Liz's story: The Basketball Court and Feeding Five Thousand  Liz that day
I walked up to one of the nationals talking with a young boy around 12 years. This boy was different than most kids I had seen because his demeanor was troubled, his facial expression sharp. The national was telling him that he was not going to be able to get lunch because he did not have a ticket stub. This was true of course. Families with stubs to participate in the outreach had been waiting days for their meal and groceries. They also would be getting counseling. This ensures the locals are not just being fed through their stomachs but also spiritually. The boy explained he had been at the basketball court early in the morning and had helped the group unload the supplies. The worker apologized for not knowing he would want something in return. The boy looked bitter. I was just a foreigner, barely understanding what was being said, and certainly no power to override the rules. If we give to one, we must hold ourselves accountable to feed them all. When Jesus and the disciples handed out the five loaves of barely and two fishes to the five thousand, did everyone get an equal share? He had them sit in groups, did everyone get as much as they wanted? It says everyone did. Out of five thousand people, could one have waited just a bit more? Maybe they didn’t want to take too much at first because they didn’t know if there would be enough to go around. Or maybe a mother fed her children first. Perhaps someone came to the crowd late, after the basket had been passed; so similar to this boy. I left the boy trying not to be upset. I read about the disciples constantly not believing in the bigger picture. Many times they worried about small details. When hiccups in the system occur, did Jesus tell the disciples to continue loving on the others? So many kids were there waiting and ready for me to play and love on them. I told myself to suck it up. But alas I could not, my heart was broken. (The boy is in the striped shirt.) I dried my tears and spoke with the pastor who was also saddened by the all too familiar dilemma. This happens at every outreach; someone comes late, being allured by the aroma for the food and the noise of the crowd, the aroma of Christ. I was given permission to tell the boy to stay until the end of the outreach to receive any left over groceries. But he was no where to be found. He had been so bitter; I prayed the Lord would bring him back to the basketball court and that he would not be hurt by this Christian outreach. He seemed to be one to harbor hurt and anger. I wondered what else he had been through in his life. After a while I spotted him. Once I told him the good news through hand motions and an interpreter he began playing with his fiends again. When the outreach was over I saw him once more as we walked out of the basketball court. This time he sat on a ledge prying through his bag of groceries. I patted him on the back and smiled. I am not sure which one of us was more satisfied. Sometimes these kids seemed like adults, dealing with such grown up issues like where the next meal is coming from. But as a twelve year old boy ran after our van yelling bye and waving his hands with a big smile, I knew they are still children at heart, just as they should be. 
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