I was in a foul mood that evening. I left the house at around 6:50 P.M., in a gigantic hurry to catch the bus that would take me to the small group leaders' meeting at my home church in Mandaluyong City. I chided myself for always being late for meetings, a fact that my husband perennially complained about.
It was December 11, 2006: 2 days before my daughter's high school Christmas play, 5 days before my birthday, 6 days before the gift-giving activity in an urban poor community, 7 days before our Bible study group's Christmas party which was to be held at our house, 14 days before Christmas, 18 days before the deadline for the submission of all of my husband's accounting books to BIR, 20 days before New Year's Eve, and approximately 30 days before the scheduled audition of our first batch of music scholars from Barangay Botocan. Somewhere in between all these I had to whisk my kids off to Cavite to visit their favorite "tita" who had just given birth to her first child. And then, there were two truckloads of dirty laundry waiting to be noticed at home.
I simply had too much on my mind. My daughter would often tell me that she always knew whenever I left my body and "plunged into the thought river" as she called it. I would stare into space and absently nod my head as if I was talking to somebody invisible. She once demonstrated to me how I looked during those "plunges" and I nearly fell off my chair laughing.
But that December night, I didn't want to laugh. I was tired, I wanted to get to the meeting, listen to whatever it was that I had to listen to, and then go home. That was my plan. So when the bus I was riding in refused to budge from its position after 15 minutes of lingering half-empty at the Ortigas intersection, I sprang from it and sprinted like mad. I found the pavement nearest to the portion of EDSA where flying versions of the one I had just escaped from were picking up passengers. I mourned the loss of an extra ten bucks but I at least had the chance to catch whatever remained of the meeting. I would at least have something to report to my husband, I thought.
The elevator door of the Ortigas MRT station was already closing when I got off my second bus. Being at least 50 pounds overweight, I dreaded the alternative of climbing up those stairs. Nope. Depressed and tired I was, and certainly in no mood to aggravate the condition of my already frazzled nerves by engaging in unwanted strenuous exercise.
Then suddenly, out of nowhere, he emerged. Dressed in a dingy, soot-black oversized T-shirt that ran down to his knees, a small boy pressed the "Up" button with a right index finger that looked like it had been dipped in coal for three hours. In fact, it wasn't just his finger. The boy's whole body was covered with hair-raising grime and filth.
He was jingling some coins in a soda can at me so I dropped a one-peso coin into the slot. Another commuter did the same. I had expected the boy to leave after that but surprisingly, he didn't.
"O, may pera ka na. Ba't di ka pa umalis?" I curtly told the boy. The man behind me in the line spoke a little bit more kindly to him than I did and he said in a light and cheerful manner. "O, alis ka na...Tinatakot mo 'yung mga tao, e."
The boy still refused so I asked why. It was then that I was really able to look at him and I was not prepared for what I saw.
I saw intelligence in those little brown eyes.
"Sasakay po ako kasi tatawid ako sa kabila," he said in a straightforward manner, but with respectful earnestness.
"Nasaan ang tatay mo?" asked the man with the kind demeanor.
"Patay na ang tatay ko."
"Patay na? Sino'ng kasama mo rito?" It was my turn to probe.
"Wala. Ako lang."
So when the elevator door opened once more, in went two awkward creatures. One was dressed in rags, barefoot, and trying to carry an unjust world with dignity on his small, bony shoulders. The other was a mother-ministry worker combo who, barely able to keep her head above water, was fighting to stay afloat and sane in her harried "Christian" world.
I wanted to ignore the boy but found that I could not. So when the elevator door opened and we both got off on the same floor side by side, I finally decided to stop in my tracks, bend down, and talk to him again.
"Gusto mong pumunta sa church?" I asked him more gently now.
"Sa church?" His eyes brightened up with excitement and expectation. "Saan?"
"Doon, o." I smiled as I pointed toward the SM Megamall area. "Sa likod niyan ang church namin."
"Sige, sama ako," he replied.
I didn't know exactly what it was then, but I am now convinced that no one else but the Holy Spirit could have prompted me to say exactly what I said next.
"Sige. Pero bago tayo pumunta sa church, dadaan muna tayo sa Megamall. Bibili tayo ng damit mo tsaka tsinelas."
I had no budget for the extra expense. The only funds I had that night were for transportation and the money that my husband had just given me for new clothes. He specifically insisted that I use it for what it was intended--because he was tired of hearing me whine about my 18th century wardrobe and my sole surviving six-year-old pair of black shoes.
"Hindi ako papapasukin doon," Roel said, worried about the guards at Megamall.
"Papasok tayo, anak. Ako'ng bahala."
So we walked down the overpass all the way to the mall. At times I would ask him to walk on a little bit ahead of me, so that I could keep him in sight. I was quietly shocked by the way he stepped right into murky, spit-filled puddles without making any effort to avoid them.
"Boy, does he need those slippers," I thought.
We went inside Megamall and, as expected, drew stares from practically every person we passed by. Even the guards were hesitant about letting him in. "Bibili lang kami ng damit," I said. So they let us through.
We bought the stuff Roel needed and, thanks to the professional assistance of the sales clerks, the little boy walking beside me started to look exactly what he should look like: a little boy. No more stares from the public after that.
We headed for the exit and crossed the street toward St. Francis Square. I was going in the direction of the CCF entrance when Roel stopped. He was riveted to the spot, starry-eyed.
"Ate, ang ganda!" he said to me. "'Yung tubig pabalik-balik lang, ano?"
"Oo, anak. Pabalik-balik lang."
I had passed by that fountain several times in my life and it was only at that moment that I had really seen it.
Lesson learned: To be able to see the beauty of the world around you, you need to look at things through the eyes of a child.
I allowed him to drink in everything for as long as he liked. When he was ready to go, I led him toward the CCF entrance.
Roel rode with me in the elevator, fascinated by the newness of it. Everything was all so bright and shiny to him.
I then showed him the worship hall which was already filled with people. The small group leaders' meeting was already going on and I, obviously, wasn't going to be able to attend. I then started looking for someone from the Backstreet Kids Ministry so that I could turn Roel over to him. I found no one.
And then right at that moment these words, which I now believe to be from the Spirit of God. crept into my brain: What are you doing? Why are you looking for someone from Backstreet Kids? Your are the head of a ministry to the urban poor. YOU take care of Roel yourself.
I became frantic after that realization so what I did was to call for help. The first face that popped into my mind was my friend Leah's.
Lei, may napulot akong bata. Puntahan mo kami dito sa Megamall. God blessed that text message and within minutes, Leah arrived. We quickly brought Roel to MacDonald's, ordered food for him, and asked him about his background. Then we started talking to him about Jesus.
And lo and behold. After Leah shared the Gospel with Roel and asked him if he wanted to accept Jesus into his heart, the little boy said yes. Roel closed his eyes tightly, repeated every word that came out of Leah's mouth, and emerged a new creation.
It was just awesome. The power of God to transform attitudes and change destinies is just something beyond words. A few hours before, I had dreaded standing next to the boy. But as I sat across him and watched him turn his life over to Christ, I wanted to hug him and take care of him forever. My heart ached with the longing to bring him home and raise him as one of my own.
"Anak, makinig ka," I said to him. "Tatandaan mo ito: Kahit ano'ng mangyari sa buhay mo, kahit gaano kapangit ang nakikita mo sa paligid mo, may nagmamahal sa iyo. Naiintindihan mo ba? Mahal na mahal ka ni Jesus. Huwag mong kalilimutan."
Roel nodded. I then thought of all the things he told us. He left home because his stepfather enjoyed beating him up whenever he came home from school. His mother had had three "husbands" and bore children from each. Roel wanted to stay in school but he could no longer endure life at home in Bulacan. So one day he rode on a bus and made the trip to Manila. He survived those long months alone by begging from commuters, selling plastic bottles at junk shops, and sleeping on sidewalks.
Leah and I brought Roel to ABS-CBN's Bantay Bata 163 office. It was almost 11 o'clock at night. At first the social workers there didn't want to take him in. "We only accept physically abused children, not street kids," one of them said apologetically. "You should have brought him to the police station nearest to the area where you found him."
"But he told us that he was afraid of policemen," I explained. "We only want to make sure that he doesn't run away again and that he has a decent place to sleep in. Can you not take him in temporarily and then turn him over to DSWD in the morning?"
After much pleading and after we introduced ourselves as Christian ministry workers, the Bantay Bata staff finally agreed to take Roel in. They asked us to sign some forms and within minutes we got a certificate that said we had just turned over to them that night a lost child named Roel.
We were not allowed to say goodbye to Roel anymore. His next stop the following morning was DSWD Pasig's Bahay Aruga. I was able to visit him there after a month but did not like what I saw. He was practically dressed in rags and he didn't look happy at all. We talked, read a children's book together, and then finally walked toward the door. It was then that he told me of his one wish.
"Gusto ko pong mag-aral," he said. There was much sadness in his voice. I looked around me. The house parent on duty was busily rounding up the other kids for what seemed like a tutorial class. Her voice was not very kind. I immediately sensed what Roel was trying to tell me.
"Makakapag-aral ka," I reassured him. "Babalik ako. Hintayin mo ako, ha?"
Roel nodded.
"O sige, alis na 'ko." I gave him a hug, determined to do what I could to get him out of that place.
"Sino iyan, nanay mo?" Another "inmate" broke the silence between us. Roel said nothing. I could not help but notice the uncertainty that was written all over his face.
I spent the next couple of weeks working with a DSWD social worker towards the acquisition of a license to temporarily adopt Roel as a foster parent. But before things could go any further, I received the sad news:
Roel had bolted from his prison of a children's home and was nowhere to be found.
I was on the phone for days, trying to get help in locating him. I walked through streets and dark alleys at night, asking for information about him, hoping that I might meet some little boy who knew where he was. None of my efforts were fruitful.
To this day, I still pray for Roel. I sometimes worry that he might have fallen into the wrong hands. It's been three years. I put my hope in the fact that one night in
December 2006, Roel prayed a little prayer with me, asking Jesus to come into his heart. I may have tried to save him from the blackness of street life and failed. But I know Someone who can never fail. That Someone came into Roel's heart one night and brightened up the boy's eternal future. I believe He will be true to what He says in His Word.
The LORD Jesus will neither leave nor forsake my little boy; not now, not ever. That divine promise is what keeps me hopeful during the day, and sleeping soundly at night.
Sleep tight, Roel. I shall see you again one day; if not in this life, then surely in the next. I promise you that there will be no more fear, no more pain, no more tears for you in the place where we are going. Everything is going to be all right.
*****
