," Pedro continued. "Sitting around makes me depressed, then I start to miss my brother. When I'm here working, I feel a lot better...and I know he'd be proud to see I'm helping a good cause."
My shoulders lightened. As Pedro's story settled in my mind, the burden of helping him finally faded away, and my productivity no longer seemed so important. True, my videos were an important part of Potter's Houses' ministry. But Pedro? He was the ministry.
A few weeks before meeting Andi, I found myself overheating inside a cramped walk-in closet filled with 9-10 large black trash bags worth of stale clothes. The clothes, donated from the US, carried a mothball thrift-shop scent. But they were my only tool to suck up sound and remove the echo from the room.
Throughout the day, several students came to the closet to film their part in my most current project. As the day of filming winded down, a knock sounded through the door. Pedro let himself in with a smile that would impress the Artful Dodger. "I'm really nervous," he insisted, and sat down lazily in the plastic chair prepared for him, as if it reclined. He looked like an anxious beach bum.
 |
| Pedro |
As soon as I looked into them, they punched me in the gut. They were Robin Williams eyes...melancholy, pained, but kind. The kind that make you feel as if you've received a gift, because it's obvious how much effort it took to make them smile.
Pedro stood to say goodbye and as he left I felt as if he had given far more than I'd asked for.
(click play to see Pedro in this volunteer recruitment video for Potter's House)
An Unexpected Assistant
A few days after the video shoot, I found myself editing the footage quietly in my office. A loud thud nearly jolted me out of my chair, the sound of a shoe reaching the door before a hand.
Stumbling in was Pedro. With a big smile he slapped me five and asked me how I was doing. "Bien," I said. "Y tu?"
"Bien," he replied, as he peered over my equipment. He patted the fuzzy microphone atop the camera. "Will you teach me how to make videos?" he asked. My insides groaned. Yet another person asking me for something.
I gave Pedro independent photo/video projects to get him out of my hair. Perhaps having to work for me instead of receiving lessons from me would discourage him from returning. But instead, Pedro began to stop by more often. One morning I walked in to find he had set up his things on the spare desk in my office. Somehow, I had inadvertently picked up an assistant.
 |
| Pedro filming. |
In the mornings, before Pedro arrived to volunteer, I contemplated how to tell him I didn't need his help anymore. Before long he'd clamor in, excited to work, and with eyes quivering with the same pained smile as always.
Something spoke through those eyes...Jesus. The same Jesus who allows me, flaws and all, to participate in His work. Peering through those eyes was a boy who bucked the trend, who came into my office desiring to contribute, not to receive. But now that a willing helper stood in front of me, the idea of "empowering" him seemed much less romantic. In my mind, Pedro was still a burden, one made heavier by the conviction I felt through his gaze.
As each day ended, Pedro lingered in the office and said goodbye several times without leaving. As much as I hoped he would go, it quickly became clear that something unpleasant awaited him outside the office.
 |
| From Left: Kelvin, Pedro, and Christian, on police bikes. In November, the three stopped by most days in the morning, lunchtime, and in the early evening to joke around, steal chocolates, and borrow markers to write notes to their girlfriends. |
Pedro's Motivation
One unassuming Monday morning, Pedro walked in the office and looked at me with his sad smiling eyes. I expected him to ask me what projects I had for him."How was your weekend?" I asked.
"Oh, it wasn't very good."
"Why not?"
"It never is. I don't like being home."
"Why don't you like being home?"
Pedro walked to the other side of the desk and pulled up a chair next to me.
"I haven't enjoyed being home ever since my brother died."
Pedro's sad eyes smiled as he shared about the adventures he'd had with his brother, playing soccer, riding bikes, staying up late talking...they were inseparable. Then, on a tragic day two years ago his brother was killed in the crossfire of a gang shooting. Pedro's family was devastated.
 |
Pedro looked to the ground. "I don't like being home because it reminds me of my brother." As he spoke, memories of being home after my mom's death, grieving and unemployed, rekindled in my mind.
"At home I have nothing to do," Pedro continued. "Sitting around makes me depressed, then I start to miss my brother. When I'm here working, I feel a lot better...and I know he'd be proud to see I'm helping a good cause."
My shoulders lightened. As Pedro's story settled in my mind, the burden of helping him finally faded away, and my productivity no longer seemed so important. True, my videos were an important part of Potter's Houses' ministry. But Pedro? He was the ministry.
 |
| Pedro came in to help for a full month until he was recruited to help with VBS at Potter's House. He returned to school when classes began again in January, but his classroom is right next to my office, making it easy to keep in touch. |
Andi
Andi continued to come in an out of my office to play or attempt to steal chocolates. Each time I’d pick him up and carry him over to Andrea, exclaiming, "I've caught a big fish!" He wriggled, writhed, and giggled until I put him down and then he'd run right back to the chocolate bowl.
Finally, Andrea walked into my office to retrieve Andi. "What's he doing in the office?" I asked, annoyed.
Andrea explained the situation. Andi's mother had died from illness and his father was murdered by a gang. His nearly blind grandmother took charge of him but could barely keep track of him. That afternoon, Andrea was keeping an eye on restless Andi while his grandmother took part in a pediatric nutrition class at Potter's House.
Andi's story changed my feelings towards him so quickly that I strangely let out a chuckle. God had just used stories to soften the heart of a storyteller. Unwittingly, I had received a dose of my own medicine.
Andi kicked at the legs of my desk while he waited for Andrea to finish the story. My brow no longer furrowed when I looked at him.
A few weeks after our first encounter, Andi appeared again in my office window, with a toothy grin. Like always, he showed himself into the office.
"What can I do for a chocolate?" he asked. A rush of joy filled my heart. Eagerly, I gave him a job to do.
With haste Andi ran over to my next door neighbor Marvin's office and made faces in the window. Sensing he'd enjoy a partner in crime, I got up and joined him. When we tired of pestering Marvin (who made faces back), we each helped ourselves to a chocolate.
It tasted sweeter than it usually did.
 |
| Andi, caught crawling under my desk to untie my shoes. |
Finally, Andrea walked into my office to retrieve Andi. "What's he doing in the office?" I asked, annoyed.
Andrea explained the situation. Andi's mother had died from illness and his father was murdered by a gang. His nearly blind grandmother took charge of him but could barely keep track of him. That afternoon, Andrea was keeping an eye on restless Andi while his grandmother took part in a pediatric nutrition class at Potter's House.
 |
| Andi's Grandmother |
Andi's story changed my feelings towards him so quickly that I strangely let out a chuckle. God had just used stories to soften the heart of a storyteller. Unwittingly, I had received a dose of my own medicine.
Andi kicked at the legs of my desk while he waited for Andrea to finish the story. My brow no longer furrowed when I looked at him.
What can I do?
A few weeks after our first encounter, Andi appeared again in my office window, with a toothy grin. Like always, he showed himself into the office.
"What can I do for a chocolate?" he asked. A rush of joy filled my heart. Eagerly, I gave him a job to do.
With haste Andi ran over to my next door neighbor Marvin's office and made faces in the window. Sensing he'd enjoy a partner in crime, I got up and joined him. When we tired of pestering Marvin (who made faces back), we each helped ourselves to a chocolate.
It tasted sweeter than it usually did.
