El Nino Sin Un Nombre (The Boy Without a Name)

El Nino Sin Un Nombre (The Boy Without a Name) - Sun. 4/14/12

     He came much later than the other kids and unlike most of the kids who came with friends or siblings, he came alone. He didn’t play the games, and he barely said a word. On the way home I was thinking about him, and I didn’t even know his name.

     It was Sunday morning and Jesse, Shaquanah and I got to help out with the Campos Blancos (White Fields) program with the local church here in San Salvador. Campos Blancos is an outreach program where the church brings Sunday school to the kids. They go into the surrounding communities and have Sunday school, singing songs, playing games, having a snack, and of course teaching God’s Word. There are a few different places throughout the area where we go. I think I was told there are about nine different Campos Blancos groups. While Jesse and Shaquanah went to one area with a few people from the church, I went with another group to a different area. And talk about jumping right into the fire – my Spanish was tested a lot since everyone else in the group spoke only Spanish (or at most, a minimal amount of English).

     Leading the Campos Blancos group I was in was Sonya with a young man named Elga and another young man helping. Elga and I arrived at the soccer court where we were holding the Sunday school. The other teachers and the kids drifted in, many of them with siblings, cousins, or friends. They were playing games, we sang some songs, and then we played another game. I sat and watched the game because I had twisted my ankle the previous day and didn’t want to get it any worse than it already was. There were a few kids sitting and watching too, and I would talk with them sometimes – or at least try.

     Then I saw him. A boy ten years old entered the court area, walked over to the seats, and sat down. I said hi to him and asked him what his name was – no answer. He just sat there. One of the helpers came over and tried to get him to talk to me, but he still wouldn’t. I figured that maybe a gringo (foreigner) like me might have been intimidating to him. I tried joking around with him, asking him if maybe he didn’t have a name. No effect. I asked him if he wanted to play the game. Still no response. So we just sat there. Some girls came over and I started talking with them and shortly the Bible lesson started. As the lesson was beginning, I noticed that the boy looked upset. I asked him why he was sad, but to no surprise, he still wouldn’t respond.

     Despite the lack of verbal communication, the interesting thing that I did notice just before the Bible lesson and during it is that this boy that seemed so upset and so closed off would often scoot closer to me and turn his body toward me as if he enjoyed my company and found some comfort in sitting next to me. My heart went out to the boy and I offered up a prayer for him. I knew I didn’t know what was bothering him or why he was so quiet; even if he did speak to me I wondered how much I would really help him with my limited amount of Spanish. But there was no doubt there was something bothering this kid. After the Bible lesson, we passed out a snack to the kids and as they ate many of the kids were asking me how to say certain words in English. I also tried to talk to the ten year old boy again and tried multiple more times in vain to try to get him to at least tell me his name.

     After snack, Sunday school was over. I tried asking Elga if he knew the name of the boy, but I think my question got lost in my poor Spanish because he seemed confused by the way I worded the question and couldn’t answer me. As we were walking through the neighborhood back to the car, many of the kids were still around us, saying goodbye. The path we were walking down was narrow and I felt small hands push me aside to try to get by. It was the boy without the name again, and he hurried off. I don’t know where he was going and I don’t know where he went (probably back home) but that was the last time I saw him – but it was far from the last time I would think about him. I thought about him on the ride back home and I’m still thinking about him as I’m writing this. The good news is that I’m going to be working with that group of kids each Sunday and I’m sure I’ll see him next week.

     I still wonder what the boy’s name is, but I wonder even more why he seemed so quiet, sad, and closed off. Perhaps I’m reading too much into it. I realize that chances are the boy was just having a bad morning; maybe his parents forced him to come to Campos Blancos; maybe he was just tired. But even as I realize that whatever was bothering the boy could have been quite trivial, I also realize that it might not be. Either way, this nameless kid made quite the impression on me and God has put him on my heart. So until next Sunday when I’ll hopefully see him again, the boy without a name will be in my prayers.

(For those of you who are praying for me, if you want something specific to be praying for, you could be praying for this boy, that he'd know Christ if he doesn't already, that he'd experience the love and joy of the Lord, and that whatever was bothering him, that the Lord would use it in his life to bring him closer to Him. The boy's in the picture above.)