Beautiful Boy

As weird as it sounds, the Mexican-American boy named Jorge is one of the most beautiful, special people I have ever had the honor to meet. I am not one to call boys beautiful but his soul is exceptionally special in my eyes. He is currently twenty years old, approximately one day older than me, and moved to Matamorous from Brownsville, Texas to sell crack to make more money for his family. Dropped out of school and everything. When I met him we were both eighteen. I met him during my first mission trip to Matamorous Mexico with the AIM program during the summer of 2006. My youth group and I were assigned to a colony along with a few other groups and everyday would be something new. We heard through the grape vine that there was a crack shack along the side of the colony towards the back and that we should be careful. Me, being who I am, disregarded that fact. In my mind, we should focus on that particular place without forgetting the rest of course, but pay special attention to this uneasy situation. The local pastor of that colony had been trying to get through to the owner and dealers at the shack but hadn’t gotten very far.  On one of our rounds of the colony, I spotted the shack and saw a young man sitting on a rickety old lawn chair looking in our direction. From where I was, which was around 200 feet away, he had dark skin (his shirt was off) black curly hair and jeans on. Something complelled me to make my way over there and talk to him. He didn’t look at all what I pictured he would. I told Richard, my youth pastor, that I wanted to go over there and talk to him. He was VERY hesitant and tried to convince me to go into another direction but he knows that once my mind is set there is no changing it. Finally he gave in and our little group walked through the mud over to the young man. As we got closer, the feeling to help this boy rew stronger and stronger. When we reached him, not positive that he knew English, I stuck my hand out with a huge smile and yelled “HI I’M ASHLEY! WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” Clearly he knew English. He smiled, put his hand in mine, and said “Jorge.” I knew right then and there that he did NOT belong in this situation and that I was going to do everything in my power to help him out of it. He had a sort of innocense and naivety that ripped my heart in two. His passion was soccer and he wanted to grow up to be a professional soccer player. Coincidentialy his father was American and moved to Georgia, which is where I am from. We had our little small talk and then I gave him one of the pamphlets we had been instructed to hand out to everybody we met. I insisted that he join us in church the next night and I promised him a seat right next to me. He said he would try to make it. So we said out goodbyes and left. Later on that day, I saw him going into a hut with a pack of crack in his hand and saw how uneasy he was. I looked him straight in the eye and smiled saying “I can’t wait until tomorrow!” He smiled and proceeded into the hut. Even later that day, I saw him from opposite ends of the little street and yelled him name smiling and waving yelling “SEE YOU TOMORROW!” I saw his head flop back and lazily wave his hand in the air. Clearly he got the point. The next day I was so excited to see him I made my way straight over to the hut, accompanied by a boy of course. We got there and I asked him how his night went and made sure to point out that I couldn’t wait until church that night. I told him that if he didn’t come, I was going to march over there and drag his behind in. He laughed and agreed. As the day ended and church time approached, I was waiting outside for him to come. It was around 5 after the time it started and I was starting to get antsy. I asked one of the chaperones, Mr. Redgrave, of our trip to escort me to the hut to pick him up. He agreed and I started walking. We got to the corner where you turn to head towards the shack and I saw him standing there with a big man signing some form of papers. Jorge looked in my direction and told me to wait a few minutes. I turned around and patiently waited. A few minuites later I turned back around and my heart fluttered at the sight. He was running as fast as he could right towards me with the biggest smile on his face. He said “I told them today is my last day of bad work! I can go back home and finish school now!” I gave him a huge hug and congratulated him them proceeded into the tiny church. As promised, there was a seat next to me for him and if you could have seen the look on all of the locals faces, including the pastors, you would have smiled as big as I did, and I’m not even sure that’s possible. We started the service off by singing some songs and clapping. Soon a few of the people got up and started to get up and clap their hands high in the air while dancing around the room. He looked at me and asked if he could do it to. I told him sure and we got up to dance. He was so happy. After some singing and dancing, the pasor started to preech. He was listening very intently and I saw his eyes start to water. When the pastor opened the alter up for people to come forward, Jorge looked at me and I asked him if he wanted to go up there. He shook his head and I grabbed his hand and made out way to the front. We knelt and started to pray. I started to feel him shake and I looked over out of the corner of my eye and saw tear drop stains on his tattered jeans. At that moment my heart just burst and I was so happy. He was feeling the love of God and I knew then that he was going to be ok. At the end, the pastor and my youth pastor started talking to him while I stood at the side and Jorge gave his life to Christ. He said that he would like to help with the construction and that he would be back the next day to help. We said our goodbyes and I think all night I prayed for his safety. I was so scared that the devil would come and try to bring harm upon him for his achievements and break it all up again. But I knew that he was in God’s hands and that he was going to be fine. The next day at the site, I waited for Jorge to show up. It was 30 minutes after the time we told him to show up and he still hadn;t arrived. I started to get in a state of panic dreading the unknown of wether he made it home safe the previous night. Everyone assured me he was fine but I wasn’t going to be happy until I saw him with my own eyes. Finally he showed up with a small backpack and handed it to me. Inside was a folder with pictures of him, his e-mail address, and a worn out wooden plaque that says, happiness is having someone to care for. On the back of one of his soccer pictures he wrote, “I don’t know how to write your name so that’s why it is in blank. But keep this and remember me because I’ll be waiting you or some thing like that. You’re special for me.” I smiled and thanked him numerous times then proceeded to get to work washing cement buckets. I begged my youth pastor to figure out some way for him to go back with us because I didn’t want him to live there anymore. He pointed out to me that Jorge wouldn;t want to leave his family and for me to get that crazy idea out of my head. Still today we keep in touch through e-mail and he has called me a few times asking when I was going back to Matamorous. He went back to highschool and started soccer again and is having a great time. In the process of helping change someone elses life, mine had gotten changed. Jorge will always have a special place in my heart and will never be forgotten. I now use this testimony of Jorge to tell groups of juvenille boys that there is hope and that there is a God that cares about them and that no matter the situation, there is always the one and only God standing by their side.