NEWSLETTER: SEPTEMBER, 2009

I spend a lot of time working with the kids and staff in five Tijuana orphanages. Each orphanage has it's own unique ‘collective personality' and we help in any area we can. At times we are given difficult tasks, like telling a boy his mother has died or in the following case a few days ago where I was asked to tell Fernando his little brother was dead.

In the orphanage and after our evening talk the twenty teenagers filed out and into bed, all except fourteen year old Fernando*, we asked him to stay back. "Take a seat Fernando." It was lonely time!

This young boy is a Mexican Indian, placed in the orphanage by the government. He doesn't speak much Spanish. He sat uncomfortably straight and stiff in his chair; his eyes avoiding ours. I know Fernando, he's very quiet and not close to anyone. A loner in the true sense of the word.

The kids call him "Indian". He's last on the pecking order.

I was asked to tell him that his little brother was dead. No one wanted to tell him; neither did I. Fernando had asked about his little brother from time to time but the subject was always avoided. The Mexican government had separated the two of them several years back, placing Fernando in one orphanage and his little brother Juan* in a different orphanage. I had been told about the situation but was waiting for information to come in as to what happened and where the young boy was buried. We only knew Fernando had no mother or father or even a relative, only his little brother, whom he loved... and now his brother was dead. The Mexican government stonewalled us in every effort we made to get the details. How did he die? Where was he buried?

It was time to tell him.

As we sat there, I broke the news to him as gently as I could. He took the news like the Indian he was—stoic, emotionless, his black eyes staring straight ahead. If he felt pain or loss, it didn't show.

He had no questions ... I had no answers.


*Not Real Name ...

I broke the silence by quietly asking him if he liked it there at the orphanage, he paused and then whispered "no".

"Fernando, if there was anything in the world I could do for you or give you, what would it be?" ... After a long pause he whispered, "I wish I had a family."

He slowly walked from the room ... truly alone.

I was the instrument used to make another wound—another scar on this kid's life. Ministry is tough at times. It was hard to get to sleep that night.

Many of these kids are lonely and insecure. You can see it in young Rafa's* eyes as he held on to me at camp. Kids don't want to go home ...

Thanks for making it possible for us to love these kids and meet their needs as best we can. Each kid counts! We appreciate you.

From all of us working in Tijuana, Pastor von