Author: Erik de Kievit

Saturday, I brought some kids home with our YWAM van. They had been going to the teen club and I took them back home to San Nicolas. San Nicolas isn’t exactly safe at night, but hey, the kids lived there, and I was eager to help the teen club leaders. So, I went, with a full van on the way, crisscrossing San Nicolas. One street even smaller than the next and even though the teenagers regularly mixed up left and right, we got them all safely to their destination.

When they were all taken home, I stopped the bus to see where exactly I was. But when I looked up, I saw a grinning teenager with a spud lifted walking towards us, coming out from one of the gardens. Behind him came two more grown-up boys who were clearly on the warpath together. I just hit my gas pedal and spinned away. Fortunately, we were back on familiar ground at the end of the street. Thank you, Lord. I learned my lesson. Next time don’t stop in an unfamiliar street.

Every Saturday we go to the Hub. This community center then opens its doors to people who need it. Often people come without a home or without food. Occasionally there are also women who survive for their families. By going there and having coffee together, we hear their stories, and they have a good moment. They also get bread, soup and some fruit or chips and that helps to take the heaviness of life away for a while.

Take John^[1]. He uses drugs. He is honest about it and does his best to stop. But he hasn’t been able to for years. He likes to come over for the company and something to eat. He likes to have a conversation about God over a cup of coffee and think deeply about it. For example, he told me a few weeks ago that the problem in Aruba is that people no longer set their hearts on God. So, I asked him: “You are Aruban, you know much better what is needed here than I do. So, what do you think it takes to get Aruban people to turn their hearts back to Jesus?” He didn’t know the answer right away, but he did think about it he said, because it was a good question. We drank our coffee, I prayed for him, and we went our ways. He was back two weeks ago. He remembered the question and was eager to discuss it further. No, he didn’t know the answer yet. But thinking about it together also helped. I hope to think that it was clear to him that Aruba and himself need Jesus very much.

^[1] Not his real name.

I think she was about eleven years old. She was brought back into the church hall by her arm. No longer tenable in the crowded Sunday school. She was placed in the front on one of the few empty seats, all by herself. Less than five seconds later she was already signaling backwards to her friend who had also been given a special place. In the minutes that followed, she continued to signal, despite all the actions of the adults. She simply didn’t think of what other people thought about the situation. I decided to sit next to her. She didn’t want to hear about it and turned around. A moment later she tried to signal again, but I was clear towards her and so she turned her back to me again. When I wasn’t paying attention for a moment, she ran back to tell tanchi^[1] that she was going back to Sunday school. But tanchi was resolute, so she sat down next to me again, picking at a wound on her arm. I asked her if it hurt. “yes” she said. I said I was sorry. She looked at me and I looked calmly back into her dark eyes. She saw that I meant it. I asked: “What’s your name?”. “Sarah”^[2]she said. I said: “My name is Erik”. She looked at me again and I looked back calmly. The pastor said “Amen” and told us the children would sing another song they had learned in Sunday school. She was allowed to join, and I disappeared to the back row again. As she stood there in the front, she saw me standing in the back. Suddenly she smiled and waved at me. And I, I smiled and waved back gratefully.

Many of the children from San Nicolas grow up without perspective and without parental authority in their lives. Father is not present, and mother works hard to make ends meet. Children are often alone and go from household to household, sometimes with grandma, sometimes with an aunt or a neighbor. One of the churches here has a kid’s ministry. Every Sunday a number of these children are picked up to come to church and Sunday school. We love coming here and we hope to make a difference by being there.

^[1] Tanchi is Papiamento for aunt.
^[2] Sarah is not her real name.
Image by Antoine de San Sebastian from Pixabay