Tonight I waited outside of the Coffee Oasis one hour after the doors closed. A younger boy--baby faced with a scratch on the right cheek, a perfect boy scout recruit--had pulled one of the staff aside and told him the truth, "I am a runaway. There is a warrant out for me. I'm ready to go home." He did not want to go home. He was tired of the streets. Home meant neglect and hurt, the streets meant neglect and hunger. Which is worse? If you were a 16-year-old boy what would you choose? What where you doing at the age of 16? We spent our time outside underneath the bright light that illumines the back parking lot. The rain was coming down in delicate drops that drift softly upon the loose wind. I opened my Bible to Psalm 46 and entered verse 10 as the officer drove up--"Be still, and now that I am God." We waved the officer down and he played a longer, much more painful version of 20-questions. The gist of his message was: "You don't really want to be you, do you?" No, not right now. Who would want to be standing in abandoned Bremerton at 11:00pm with Washington weather working its way into your thin sweatshirt as you prepare your journey towards a dreaded house by being handcuffed?
Pray Psalm 46 for this young man.
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