This is from my second book Seven Days now available on Amazon Breakfast with Jesus About seven years old is my guess, slightly darker skin than a typical child beggar, and painfully skinny. Hes probably spent most of his life begging for money and food outside the McDonald’s in downtown Cebu City where I’m having my morning coffee. A beautiful child, he is without shoes and dressed in a shabby Tee shirt and shorts. Its hard not to press a coin into the hand of one of these kids when they approach you. Survival has taught them to make their pitch with a need written across their faces that cuts like a knife into the heart. He knows his place is always outside the glass walled McDonald’s and now he is pressed against the support column and the ceiling-to-floor glass wall by my table close to the door. He carries a “toy” he has made from two sticks fashioned into a cross and tied with string with which he taps lightly on the window for my attention. I will later learn his name is Jesus. On a previous occasion I had watched an affluent family of four, sitting at this same table, appealed to by an even younger child on the outside. Father and mother sat with their two children. The parents were well dressed as a meal at McDonald’s is considered the same treat for the family as it would be in the U.S. for the children. I watched the scene unfold. The mother was moved by the plight of the tiny boy pressed against the window next to their table. She knew his need was real and her daughter, not much older than the beggar child, was sent to give him food. The girl knew what to do and took the box to the door where the beggar waited to receive the gift with open hands. Knowing only too well he did not belong inside he waited on the step. So beautiful in her pretty dress with her long black shiny be-ribboned hair, she must have seemed like an angel to the beggar child with his tussled hair and worn out clothes. He stood barefoot on the hot concrete as she handed him the box of food and even with this act of kindness reinforced the rule that he lived on the outside, that the street was his place. The rule is unspoken and in some ways understandable. Having money and food begged from a client sitting at a table would not make good business sense for McDonald’s. So an uneasy agreement is arrived at that is acceptable to everyone. Jesus is so close behind the glass as to be at my table, he taps with the wooden cross and implores me with his eyes. Finally I relent and rising from my chair point to him and signal he is to wait. At the counter I order and pay for a breakfast for “dining in.” As I wait for the order to be filled, I look across and see he is watching me carefully – face pressed against the glass. I carry the tray of food back and place it on the table next to the window. He knows the food is for him but he cant process what is happening as I point to the food and point to him. “I cant come inside,” his face is telling me. “Its not allowed.” Again, I point to the food and then to him. “Its your food, if you want it come inside and sit down.” Jesus struggles with this impossible concept, which breaks a rule he has known all is life. That he might come inside and sit at the table is not an option he even considered. He is in anguished torment. Again I point to him and to the food. Pushing against the door to open it just enough to half-body his way in, he appeals with his hand for me to bring the food to him like everyone else does. A staff member on cleaning duties seeing Jesus wedged half inside the door asks him whats going on; listening for a moment he looks to me with raised eyebrows that ask for the “why.” I point to the breakfast on the tray and to Jesus and tell the staff member this is his breakfast and its for dining in. If he wants the food he can sit down at the table to eat it. This is when normal social behavior patterns start to break down and people start to wake up. Its a conflict that goes against the rule, yet the meal is paid for and with it the right to sit and eat inside the restaurant. Now the staff member makes a judgment call and ushers the reluctant boy to the table. A woman sitting close by watches with interest at this breakdown of the status quo. Then as she finally sees Jesus as just a child instead of a beggar, her frown gives way as a secret smile tugs at the corners of her mouth and she looks at me with an open face that says she has finally understood. Hanging on the edge of his chair Jesus is “speed eating” in case its all a mistake. I busy myself with my cell phone sending an imaginary text to nobody and avoid watching him; its not a performance. He soon stops eating and speaking to the same staff member asks for water - testimony to how quickly a child can adapt to change. “Hes already full,” the now smiling staffer tells me. But I know he has probably saved most of the meal to share with his brothers. Jesus gathers up the breakfast box, his coke and water, and along with the story of how he ate breakfast inside with a foreigner, he makes for the door which the now friendly staff member holds open for him. The woman at the next table bids him a soft goodbye, and without looking back he disappears into the crowd; bringing to an end my breakfast with Jesus.
Posted on: Mon, 14 Jul 2014 03:50:04 +0000
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