Psalm 34:18

I have never had to emotionally detach myself from someone as quickly as I did them... it wasn't anything they did to me or said against me, it was their very way of life that disturbed my soul... I was so uncomfortable.

When we first arrived I thought they were drunk... for some reason that would be permissable to me but perhaps that is hindsight in comparison to what was actually going on... when Courtney enlightened me that they were huffing soaked rags of paint thinner I immediately shut down and needed to get away. Every fiber in my body wanted to scream out, to take their paint thinner and thier rags and throw them away, but what good would any of that done?... This was their way of life... They had no home, no money, no food... all they had was their poison to become numb to it all... I understand the allure of numbness but I had infinitely less problems to get away from... They put me to shame...

I wonder if the others are as emotionally detached as I am? I hope so just so I can look at myself in the mirror and not see the callous monster I used to...

One kid got hit in the face with a soccer ball and cowered down in pain right in front of me... But I made no effort to comfort him. (HIM? "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.") Why didn't I help him? Noone else did but since when, as a Christian, has that justified anything? I think it was because I was already doing so well emotionally detaching myself that I didn't want to ruin that by helping a 13 year old boy. (While that wasn't in the forefront of my mind it was no doubt subconsciously holding me back.) I was very cognicent that my countenance could have been mistaken or confused for disgust but it was a face of hopelessness, one shared with these children, only with them you had to search behind their glazed eyes to get a glimpse of it.

The vision of them slowly killing themselves will forever be etched in my mind... I can still smell them on me. Sweat... dirt... paint thinner... hopelessness... they reeked of despair and it was contagious. I felt like a shadow of a person among them.

I decide to type this down, hoping to transfer all memory of it with it so I never have to think about them again. What does it matter? In eight days I will be home and the street children will become nothing more than an afterthought... if only this could be true... emotional scars like this endure, not to drive us into depression but to ensure we continue with a passion that is just as real as the day we lived it.

-bryan