Testimony of a Bus Worker
by: Sis. Shay Spell
As I drive into the subdivision, I notice there are children swarming over every doorstep and playing in almost every driveway. At first glance, it appears to be a very happy, thriving place…then I begin my work. As I approach the first door, with the invite in my hand, I can more clearly see what many cannot. The grassy yard is need of watering, for there are many dead patches, with the dirt showing through underneath. Next to the broken sidewalk, there are bits of trash, blown and scattered by the wind. As I lift my hand to ring the doorbell, I notice it is hanging from the wall with its wires exposed. So I knock instead.
It takes several knocks, for there is very loud music coming from within. A face appears in the cracked window, partially covered by a blanket instead of a curtain. Finally, the door opens, just a crack, and standing there is an angel. She is about 5 years old, with the sad eyes of a teenager. Her hair is falling into her eyes, greasy from days of neglect. Her face has yesterday’s lunch remains stuck to it and her fingernails have remnants of black grit from her recent enjoyment of making mud pies. Her unmatched clothes have been dug out from beneath a pile of dirty laundry in a corner. Nevertheless, she smiles up at me. “Hello!”
I smile my sweetest smile, as if to project my love to her if only through this one smile. She is nervous, looking around her shoulder, to see if there is someone else I would be smiling at, as she thinks she is undeserving of this love. I stoop down to her level. “I came here to see YOU”, I tell her softly. Oh, how her eyes light up and once again she has the innocent eyes of a child. I then tell her about Sunday School. How the big church bus will pick her up tomorrow morning, and bring her to my church. I tell her about the breakfast, the songs, the puppets, and most of all about how she will learn about Jesus, the one who loves her the most. From inside, a man yells, “Who is that?…Shut the door!” I notice she flinches at his voice.
I tell her to get her mommy or daddy to come out so I can ask their permission for her to come to church tomorrow. She looks scared all of a sudden, and she seems to shrink back into herself, head down, eyes dull. I tell her, “I know you want to come, but I have to ask them.”
She turns and disappears for a few minutes. When she returns, she says her mommy is asleep and won’t wake up. Her daddy isn’t here.
I step into the house, where it is dim and hot. In a corner, in front of the television, is a big burly man in cut off jeans without a shirt. There are many empty beer cans scattered around his chair. The tiny angel wraps her little arms tightly around my legs and hides her face in my skirt as I stand in front of him. I am not the least bit scared. I feel as though a host of angels are standing behind me, and I am facing a squatty, weak demon from the pits of hell.
“Are you her dad?” I ask. He says no. His eyes are bloodshot, his pupils dilated.
I go through my whole invitation, as quickly as possible, repeating myself several times, as he asks, “huh?”.
“May she please go?”, I ask.
Then he says the words that I was waiting for. “I don’t care”.
She and I quickly turn and go outside to the porch. She is so excited and asking so many questions! “Please, if I’m not outside, will you knock on the door, in case they change their mind?”
Of course we will.
As we hug and say goodbye, and I turn to walk away, I take a deep breath. I can feel the Holy Ghost move in me and my eyes fill with tears. Thank you God for bringing me to this door. Thank you, for giving me the strength to go in there, even though it is heartbreaking to imagine what she must go through.
She could possibly be a Pastor’s wife, like me one day. All because I knocked.
It is worth every knock, every disappointment, every trial, to just reach one.
Then I realize that this is “OUR” Mission Field. Here… this city. Yes, we support missions, all over the world. We send money, we offer up prayers. While here, in our own city is a world, still untouched by the Christian witness. Go ye therefore means to go, but we do not have very far to travel to be missionaries. How can we neglect those that are hurting, and dying lost, right here, at home? We must work, we must spend our money, our time, in this mission field, our very own given to us by God.
I am a positive person , I never leave negative feedback…please don’t take it that way. But more than being moved by the “salvation” of this little girl from her home for a few brief hours to go to Sunday school, we have to have a larger vision. Broken people raise broken children. They are not demons, to save the children from, they are broken people who need God. They need the love of God to see there is a different way. They need to see there is a reason to care. To care about children and their life, because there is a God that cares about them….even when they are broken.
The new Era of bus ministry, must minister to the whole family. It is then and only then will we see city wide revival and families transformed.
There is a greater gift than taking this child to church for a few hours a week. We can bring the church into her home, we can look at that hurting human and say, We have a God who can fix that. And then be ready to mentor broken familes. So when she turns 12 she doesn’t feel like she has to choose between her family and a church she saw 2 hours a week. We will have given her so much more…a transformed family, ready to serve the Lord together.
I agree with what you’re saying. We are definitely not trying to turn these children against their families and the greater goal is that we indeed do reach into the homes through the children. In our ministries we focus on the kids as an avenue into the home and extend home Bible studies to the parents and invite them to attend with their children every time we see them.
It is absolutely true that it is not just the kids that need salvation and we are trying our very best to reach them all one step at a time. Thank you so much for your comment! Great feedback!