Alex and I have been middle school small group leaders for the last two and a half years. I lead the girls, and Alex gets pummeled by the boys each week. In sixth grade, these girls taught me how to text, how to play Guitar Hero, we went shopping, and we road tripped to Tennessee to go spelunking (What were their parents thinking?!?). In seventh grade, seeing them was a highlight of my week, I started having them over for dinner on Wednesday nights, I judged a sychronized swimming contest at the aquatic center, and we screamed worship songs together in the church sanctuary. Now they’re in eighth grade, most of them are taller than I am, we sold concessions to raise money for Children’s HopeChest, and I consider them part of my family. I love watching these girls grow up, listening to them wrestle with decisions, rejoicing in their triumphs, and challenging their thinking. I’m not one of them, I’m not one of their parents, but in some way they feel like mine. My girls.
And Alex has had his own incredible experience with his boys that I can’t begin to describe, because to me, it sounds like a lot of wrestling and paintballing, but to him, it’s connecting and growing. I love watching my husband with his boys. His boys.
So then one day about a month ago, I see a boy’s face on my computer screen. He’s about twelve. He could be one of our middle schoolers. He could sing “Inside Out” at the top of his lungs at Wired on Wednesday nights. He could tackle Alex in the church lobby and rock out to “Livin’ on a Prayer” on Guitar Hero. Except that he can’t. He lives in Uganda and has a cut on his leg that’s gotten infected and now threatens his life. I see his face, and then my eyes slide to his leg, and all I can think is “Why?” Why is that his life and this is our life?
When I think about the problem – the atrocity – of extreme poverty, it feels unsolvable. Too big, too late, too much, too painful, too bad. What I do doesn’t matter, right? Mmm.
It sure matters to Bosco. What I can do matters to this boy who doesn’t live here. He lives there, and he needs ME. And he needs me NOW. My stopping to mull it over, back burner it, compare it to the hundred other opportunities to give would sentence him to death. He could not survive my putting him on hold.
Bosco desperately needed money to have his leg amputated to save his life. We got involved, and throughout our iFast58 Wednesday, we watched as God brought in the amount needed, with enough extra to feed his family and help with his recovery. An iFast58 miracle. What an incredible day to watch God move through people to save this one special boy. About a week later, we found out that he’s in the hospital on antibiotics and the doctors think that they may be able to save his leg. Our God is so good.
I don’t know why, but I love this boy. And today my friends found his sponsorship packet and let me have him. Alex and I get to sponsor this boy. I wish that he could sit on a beanbag chair in Alex’s small group room and talk about God’s love, but now Alex can email him all about it. I wish that I could cook him macaroni and cheese on Wednesday nights, but now I know that our monthly sponsorship is getting him the food he needs. I wish that Alex could teach him Guitar Hero, but now an educator can teach him to read. I wish that I could hug him right now, but now I can hug him this spring when we visit Uganda.
Hey, Bosco. Welcome to the family. It’s big. We’ve got a mommy, a daddy, a toddler, a baby somewhere in Ethiopia, a Yorkie, and about thirty eighth graders who want to be your friends.
