The Girl

This week started out with a trip to São Paulo. In case you don't know, that is a rough start. In my earlier days I loved to go to the big city. It is the fifth largest in the world and fascinating to see from the sky. São Paulo is a city that seems to go on and on and on into the distant horizon. When on the ground it can be overwhelming. I used to have a certain pride that I could navigate the beast without getting too lost. There was a sense of conquest each time that I lead a successful excursion into and out of her endless tangle of streets and avenues. Those days of pride and conquest are gone and this time I didn't want to go.

But then I remembered something that pastor Moreno once said, "It is not about ME!" It may have been the Holy Spirit that made me remember that one. At any rate Alexandre and I went into our version of the Big Apple to buy trinkets. We went to save some money. We were after, of all things, little girl's head bands! Alexandre thought that they would be a nice touch for the girls in the children's choir.

Alexandre likes details and he is a kind person. I find it hard to resist helping kind people. So, we went for the headbands.

I was grateful for my GPS though Alexandre chides me that I have a 100% "get lost" rate with that little mechanism. This time, however, I proved him wrong as we went and came back with out a bit of trouble.

Something happened on that trip though that left a mark on me; it helped me to focus on my purpose and privilege.

We were as downtown as we could get. We were near the Praça da Sé. If you have been there you know that there is a huge Catholic church there. The place is know for being very dangerous. There are a bounty of pickpockets and drug pushers at all hours of the day and night. I have lead many groups to that very point on the map as part of our tourist swings through SP. Not to be picked but to see the huge old church.

It is also an area of heavy commerce in trinkets. Being the holiday season we were expecting wall to wall people. Just days earlier that spot had made the evening news as being so crowded that one could hardly breath because of the multitudes. But our Father had provided just enough rain and cloud cover to thin the teaming throngs.

As Alexandre and I walked to one of several destination we rounded a corner and there she lay. There on the street before me lay a corpse. She looked to be about 18. Her upper torso was covered with thin, tattered, clear plastic. She was face up with eyes and mouth closed. She had on a soiled white sweater, tattered blue jeans and no shoes on her crusted feet. People passed by without a glance. We too passed.

About an hour later as we retraced our steps to the van with our treasured head bands there she was again, in the same position half wrapped around the corner of an old building and with the same pitiful look on her young dirty face. Though she lay motionless I believe that she was alive. We again walked near but didn't stop nor comment as we walked on. A few blocks away I broke our silence with a question, "Did you see that girl?" I knew that he had. I just wondered what he was thinking. "Yes" was his simple but sullen reply.

As I write these words tears fill my eyes, my heart breaks. That could have been my daughter laying there on that filth stained sidewalk. That could have been me. Why wasn't it? The trite phrase that I have used and you have heard, "But for the grace of God there go I" seemed too smug to use that day. How did she get there? What tragic steps led her to that dismal condition in that dark corner of the world? Our paths crossed and questions flooded my mind. Was there a way to help her? Was she beyond hope? Had it been her choice that led her into such a stupor that she could sleep in broad daylight with thousands of people clamoring about her seemingly lifeless body?

The trip wasn't about fifty cent headbands. The trip was a stinging slap to awaken me from my spiritual lethargy. I came within inches of what God has saved me from. There is no law that says that I deserve Salvation and she doesn't. God's grace is sufficient. Why He has allowed me to be here and her to be there may forever be a mystery. I know that my wicked heart is fighting to help me be where she is. It is truly by God's grace alone that I can claim any type of victory.

You may have never come face to face with the grim reality of the ends to which sin can take you. I hope not. But let me tell you... it is very ugly and very sad. My encounter with the girl has helped me to view my task with deeper conviction. It has given me a desire to help the little girls who will be wearing those headbands to choose the Right path. The Grace of God alone will help me to do just that.