Featured Story

A Journal Of Mercy
September 2002

Written by Sue Leak, who directs the Victory Center in Morelia, Mexico, a ministry to street girls sponsored by Arms of Love International.

Wednesday ... July ...

I'm tired, it's been such a long day. The girls have bickered and fought all day long. It's taken them a long time to settle down and go to sleep. I have just crawled into bed and am snuggling down when there is a pounding on the door. Who could it possibly be this late at night?

I cautiously open the door to find the mom of one of the girls standing there in the doorway. It is obvious that she is incredibly drunk and I would normally turn her away, but something deep down inside of me causes me to stand back and let her stagger across the threshold. She throws her arms around me, buries her face against my shoulder wailing and sobbing. I really can't make much sense out of what she is saying so I guide her into the kitchen and begin to pour food and coffee down her, trying to sober her up.

We've been at it for about a half an hour when there's another pounding on the door. Who could that be?!!

I cautiously open the door to find one of the government social workers standing there with a young girl at her side. "I've come to bring you Nancy," she says. I am too tired to worry about whether or not Nancy is the type of kid that will function in our house. "Leave her here with me for the night," I tell the social worker, "and I'll come by the office in the morning to talk to you about it." She smiles gratefully, waving as she drives off.

Nancy smells like she has never bathed in her whole life!! There is obviously something crawling in her short-cropped head of hair. I try not to get too close but Nancy is determined to stick as close to me as she can. She is hungry and I invite her into the kitchen with my other guest and set about fixing her something to eat. After just a few short minutes with Nancy it is clear that she is mentally retarded.

The smell of stale alcohol and body odor is overwhelming in the small space, but I am too tired to invite them to bathe. I seek out clean sheets, prepare two beds and put them in a room together. I have just settled down in bed when the mother begins another drunken wail. I get out of bed to comfort her and quiet her. I spend most of the night on my knees at her bedside praying for her, for Nancy, and most of all, praying that the precious daughter of this drunken mother will not wake up and discover her mother in this state.

Thursday ... July ...

The girls are in a very good mood today. My little girl is thrilled to see her mother. Her mother is embarrassed and trying to avoid me when at all possible. I go by the government offices to talk to the social worker about Nancy. Unfortunately, I must take all the girls with me because they have a psychological evaluation there today. Nancy almost "wanders off" a couple of times. It is hard to keep track of her.

The case worker tells me that Nancy has been on the streets most of her life. No one wants her, except the people that want to exploit her, selling her as a prostitute. I agree to keep her with us at the Victory Center.

The psychological evaluation does not go very well in several aspects. There is no privacy and it seems that the therapist is more concerned with buying shampoo from a catalogue or silver from a door to door salesman than attending to the needs of the girls. Also, my little girl's mom has come with me to the government office because I am uncomfortable leaving her in our house alone. So the therapist calls her in with the daughter and spends about an hour ridiculing the mother in front of her daughter and destroying any illusion that the daughter has built up that her mother can or is changing. The mother is presented before her daughter as a prostitute and a drunkard.

Lord, I have made so many mistakes today. My little girl is emotionally crushed. She is angry, hurt and lashing out at each of us here in the house. I understand her pain and am angry at the therapist for her insensitivity and derogatory treatment of the mother. I finally grab my little girl and hold her against me. She fights me with all her strength. She bites, kicks, and lashes out in every way she can. And I pray for wisdom and strength to endure the rage. Finally, she collapses against me sobbing. She cries herself to sleep in my arms. I carry her to bed and stay by her side, praying that her heart will heal, a healing that only God can accomplish.

It is past midnight and I am waiting for the arrival of some dear friends from Arkansas. They are driving down to bring us a precious cargo of donations: medicines, blankets, sheets, towels, school supplies and such.

Things that we can definitely buy here but are expensive and often of very poor quality. At one o'clock a.m., my cell phone rings. They are finally here in the city. Now the trick is to get them from where they are to where I am. I give them directions that I think will get them to me and tell them that I will wait on the street outside of the house so that they know where to stop.

In the daytime our neighborhood looks like any other nice quiet place. But some time around 8 or 9 pm it turns into the city's red light district. I have met many interesting people living in this neighborhood. Tonight, there are five transvestites camped out about a half a block away. They see me in my doorway and come to visit. "Hola, Susan!" "How's life?" "What are you doing?" etc. I laughingly strike up a conversation of how incredible it is that they can look so much like women. They give me some outrageous and even torturous sounding tips on how to remove body hair, etc. I see some of my other neighbors peaking out of their windows and wonder what they must think. An interested "client" drives by and my "friends" wander off to see what else the night might hold for them.

My cell phone rings, I have gotten my friends from Arkansas thoroughly lost but they have wisely returned to the gas station from where they first called me. "Better that you grab a taxi and ask him to bring you to this address," I tell them. "Just follow him here in your own car and I will be in the doorway of the house waiting for you."

As I wait, I get three cars that slow down and ask how much I cost. I think they must be stupid and blind. I am standing in the doorway wearing flip-flops, ragged sweats and an oversize shirt. My hair is standing on end and my face is scrubbed free of all make-up. I have not slept more than a few hours in the last couple of days and I know that I look horrible. I ignore them but deep down inside I start to laugh. How about that, even at my worst I get offers here in the middle of the red light district. Then I sober on the thought of how perverted and lost our world has become. Lord, have mercy on us all.

There is so much happening down here. God is doing an amazing work in my life and in the lives of our girls. Just this week I became incredibly ill. I was so sick that it even hurt to breathe. My little girls circled me, laid hands on me and prayed for me. What faith they have!! Their discovery of a walk with God is a constant challenge and refreshing to my own walk. And you can imagine their joy when I got up in the morning feeling so much better (not perfect ... but better!).