It’s a third world community in a first world country. That is the only way to describe the area I have found myself living in. Things that happen here are illegal everywhere else I have ever been. The stories I have heard are heartbreaking and unbelievable.

Almost all the homes here should be condemned. I was in a home today that had the windows busted out, holes in the exterior walls and a chain link fence covering those holes to keep animals out. We worked on a house this week for a paraplegic man who had a hole in his roof where every time it rained it poured into his bathroom rotting the floor and walls. If our team hadn’t gone in and found that the wall was rotted so poorly that it was to cave in any moment, who knows what would have happened.

The landscape is beautiful here with streams of water flowing through the picturesque mountains. However, those streams contain high amounts of E. Coli. In fact, 67% of the houses here have no septic system, which means the pipes drain directly into the streets where the children spend their days roaming and playing.

There is nothing here for the kids to do. The kids are beautiful. I have learned my way around to most of their houses and to the different communities (the bottom, Pinchback, Wilco, Thorpe, 10, 6, Elbert). I made the drive everyday this week to round kids up in my 15-passenger van with a piece of plywood for a backseat. I knock on their doors to find a mother with black eyes screaming at the kids that the Bible school lady is there and to put their F’ing shoes on. My heart hurts for the kids. But I have to shut my mind down before I feel the pain for the woman who did something her latest boyfriend didn’t like for which she had to pay the consequences. The story is always the same—“I fell down”, “I ran into the door.” I know better. The pain and shame in their faces tell a greater story than their mouths can speak.

This is the town that everyone else forgot. The government has turned its back knowing that as long as they hush the people with welfare checks, no one will complain. The mountains blanket these people in security. The majority of them have never been outside the area.

Will everyone forget these people? Will anyone show them the deep love of Christ? Am I even capable of doing such a thing? Will the children ever stop begging me to not leave since they are used to everyone else who has ever loved them, leaving them to fend for him or herself. What happens when I DO have to leave? Will they be abandoned, alone, and abused? Will the little boy who told me Bible school was his second home grow up to be like the men who beat his mother and grandmother and then leave?

I need strength to love these people like Jesus would have. “And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.” (Mt. 25:40). Has Jesus forgotten these people to? I choose to believe there is still hope. There is beauty in ashes. These children are image bearers of a divine God. He hasn’t given up on them, and neither can I.