One Word

Broken.

That’s the only word I have for it.

Broken.

Broken pavement on the roads.

Broken windows in the houses.

Broken glass on the playground.

Broken hearts from the abuse, incest, and rape.

Broken families from the poverty and unemployment.

Broken lives from gang murder, drugs, and alcohol.

Broken.

Less than 2 hours from the jobs available in Phoenix, less than 50 miles from the affluent bounty of Superstition Springs Mall, is the San Carlos Apache Indian Reservation.

Less than a day ago, I went with a ministry co-worker, Amber, for a tour of the reservation where we saw for ourselves the pain and desperation of this place. 

Stories.  We heard lots of stories.  A twelve year old boy murdered by gang members.  A pre-teen girl whose uncle got her drunk in an attempt to molest her.  A young teen boy who attempted suicide in a house full of his younger siblings and cousins.  Girls pregnant at the young age of 13-15.  Those same girls, grandmas at thirty, sobering up for the first time so they can take care of their grandchildren for their addicted daughters.  Corrupt politicians handing out free 40s of malt liquor in order to garner votes.  Husbands taking the $250 a month the family lives on to gamble at the casino only to lose it all.

We saw things too.  A mom, with her two children, whose only notable fact was she happened to be sober for once.  Graffiti and gang symbols everywhere.  Sheds, shanties, rusted out cars, and tarps where whole families live without electricity or running water.  A police officer’s home, with bars on the windows next to a drug dealer’s home.  Broken Colt 45 beer bottles on the kids playgrounds.

I have no words to describe the heartache that I felt from seeing and hearing all of this.

I do have another word, though.

Hope.

The ministry that gave us the tour builds homes for the homeless on the reservation.

They provide back-to-school backpacks and supplies for kids.

They provide Christmas stockings and presents to families.

They are working on a battered women’s shelter.

They have a bus ministry that we got to take part in.  The bus drives through the neighborhoods and stops periodically and toots its horn.  Kids come running from houses all around to get a chance to go on the bus.  It then pulls up in an empty field next to a basketball court and the kids sing, get a Bible lesson, eat a snack, and then take part in games and crafts.  I got to hand out otter-pops to 45 smiling children, teach a young boy named Jay how to roller skate, and play basketball with a couple of other boys.   As we were leaving, Jay came up and handed me a rock, saying, “I found this cool rock for you, thank you for helping me to skate.”

Children are the same everywhere.  In the midst of poverty and abuse, on a playground covered with shattered glass and trash, they are still able to play and smile.

All they need is a little hope.

It’s there, in the ministry of a few people who care enough to sacrifice lives of comfort and material comfort in order to minister to those who need.

Hope.

Hope for shelter and food.

Hope for a safe place to grow up.

Hope for an education that will someday provide for them.

Hope for healthy relationships and families.

Hope for freedom from addiction and abuse.

Hope for the future.

Hope.

If you would like to help out, visit www.azrez.org and donate your time and money.  Take a trip with them to build houses.  Donate school supplies and Christmas stockings stuffed with presents.  Donate Walmart gift cards or donate cash.