As mentioned in my last post about the Denver Street School, there is something about that place for me. When I’m there, I cannot get away from myself.

The other day Greg, their chaplain of many years who now serves as chaplain at Joshua Station, invited me to share lunch with the kids at the school. I was pleased to find that so many of them remembered me from the time I spoke at chapel. Even more, they remembered my message. We enjoyed each other’s company and talked about life, school, and old cars—they were interested in my 1966 Chevy Corvair. With them, I solidified plans for a series of classes where I will invite the students to do a “Life Story” graffiti project (look for posts on that soon).

As we were leaving we asked about one student in particular who was not there. Having been a part of his life for some time, Greg and I decided to stop by his house nearby. This young man’s story is like many others at the Street School. Broken home, delinquency, substance abuse, gang activity, and the list goes on. I’ve had the privilege to hang out with him before, so I was excited to see him. Upon our arrival to his home, however, the brokenness overwhelmed the atmosphere. That’s where I found myself saying, “Damn, not again.”

When we showed up, we could tell there had been an argument that ended with him running into his room. His parents were telling him that at age 14 it was time for him to move on, get out, and find a place to live elsewhere. This family is fairly new to him, since his mother had abandoned him most of his life and left him to be raised by his aunt. His new stepfather was someone he’d never met before. This family’s attempt to come together and heal is a valiant effort to redeem and heal broken stories—but the effort seemed to be unraveling.

As we sat there while the mother wept, the father was forced to consider the welfare of other younger children in the home being placed in harm’s way due to gang activity. I was reminded of my own story. I can recall my mother weeping, my father’s pride, and my own rage. I was sent out of my home at age 14. Or, it could also be said that I stubbornly dared myself to be sent. I am convinced now that in stories like these, everybody hurts. There are no winners when families break apart over and over again. I know now that at every level everyone is affected, and no one is free from the pain.

Sitting there I could feel through my pores the pain of every person in that family, and I left asking myself the question, “What do I do with this Lord? What is the Good News here?” The parents had given their life over to Christ and were inviting God into their world to bring about change. I wondered about our desire for God to fix everything, and then I wondered why he doesn’t. I thought to myself that it would not only be “good news” if God fixed our lives, but it would be “great news, wonderful news, magnificent news.” I have so many questions seething deep within my soul, yet very few answers.

For now, I lament over the thousands, no, millions of families all over the world who are experiencing the same thing at this very moment as you read this post. For now, I will continue to wrestle with what the “Good News” looks like in hard places where “fixing things” isn’t a realistic option. For now, I will show up at the Street School and teach the class I committed to. For now, I’ll ask you to pray for this young man. Jesus said, “Whatever you do unto the least of these, you do unto me,” so we do this unto Jesus, and as you pray for him and his family please consider referring to him as “Jesus.” Thank you for your prayers.

Sam Trujillo
always feels pain
never turns down healing
sees life everywhere