I'm going to leave his general identity out of the story because it really wouldn't add that much, but I still want to tell you about a new friend we have... And that this is a true story.

If you were to drive your car to our church in the old Colonial Zone of Santo Domingo, you would park it at the church parking lot which is just south of the building. The parking lot is used in the early evenings for church functions and throughout the day for the staff, but at night the lot becomes public to the neighborhood.

Because the "layout" of the Colonial Zone was created in the 1450's (most likely by Bartolome Colon, brother of Christopher Columbus and his crew), there is not much parking at all :), and people pay to park their cars in guarded lots for the night. For some frame of reference, our church charges 10 pesos/hour, which is about 30 cents, to the diverse crowd (Dominicans, Germans, Spanish, Italians, etc.) who choose to park in the lot.

The lot at our church is guarded by a few very poor young guys whose concrete guardshack doubles as their home. If you were to see one of them walk into the shack you'd assume they were grabbing a pencil or something... not that all of their personal belongings, food, bathroom and bunkbeds were back there as well. All of the guys who live in the guardshack are Christ-following refugees who our church has welcomed with open arms. But in the world's eyes, these guys are very poor and have very very little hope.

Every now and then (not frequently enough), I remember these guys and bring them something little and special to eat. I always stop to say hi, give them a high five and see how they're doing. Mark and I remember to pray for them.

Early one Sunday morning before soccer practice (when most of the guys who live in the guardshack are sleeping) I needed to go to the back of the church, through the open air patio, to get the soccer balls out from the closet. When walking through the patio around 7:45am, I noticed one of the guardshack guys was there and he was reading - he was reading his Bible. I thought, "Oh that's cool. He's reading his Bible. Too bad I forgot this morning. It was just too early." I asked him what he was reading and he told me.

But here's the clincher... Every other time I've ever seen this guy in the patio (which is at least 1-2 times a week), he is reading his Bible. He's trying to find a quiet place, away from the guardshack and away from his tough life, to be alone with God. I've even caught him singing a few times with his eyes closed... (of course I've hated to interrupt him, but too bad you have to walk through the patio to get the balls).

His life is so tough. He'll never write a book or hold a white-collar job or even eat at McDonalds most likely, but I'm so inspired. I don't know how often even Mark, in our own apartment, interrupts me while I'm reading the Bible. When most people would look at his life, they would immediately have a rush of pity go over them, but I... now... feel pride and joy. Seriously. When I think of this guy, it makes me smile and be reminded of how through Christ, we all have freedom and peace and joy. And that the Word of God is our lamp, whoever and wherever we are.