We all must leave a finger print on this life. This was our student’s actual handprint that he placed on the mural. Headlines this weekend read, and I quote, “About 1130 pm Saturday, a 17-year-old boy was fatally shot at a block party…pronounced dead at 350 am.” His name was Adolfo. He was just 17 years old. He died this weekend…he was our student here at Latino Youth. The image of his orange handprint graces our mural in our basement. I couldn’t stop crying all morning. I thought of his smile, his presence in the school. He worked in one of our programs and was a student. He always had on a white big tshirt. I used to joke with him that he was just pretending to work here. He would alway laugh and show me his ID and would say, “Look Mrs. G. I do work here come on give me a break.”
So what am I supposed to do? What is God doing? Why am I here? I’m wrestling, struggling, lamenting, grieving, searching.
When God calls you into the dark places of this world, if you are willing to go, He will take you at your word. He’s taken me at my word. I long to fight for justice, teach the unlovables, arm my kids with the weapon of literacy. But death, them dieing…how am I supposed to handle that? I’ve been cursed with the gift of empathy and compassion and I have the ability to feel the suffering of others with extreme precision.
My heart is aching, I can not concentrate. But I know this, God is going to use me. He is going to use me in big ways to love and give and to teach in big ways.
Orange handprint. We all need to leave one. I want to leave one. On dusty stubble walls, on broken and tattered souls. Through textbook, through concern, through real talk, through heaven’s Son.
Do I dare leave my orange handprint after all this? Though shaking and unsteady, my hand’s about to hit the wall to make my imprint known.
Sofia Speaks 