Enrique's Story: The Best Days Ever

It was cool and dark on the covered porch. We sat quietly, reflecting on our first full day in the Dominican Republic.

I looked around at them, still amazed that I had really brought teenagers to a foreign country. Amazed at the level of trust and confidence that had been placed on me. Amazed at how much I loved them, and how much the events of the day tied my heart to theirs at a deeper level than I thought possible.

These were first my students, but now, I was beginning to show them my heart. They were seeing the place and the people that embody my passion. I was anxious for their thoughts.

It had been a rough start. Our small team had left Atlanta on Saturday afternoon and been delayed overnight in Ft. Lauderdale. We arrived in the DR a day late.

Monday, we were scheduled to drive into Santo Domingo to meet our Compassion sponsored children--mine, my co-leader's, and those sponsored by a family from our school.

Monday was a whirlwind. Up at 6:00, and home at 10:00. We were exhausted, mentally and physically. But I think we all felt the urge to talk the day out.

I asked just one question. I asked them who surprised them the most.

The answers varied. We arrived at the last person in the small circle.

Josh Wagner had a rough day. Of all the people on the trip, he had surprised me the most. His quiet, unfailingly patient attitude had turned a series of difficult (and even disgusting) circumstances into joy.

"Enrique," he said simply. "His joy surprised me. I mean, he never stopped smiling."

I can't remember all of his words now, but I can remember how his face looked in the dark.

I can replay the day in my mind, and I am sure Josh can too.

How we drove out to Batey Consuelo at sunrise, me giving them their first taste of poverty. It was harsh, this stepping within hours from an airplane to a slum, from the Ft. Lauderdale Hilton to Enrique's shack of scrap metal. Flip-flops squishing sickly in the mud, I had introduced them to the first truly poor person they had ever known. In spite of the mud and the squalor, Enrique made it hard to believe that he was poor. His smile said otherwise. His smile spoke of a rich joy.

My team was dazzled  by him from the beginning. Enrique hardly ever spoke. We loaded him up into the van. His eyes drank in everything. Outside of his stay in the hospital last November, Enrique had never been out of Consuelo, out of the mire of crushing poverty. As we loaded more bodies into the already squishy van, Enrique eventually made his way onto Josh's lap in the backseat.

The hour drive into Santo Domingo seemed much longer. Early morning traffic and the fact that we had 18 people in the 12 passenger van didn't help matters.

Eventually, the inevitable happened. My daughter, Leah, threw up. Her too-early chicken nuggets and pancakes, the swaying of the van, the humidity that creeped into the packed cabin proved to be a sickening combination.

And she threw up on Josh's lap.

His lap.

Neither he nor Enrique had much to say. We stopped at the nearest store to clean up the mess. The damage was undeniable. Enrique had somehow escaped getting anything on him...but it was clear that we needed to go shopping for Josh.

Unfortunately, the store we stopped at was of the high-end Euro-American variety. With Enrique's tiny brown hand in mine, we walked in. Enrique was distinctly out of place. I felt sick at the contrast. Excess was meeting want in a big way.

I felt more sick when I saw the total for Josh's new shorts and underwear. 2,000 pesos could have fed Enrique's family for a month.

We finally made it to Compassion's office where we met up with the rest of the children. It was amazing to have my Dominican children together. Jeffry, Julio, and Andrea met Enrique. At 7, Andrea appeared larger and healthier by far than Enrique. I remembered the day I had met her in a Santo Domingo slum, sickly and malnourished, and hoped for a day that I could see such a marked improvement for Enrique.

Most of our large group got onto a bus with the children. My kids drove in the van with me...except for Enrique, who followed Josh onto the bus. They had been united by the bond of throw-up.

Our adventure continued at Burger King. The three level playground seemed a paradise for the kids. Enrique never hesitated. He was a whirlwind, everywhere at once. For a long while, we saw here and there a flash of white--his smile--as he wound through the maze of tunnels and slides.

We gave him his first happy meal. Probably one of the happiest he ever had.

 

Back on the bus. We were rained out of the zoo, and went instead to the children's museum in the heart of Santo Domingo's colonial zone. Distinctly historic, and therefore also touristy, in flavor, the colonial zone sits on the banks of the river. Ironically, the cobblestone streets are about as easy on tires as the ruts of Consuelo's dirt tracks.

Trampolin, the children's museum, is amazing. With all kinds of hands on exhibits for the children, it combines learning and fun. It was an incredible opportunity to take a group of impoverished kids into a place like this. Enrique quietly blended in with all of the other children. One thing stood out.

His smile.

It was on his face on the earthquake simulator.

On his face in the dinosaur room.

On his face in the submarine.

On his face in the exhibit of the human body, where you could climb hair follicles, slide down a tongue, and hold a brain in your hands.

It was on his face in the Dominican culture room, next to the lurid Mardi Gras costumes, skipping up and down the hopscotch board, and playing the instruments.

It was on his face when I handed him his backpack full of gifts. He never opened gifts in front of me, as if he wasn't really sure what gifts were for.

And it was on his face as we said goodbye to the other children. As they headed for there faraway homes, Enrique knew he was staying with us. The group was quiet after an emotional day of meetings and leavings. The answer seemed to be obvious.

I took them for ice cream.

Our fabulous translator/guide, Marcel Minaya, led us to Cristopher Columbus square, dominated by a ridiculously gorgeous Catholic church and a statue of the late, great, Christopher Columbus himself, who first landed on Hispaniola.

The square was covered with pigeons. Marcel showed us how you could hold out your arms and the pigeons would come and land on them. The next 45 minutes were sheer delight. Everyone was soon covered in pigeons. Laughing and squealing, Enrique, Leah, and the two other small ones we had with us would run through the groups of pigeons, scattering them. They jumped. They were trees. And for that time, they were just kids. Not poor kids or rich kids, hungry kids or full kids. They were just kids.

 

After a while, we remembered the ice cream. We got bread and meat at the corner store for the little ones, and set up an impromptu picnic in the corner of Bon (the world's best ice cream shop). After the sandwiches, we indulged on large cones of chocolate, caramel, and chinola.

Enrique was enraptured. Chocolate and caramel dripped from his chin. He had never taken off the Burger King crown. Enrique and Josh walked hand in hand to the van.

 

It was a satisfied and thoughtful group that drove back to San Pedro that night. Enrique was dropped off last. We watched him jump out of the van, still crowned.

.............



Josh was right. The smile had never left Enrique's face. I felt sure his face must have hurt.

Our circle broke up and we went to bed.

That Monday was the first of several days with Enrique. Josh and I would get up earlier than everyone else. We would roll chicken nuggets up in our pancakes and take off through the cane fields to Enrique's house. They were quiet trips. Josh and Enrique never said much. They didn't really have to.

In those days, we sat in an old church and taught Enrique to write his name. We made creatures with play-doh. We smushed them just to see the brilliant smile. We watched Enrique and Leah chase lizards. We watched the girls on our team carry around this almost 13 year old like they would carry around my children.

We never really did anything spectacular. But now, as I think of it, something truly wonderful happened that week.

We treated Enrique as we would have treated any child. The things we did were things we do everyday at home. But for Enrique, I believe those days were the best day of his life.

We all have that kind of power. We all have the opportunity to invest in someone's life in that way. For someone, somewhere, you can be their best memory. You can be what gets them through when it is dark and cold, when they are sick and hungry, when hope is lost.

It was hard, that next Sunday afternoon, to drive Enrique--no longer my boy, but our boy--back to Consuelo for the last time. He had fallen asleep against Josh's side in the backseat.

In his muddy front yard, we stood in a circle and prayed. Words failed me. Tears betrayed my heart. Josh stepped in and prayed.

And as we turned to walk away, Enrique was still smiling.

The days we had spent together, the moments and memories, could not be taken away by a temporary goodbye.

My team members will never see Enrique again. Ashleigh, Josh, Japeth, Lauren, Daniel, Jennifer, and Cambria did not have the opportunity to return in November when I did. But they all sent their love. Each family sent a gift that bought Enrique his bed, his food, and his medicines. They sacrificed their allowances and fast-food paychecks for the boy with the smile.

In April, we will go back to DR. We will visit a grave this time. Those days of joy we spent with Enrique were followed all too closely by days of sickness, of pain, of fear.

When we stand there together, at Enrique's grave, I hope I can honor him with a smile.

Because I think we will all remember those happy days as Enrique did--as some of the best days ever.

Enrique's Story: When my heart is torn asunder...

I guess I knew all along that it could happen.

To be honest, I knew it was likely to happen.

And yet, somehow, in a million years, I never really thought it would.

I am the eternal optimist. There is always hope...until something so final happens, I can't argue my way around it.

Coming in from the airport at 9:00 on a Tuesday night after a whirlwind visit with our sponsored girls in Honduras, we found my grandfather, whom we care for, sick in bed. He had spent time in the hospital before we left, but we felt sure he was on the mend. Finding him in bed, discouraged and struggling, was a huge blow.

Our niece, Iyrie, is 15. She also lives in our home. As we spoke with my grandfather, trying to figure out what was going on and how we could help, Iyrie kept interrupting.

"Kim, I have to tell you something."

I pushed her aside. After a December from the bottomless pit, I was emotionally able to handle one problem at a time.

Being 15, tact is not her strong suit. She dropped the bomb.

"Kim! Enrique is dead."

And the world screeched to a halt.

My mouth hung open. Jonathan, who had been across the room, rushed over to where I was...and the floodgates broke.

I wept for my boy. Jonathan, who had never met Enrique, wept for me.

Somehow, in my mind, I wasn't sure that it was true. I had heard Iyrie's words, but I needed to see the words for myself. I ran to Facebook.

I couldn't argue with the black and white. Nujerling's message was short. I could read her pain in the few lines.

What do you do when one of your worst nightmares suddenly lurches to life? 

I can do something about hunger.

I can do something about nakedness.

But there is nothing I can do about death.

The details were slow to come. Over the next days, I learned the whole sad story...

The ministry who was beginning to invest in Enrique sent him for a medical check-up. He and his mother tested positive for HIV. They immediately began treatment.

Enrique went home. On Friday, December 13, he began having trouble breathing. On Saturday, he went to the hospital, where a blood test showed him to be dangerously anemic.

So Enrique received a blood transfusion, thanks to the generosity of the ministry.

My heart aches at this point. Recounting the details is difficult, but so many of you have supported me in this journey, I think it is only fair to share.

His body was too weak to accept the transfusion. The blood poured from his ears, his eyes, his mouth. His body, in shock, could stand no more. At 13, his body went into cardiac arrest. He died from a heart attack.

Maybe this would all have been easier if her died in his sleep...if it was fast. But it was slow. It was painful. I can't think of how scared he must have been.

I don't want to remember the boy with the brilliant smile this way. I am glad that I didn't have to see his little body lying there. Glad I didn't seem him being put in the ground.

The truth is, that in one sense, I can only be glad.

As I shared before, Enrique accepted Christ as his Savior only a month before his death. And while I can do nothing for death, Christ has done all.

Enrique won. I can't be sad that he left behind a life of suffering.

When I think of him now, I don't think of his illness, of him suffering and scared in a hospital room.

I see him smiling. I see him waiting, holding out his hand. When I see him again, I will see him as God always intended him to be--whole, treasured, and lavishly loved.

These weeks have not been easy; Christmas passed under the shadow of loss.

I miss Enrique, but God has assured me that I have not lost him. I have a year of precious memories, and the hope of an eternity more.

Phil Wickham wrote a song that has helped me through this journey...



When my heart
Is torn asunder
And my world
Just falls apart
Lord You put
Me back together
And lift me up
To where You are

There is hope
Beyond the suffering
Joy beyond the tears
Peace in every tragedy
Love that conquers fear
I have found redemption
In the blood of Christ
My body might be dying
But I'll always be alive

You have turned
Mourning to dancing
You have covered me with grace
The struggle here
May last a moment
But life with You
Will last always

There is hope
Beyond the suffering
Joy beyond the tears
Peace in every tragedy
Love that conquers fear
I have found redemption
In the blood of Christ
My body might be dying
But I'll always be alive

When the age
Of death is over
And this world
Has been reborn
I'll be there
Beside my Savior
This is our grace
And rich reward

There is hope
Beyond the suffering
Joy beyond the tears
Peace in every tragedy
Love that conquers fear
I have found redemption
In the blood of Christ
My body might be dying
But I'll always be alive 

 

Please enjoy this video tribute to the life of Enrique Pierre.

http://youtu.be/t0nWb1g2ylc    
       

 

Whom Shall I Fear?--Enrique's battle, November 2013

Several years back, I dove into the book of Ephesians. It was my desire to memorize the whole book, and as I went, to learn the message of this powerful letter.

I fell in love with the truth of Ephesians, from the incredible Spiritual blessings outlined in chapter 1, to the story of redemption in chapter 2, to God's plan for the church and His people in chapter 4-5.

What has blessed me the most is the message of power that weaves its way throughout the book.

This power is defined in chapter one:

"I pray that the eyes of your heart may be enlightened, in order that you may know the hope to which he has called you, the riches of his glorious inheritance in the saints, and His incomparably great power for us who believe. That power is like the working of His mighty strength that He exerted in Christ when He raised Him from the dead and seated Him at His right hand in the Heavenly realms, far above all rule and authority, power and dominion, and every title that may be given, not only in this present age, but also in the age to come." --Ephesians 1:18-21

Incredible! Did you catch that?? The power that He has for us is the same power that raised Christ from the dead! It is resurrection power, new life power, death-defeating power!

Again and again in Ephesians, the word "power" is used, with the chapter 1 verses to be used as the definition for the "power" Paul continues to write about. Consider the following verses in the light of that definition:

 ^"I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being, ¹⁷ so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, ¹⁸ may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, ¹⁹ and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.

²⁰ Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, ²¹ to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen." --Ephesians 3:16-21

 

"Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power." --Ephesians 6:10

 

For me that definition changes everything. The resurrection power of God enables me to understand the height, width, depth, and length of the love of God. Through the work of Christ, God is able to do immeasurably more than all that I ask or imagine in my life. And through the defeated grave of Christ, I have the strength to face anything in this world--and from beyond this world.

 

Ephesians 6:10 is a prelude to the part of Ephesians that has always baffled me. I memorized it...but when the time came for me to really study that section, I stopped. All throughout Ephesians there is an underlying theme of the supernatural--that God's work spans all of time and place. His work is cosmic; it is clear from this book that God does not operate in the earthly realm only, but also in the "heavenly realms", a phrase used 5 times in Ephesians. When the book starts popping out with terms like "spiritual forces of evil", my mind starts drawing a blank.

 

I know there is evil in this world. I have seen it first hand. But for me, it is hard to distinguish the natural evil that is in the heart of man and the evil where Satan and his demons are actively working. How do I know when I am facing these spiritual forces that are, according to Ephesians 6, running everything?

 

"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms."

--Ephesians 6:12

 

I bring all of this up because I feel like for the first time in my life, I have recognized the effect that these spiritual forces have on the lives of people. I am fighting a battle that is bad enough physically and emotionally, but incredibly worse spiritually. Caught in the crossfires of Satan's stronghold and the Kingdom of God is a very small, very sick boy named Enrique Pierre.

 

I returned to visit Enrique in the Dominican Republic this weekend after receiving the news that he had fallen desperately ill...news that he had been in the hospital for 19 days. I had been fighting for him for almost a year, warring against the disease and malnutrition that has been attacking him. We had seen a drastic improvement; now Enrique was more sick than he had ever been.

 

When you walk in Enrique's yard, you recognize the general destruction. It is utter squalor--a miry pit of mud, filth, and garbage. Poverty, to me, reveals Satan's destructive work at its finest, reducing man, made in the image of God, to a mere animal--lives squandered and wasted due to desperate want. Bodies can't thrive here; minds can't thrive here. But even here--as a matter of fact, anywhere--I am confident that the Spirit can thrive. That is our hope, isn't it? In Christ, even the darkness shall be light for us. And so God compelled me to step into the darkness of poverty, to do my best to shine His light into Enrique's life.

 

You can never quite shake the feeling that somewhere, Satan is laughing. John 10:10 reminds us that "The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." In this place, in Batey Consuelo, you can see that the thief has been hard at work, stealing worth, stealing dignity. The family drinks from a muddy hole in the yard. They cook over someone's refuse. During storms, rain drives into the shanty, soaking God's precious creation. This is not the abundant life. This is bare existence.

 

Enrique is almost at the end of his existence. His life has been one of consistent neglect. His tiny frame, at 13 years old, is roughly the size of a 7-year old's. His body is racked with all kinds of disease. He is easy prey after a life of chronic malnutrition.

 

This past weekend, I went to the Dominican Republic in order to shine light for this boy--to deliver gifts of medicine, of clothing, of a bed--of basic needs to restore to this boy His sense of worth. I came to show him love--the Father's love.

 

I have been in His home several times, and yet somehow, I began noticing things this time that revealed the true nature of Enrique's battle. Inside the hovel where he lives, there are three beds. Two are neatly made and covered with mosquito nets to prevent mosquito borne illness. In those two sleeping areas, personal belongings are hung neatly. And yet in the third area, there is another bed. It is lumpy and old, with no sheet and no net. There are no clothes hung neatly--only a few plastic sacks with clothing stuffed inside. It is as if the person who sleeps there is invisible.

 

The true horror is revealed only when we take the old mattress out to make way for the new bed. As the old mattress is picked up, something begins to fall out. It is garbage--the mattress had been stuffed with garbage. Old clothes, plastic sacks, wadded paper, and even sticks had been the filling--not to mention the vermin. This was Enrique's bed.

 

But there is another room in the house...out of the way, shielded by a curtain. I had not noticed this area before. Out of curiosity, I pulled back the curtain. My friend nudged me sharply, whispering to put the curtain down. Behind it, there had been a table set carefully with curious items. Little cards and candles...

 

Nujerling said, "They don't like you to look at those things."

 

In a rush I understood. Little Enrique told us, "Every Saturday, my mother gives service to the devil." He went on to tell the story of the time his mother sold their archaic washing machine to pay to have demons cast out of him. What I had seen was a voodoo altar--an altar to Satan.

 

In America, we play with voodoo. Tarot cards, Ouija boards, and voodoo dolls are funny novelties--but in the Haitian culture, they are part of a very real, very destructive religion.

 

I have yet to say the worst. After we left Enrique's home that day, Enrique's health declined rapidly. He began to burn with a fever, shake with cold. His body became so weak he couldn't stand. He began passing the parasites that were infecting his small body. He coughed all night, a wracking cough that was too big for his tiny body. By the time we left him the next day, he was too weak to do anything but sleep. I carried him to his bed.

 

You see, Satan is a cruel master. He is the thief who comes to steal, kill, and destroy. He comes to take more than you have to give. God alone is the giver of all good gifts.

 

In the voodoo culture, Satan requires sacrifice, and sometimes, he requires his servants to pay a dear price...

 

A child.

 

Dedicated to him.

 

Which would explain many things.

 

In Enrique's culture, he is cursed. Cursed to be hungry, to be neglected, to be sick, to sleep in a mattress filled with garbage.

 

Satan is a cruel master.

 

You see, I approach Enrique's situation armed with truth. I serve a God of love--a God who gives instead of takes. I serve a God who places value and dignity on each life, a God who seeks my good, who provides for my needs--to the point that He died for me.

 

Satan is strong, but God is stronger.

 

I am armed with power--the resurrection power of Christ. In this situation I am not only wrestling with flesh and blood. Enrique is fighting a stronghold of Satan, and I believe, in Jesus' name, that the battle can be won. Who once was offered as a gift to Satan accepted Christ as his Savior last week. Enrique is a child of the King now.

 

Please pray with me. Enrique is not just poor and sick--he is under attack. Consuelo is a stronghold, and the light is breaking through in the life of this small boy. He is the first child from his family or from his neighborhood who has learned to read and write. If he grows to adulthood, he will be able to read the truth of Scripture for Himself.

 

Some have asked if I was afraid. Some asked if I felt the darkness and oppression in his home. I can only answer by saying that in Christ, I have nothing to fear--but my heart is deeply saddened and angered by the destruction of Satan and by his attack on this child and these people who are living in darkness, deceived by his cruel lies.

 

In truth, I am scared that my boy will die--that poverty will choke out his small life. But poverty can never choke out his Light. I trust the Lord almighty and His incomparably great power for those who believe...and I trust in all things that He "is able to do immeasurably more than all that we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us."

Our lost sheep--finding Enrique, February 2013

February, 2013.

Nujerling Vargas Santana, my beautiful Dominican friend, was graduating form Universidad del Este in San Pedro de Macoris, Dominican Republic. This was to be no ordinary graduation.

Nujerling had grown up in abject poverty. She entered Compassion International's child sponsorship program at a young age. She graduated from its program and earned a spot in Compassion's Leadership Development Program, which is designed for the best and the brightest of the children that pass through Compassion. She was to be graduating with high honors as a medical doctor!

I decided that I wanted to be with her on this amazing occasion. She is a shining example of how God can redeem a life from the desperation of poverty.

With the prospect of a few days in the DR ahead of me, I called my good friend Candie who had recently sponsored a Dominican child in the community of San Pedro. God worked it out for her to join me on this adventure. We would meet up with Megan Sprague from Maine, another of my beautiful friends who was living in San Pedro at the time teaching English at a private school for poor Haitian and Dominican children.

In the back of my mind, I remembered Enrique. Nujerling had his address. Was there a chance we could find him?

This trip marked an amazing departure from all the last trips. I was going to drive. This seems like a no-brainer unless you have visited the DR. Traffic is ridiculous--laws are a suggestion, as are lanes, red lights, and stop signs. It is maddening chaos. You have to keep an eye on pedestrians, potholes, speed bumps, stray dogs, weaving motorcycles, buses, sugar cane trucks, the assorted street vendors, and other cars all at the same time. However, I weighed the cost. If I was ever to be free to truly explore the DR, I needed a car.

I took the plunge.

After arriving in the country, we had a tight schedule. We arrived on Wednesday night and would be leaving Saturday afternoon. All day Friday would be spent on graduation preparations. Saturday we had made plans to visit the beach with a group of my dear Dominican friends.

We had one day to do the impossible: track down Enrique. I was reminded of the parable in Luke 15:

"Then Jesus told them this parable: ⁴ “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? ⁵ And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders ⁶ and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep."

Enrique was my lost sheep. I had many other sponsored children at the time--all precious to me--and yet the one that was lost had been weighing heavy on my heart. I couldn't just let him go.

It was a daunting task. We woke up Thursday morning to a beautiful day--clear blue skies, fried eggs, and chinola juice. Over breakfast, we learned the sad truth about Dominican "addresses". Really, there are no house numbers...and in the Bateys, where Enrique lives, the street names are iffy. It was looking disheartening.

Still, as we drove down the road towards in what we hoped was the general direction of Batey Consuelo, it was hard to lose hope. There was nothing but blue sky and the lush green of the sugar cane fields--paired with the delightful company of good friends.

We hit Consuelo about 9 am. Our first stop was at a small daycare where we knew Enrique had once been registered as a charity case. It was closed. Strike one.

Not sure what else to do, we approached a group of moto-taxi drivers. These people depend on knowing all the rabbit trails of these communities in order to make a living. Nujerling showed them the address and a photo of Enrique. Miraculously, one of the drivers seemed to have an idea where the address might be.

We followed the moto-taxi through Consuelo proper--typical crowded streets, kids in uniforms walking to school. At the edge of town you hit dirt roads. The skeleton of a sugar cane factory haunts the landscape. What once had drawn thousands of Haitian immigrants with the promise of a future now stands like a tombstone in front of the real Consuelo--a sprawling slum--in marked contrast to the busy streets we had just passed through. We took a turn, ever careful to follow the taxi-driver's turns.

The streets teemed with children, half-naked, not in school. As in other communities in the DR, almost everyone was outside of the house, sitting in chairs, sweeping out the little shanties, walking in search of a day's wages. Narrower now, we took a sharp left on the rocky street and wound further back into the Batey. Finally the taxi driver stopped at a four-way "intersection, worn down by foot-traffic and bony cows.

And out of the green shack shone the brightest smile I have ever seen.

It was Enrique.

I basically threw money at the waiting taxi driver in payment for his service. All I wanted was a hug from the boy who might not even remember me.

But he did. As I squeezed his tiny figure close, I praised God for the miracle of the angel on the motorcycle who had led us to this place. I praised God that Enrique was alive.

He was still tiny. The reality of his situation was difficult to bear. I imagined him laying in this house for two weeks, starving to death, being discovered by neighbors and rushed to Musa hospital only a few months before.

My friend Megan remembers that morning as a miracle. She always says that when Enrique woke up that morning, he had no idea that his life was about to change. He had no idea that people were looking for him, praying for him.

But when we showed up at his door, things did change. They changed in my heart. This child lives in Hell. His home is a miry pit--flies, sewage, and dirty water that they must use for drinking, bathing and cooking. His bed was filthy. At 12, we learned he had never been to school. He had hungry eyes.

I gave him the few gifts I had brought to him: notebooks, markers, clothing, a kickball--and photos. He kept pouring over the photos of us together at Musa hospital.

We chatted with the mother for a few minutes. Our next step was clear--this family needed food. There had been no breakfast for Enrique--and there was no food at all in the house.

His mother took him behind the house and began to clean him up in a shallow pan full of muddy water. He kept looking at us as his mother scrubbed his tiny limbs with a rag. He came back wearing the bright yellow shirt I had brought him--inside out. Enrique never seems to wear clothes correctly. The buttons are always button wronged, something is always backwards or inside out. But he was smiling as we corrected his mistake.

He was beaming as he climbed into the backseat of the car with his mother, made possible by Megan's sacrifice of crawling into the trunk to make room. We bought Enrique a roll and some chocolate milk at the corner store before heading out for groceries.

The smile never left his face. It is a precious treasure in my heart to remember him in the store--distinctly foreign to him--choosing vegetables, juice, and a pair of new shoes. We learned that the only reason he was not in school was because they could not afford the uniform or supplies. We chose a blue shirt and khaki pants in a child's size 6 for this 12 year old.

When we returned to the home, we didn't stay for long. There were plenty of hugs. I promised Enrique I would see him again.

Four girls with full hearts left Consuelo that day. We had seen God work a miracle. I was back in contact with this little boy and we were already thinking ahead to how I could send money for food on a consistent basis. That Saturday, we returned with many more groceries and a prepaid cell phone for the mom so that Nujerling could keep in touch with her.

Since that time, we have kept in contact with Enrique by sending food through Nujerling. We have purchased vitamins, ointments, and other medications to help with his various conditions. When I returned in May with a team, we spent several days with Enrique--and he was better. Those days are a story for another time.

The first day in Consuelo will forever serve to remind me of how God weaves the lives of many people together to accomplish His purpose--forever a reminder that God has a plan in mind for this little boy. And in a way, it will always remind me that it is incredibly worthwhile to go out after the one, just as Christ sought us out and carried us home to His Father.

"Then Jesus told them this parable: ⁴ “Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? ⁵ And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders ⁶ and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep."

 

Let Justice Roll Like a River...how I met Enrique, November 2012.

"I find it hard to turn away

a billion starving people.

But what can ONE do?

I've heard them say...

You can save someone's life!!

I wanna save a life today!

I wanna keep one alive for my Father!"

 

--Keith Green, "A Billion Starving People"

 

 

What is the value of just one person?

 

I struggle to assess that. If we were to weigh people in the balance of our minds, we would come up with a pile on one side of "good people," and on the other side, a pile of "less desirable" ones. We would consider how those people had treated us, what interaction we have with them on a daily basis, how they have chosen to live their lives.

 

But God doesn't take those kinds of things into account. He has different scales than we do. As a matter of fact, if we were weighed on His scales, we would all come out in the unworthy pile. Nevertheless, God has chosen to work in our lives, to redeem us, to take us from the spiritual trash heap--the grave, really--that we were in and seat us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ. With the breath of His life in our lungs, we go from trash to treasure.

 

God has changed the way I look at people. I have stopped seeing colors and cultures and socioeconomic backgrounds. In stead I see, in each person, the worth and value that God Himself can see in each life. Each life is a treasure waiting to happen.

 

And this is, undoubtedly, one of His treasures.

 

His name is Enrique Pierre.

 

I met Enrique a little less than a year ago on Thanksgiving Day at Musa Hospital in San Pedro de Macoris, Dominican Republic. We had gone to hold babies and give care kits to their mothers, and after, we took a less glamorous detour through the children's sick ward. It is a sad place. There is a whole room for children who have been in car and motorcycle accidents, another room for preventable diseases like smallpox. We ended up in the ward for kids who have been infected by dengue fever, a mosquito borne illness that can turn deadly.

 

That ward is not much like the children's wards here in the States. There are about 8 rooms, perhaps 5 x 8 in size. The white walls are badly chipped. It is cramped and depressing. Still the doctors do what they can to cheer up the little patients. My friend, Nujerling Vargas Santana, was working at Musa at the time completing her residency to become a doctor. She is a beautiful, brilliant, and compassionate young woman that I had the honor of meeting a year before on my first trip to the DR with Compassion International.

 

Already on emotional overload, it is hard to say what happened when Nujerling took us into the little cell-room where Enrique was resting. Nujerling had a heart for this boy from the beginning. The first thing I noticed about Enrique was his brilliant smile. Really, the smile seemed bigger than he was. We gave him some candy and sat for a chat. I broke when I learned his story. He had been two weeks without eating. Malnutrition paired with dengue had landed him in Musa.

He looked too small and too fragile to be real. We learned that the next day, November 23, would be his twelfth birthday. I asked him what his birthday wish was.

He wanted clothes.

And food.

He haunted me. I left that room but my heart didn't. I sent some money with Nujerling so that she could buy him a gift for his birthday.

She ended up purchasing a toy truck, some corn flakes, a bag of apples, crayons and a coloring book, and a cake. Later, after I had gone home and the gift had been delivered, Nujerling told me that when he received the gift, Enrique cried. She had never seen anyone so happy.

His words? "Nobody ever did anything like that for me before."

I was a broken person when I came home from DR that time. I thought of Enrique constantly. I begged Nujerling to get his address so that when he was discharged from the hospital, we might be able to find him later. It was a slim chance.

At the Passion Conference in Atlanta in January 2013, I broke. They were playing the song "Shout"--

You're the friend of the ones forgotten!
You fight the cause of the weak and broken!
Let Justice roll like a river!

What justice was there for Enrique? He is God's treasure, broken and abused by this world. In my heart, I knew it was time for justice to roll like a river for his life.

I had no idea at this point if I would ever see him again. I prayed like a crazy person. I felt God's call to be His hands for Enrique. I waited for opportunity.