I remember the first time I saw him. He filed onto the inner-city bus along with the others. He must have been about four-years-old. He had the face of an angel with soulful dark brown eyes, black curly hair, and a mischievous grin. His eyes made it seem as though he could see through anyone. And we just knew him as C.J.
C.J. was the kind of child I couldn't stay mad at for long. He was wild and out of control, screaming when other inner-city workers tried to restrain him. It was almost too much to see him cry. So we stopped restraining him.
C.J. reminded me of an elf--he was quiet and sly as his brain chewed over what new mischief he could cause. After the deed was done, he would laugh and laugh. One thing about C.J., he was always laughing, even if he was in trouble.
I don't remember when C.J. found his way into my heart. I had just started working with him since no one else seemed able to control him. He soon began to trust me. When we would walk around the church, he would put his small hand in mine and at inner-city, he refused to leave my side. Every week I could scarcely wait for Friday nights. We rode the bus into center city Allentown and I would always save a spot on my lap for C.J. He would bound onto the bus and tell me about his week. I would hold him close and stroke his curly head.
I recall the time my best friend
Emily and I were teaching the first and second
grade class. C.J. wasn't in either of these
grades but he came to my class anyway because he liked me. No one
would refute that because at least
I got him to behave. Emily
was playing with C.J. when she noticed some large cuts on
his back. We studied C.J.'s back and
then met each others' eyes. Two words were on our lips, but we couldn't
bring ourselves to say them: child
abuse. C.J. turned to us and instructed
us not to touch his back because it hurt.
He then gathered himself and went off
to play (actually to steal toys from the other kids) as if nothing had
happened. I simply stared at him
in amazement.
Sometimes after a long night a church, C.J. would fall asleep in my lap. One night I wished he would. His four-year-old mind was thinking. C.J. told me about how his father beat his small body with a vacuum cleaner. I shuddered at the thought with tears swelling up in my eyes. I held C.J. protectively hoping to ease the blow. I wish the vacuum cleaner would strike me, not him. It just wasn't fair. Please, God, he's only four-years-old. I began to get mad at God...that's when C.J.'s eyes met mine. As if reading my mind, he said, “But Jesus was there. I love Jesus.”
The child humbled me. He had seen what I failed to see. God taught me a lesson I'll never forget. God used a ragamuffin inner-city kid to show me how Jesus walks with us in all situations.
Two and a half years ago, C.J. moved away. I heard that this past summer he was up here for a few months, but I didn't know until it was too late. I don't know where he went, but I miss him. Maybe he was an angel who came to teach me about love. If any of you see a little angel named C.J., send him back to me.
--Amy Sondova
tabletoftheheart@yahoo.com