He couldn't have been over six years old.
Dirty face, barefooted, torn T-shirt, matted hair.
He wasn't too different from the other hundred
thousand or so street orphans that roam Rio de Janeiro.
I was walking to get a cup of coffee at a nearby cafe when
he came up behind me. With my thoughts somewhere
between the task I had just finished and the class I was
about to teach, I scarcely felt the tap, tap, tap on my
hand. I stopped and turned. Seeing no one, I continued
on my way. I'd only taken a few steps, however, when I
felt another insistent tap, tap, tap. This time I stopped
and looked downward. There he stood. His eyes were
whiter because of his grubby cheeks and coal-black hair.
"Pao, senhor?" (Bread, sir?)
Living in Brazil, one has daily opportunities to buy a
candy bar or sandwich for these little outcasts. It's the
least one can do. I told him to come with me and we
entered the sidewalk cafe. "Coffee for me and something
tasty for my little friend." The boy ran to the pastry
counter and made his choice. Normally, these youngsters
take the food and scamper back out into the street without
a word. But this little fellow surprised me.
The cafe consisted of a long bar: one end for pastries
and the other for coffee. As the boy was making his choice,
I went to the other end of the bar and began drinking my
coffee. Just as I was getting my derailed train of thought
back on track, I saw him again. He was standing in the cafe
entrance, on tiptoe, bread in hand, looking in at the people.
"What's he doing?" I thought.
Then he saw me and scurried in my direction. He came and
stood in front of me about eye-level with my belt buckle.
The little Brazilian orphan looked up at the big American
missionary, smiled a smile that would have stolen your
heart and said, "Obrigado." (Thank You.) Then, nervously
scratching the back of his ankle with his big toe, he
added, "Muito obrigado." (Thank You very much.)
All of a sudden, I had a crazy craving to buy him the
whole restaurant.
But before I could say anything, he turned and scampered
out the door.
As I write this, I'm still standing at the coffee bar,
my coffee is cold, and I'm late for my class. But I still
feel the sensation that I felt half an hour ago.
And I'm pondering this question: If I am so moved by a
street orphan who says Thank You for a piece of bread,
How much more is God moved when I pause to
Thank Him ...
Really Thank Him ...
For Saving My Soul?
Max Lucado
Marilyn's Hideaway ~
Cancer Site ~
Children ~
Computers
Critters ~
Domestic Violence ~
Good Old Days ~
Holidays
Humor ~
Inspirationals ~
Katrina ~
Miscellaneous
Patriotic ~
Poetry ~
Women ~
Norma Marek's Poetry
|
MIDI
Performed by
Yuko Ohigashi
This beautiful midi entitled For
The Children Of The World,
is an
original composition and performed by
Yuko Ohigashi.
It retains her sole
©copyright and is used with her full
permission.
Visit her wonderful
site HERE.
©May
7, 2003
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