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Seeing Formando Vidas' street children's ministry in Bogotá, Colombia through the life of one of it's children.
Lilia’s Story One of my earliest recollections is of my mother and father fighting… and then my father trying to burn my crib! Even so, when I had to choose between the two, I chose my father, because I’d never remembered my mother spending any time at all with me.
My mother was brutally assassinated on the streets when I was just six years old. Rumor has it that her killers were a death squad, out trying to “clean up the streets.” My Dad, suffering the loss, went deeper into drugs… heavy drugs… from which he’s never recovered. No one else would take care of me, so Dad and I lived, breathed, ate and slept out on the sidewalks and in the inner city alleys of Bogotá, Colombia.
When I was seven years old, a friend and I picked pockets in order to survive. We knew it was risky. One afternoon he stole the wallet of a well dressed businessman. We ran for all we were worth, but the man pulled out his revolver, turned, and shot my companion twice in the back. He died on the spot. While I in shock from horror, the businessman calmly came over, picked up his wallet, and walked away.
Life on the streets was hard. Dad and I had to keep moving, sleeping in different places each night with burlap bags and newspapers as our quilts. One midnight, sleeping under the overhang of a theater entrance with about ten other street people, I felt a strong impression to get up and move out. The impression repeated itself enough that I woke my Dad. He didn’t want to get up to head out into the cold night, but I insisted. We walked a few blocks and, on our way back to where we’d been sleeping, we heard the tell-tale “rat-tat-tat-tat” of sub-machine gunfire. The gunmen had sprayed the theater entrance where we’d been sleeping minutes before! Dad and I saw the shadowy figures jump into a car and roar away. We ran to our street friends, but they were all dead.
It was then that I knew there must be Someone watching out for me. But no one had ever described to me who He was.
One day a street girl excitedly told me about a group of Christians who came out in to the streets handing out hot chocolate and sandwiches. When I met them, I couldn’t get over their genuine happiness at being with us! They smiled, laughed, and even hugged some of the street kids, which is something hardly anybody ever did. I became a special friend to Jackie, from Colombia, and Anna, from Sweden. They invited me to a drop-in center run by Youth With A Mission called “The Other Way.” It was a normal looking house with breakfast, lunch, a place to take a bath and wash my clothes, games, first aid, and a Bible club. I liked the people and the place, and for the first time in my life, I felt I was loved and appreciated. I helped out, hoping I could stay after hours, until Jackie and Anna finally invited me to spend the night. I stayed for many nights until I got a special invitation. I could stay at a half way house, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. I could leave the streets and never have to go back!!!
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