He's asleep. Curled up on the hard concrete as people step around him on the sidewalk.

Busses and cars whizz by as the city wakes up, ignoring the street kids laying on street corners and doorsteps. It’s become normal in this city to see little kids and teenagers with their dirty shorts and bare-feet holding bottles of glue to their noses.

The terrors of the night before are unnoticed by the people walking by. It would take stopping to wake up the tall, lanky teenager in order to see the cuts on his chest just peeping out from under his T-shirt. The streets are not a safe place.

Especially at night.

When we find him a few days later, the cuts are scabbing over. He pulls off his shirt, and we read the word cut into his chest. “SOMBRA” (shadow). Whoever did this cut their own nickname into his chest to teach him a lesson. I gently clean the cuts, and my heart is racing as I think of that moment. Someone pinning him down as they cut. 

Sombra. The reality of the streets. The darkness and abuse these kids face over and over again.

 It feels too dark. Shadows.

Once again, my heart is crying out to God. “Show me where you are in these shadows!” 

And here in a seemingly dark place, the light pierces the dark places. I look up from the cuts and find on this brave boy's face, a smile. His eyes meet mine, and he laughs as we chat while I finish giving first aid. He pulls his shirt back on and gives me a hug. 

“Gracias mami!” he says smiling.

A ray of light. Hope. In what at times feels like overpowering darkness… God reminds me that He is shining His light, and these kids are understanding that they are loved and not alone. 

There is darkness. But there is a Light that has overcome and defeated every shadow. What a gift it is to be a reflection of the light of Jesus and get to walk into these dark places knowing that where the light enters, the darkness must flee.