There is a house of boys: boys taken from the streets. They were sold into prostitution, by their mothers, between the ages of six and ten. They are drug addicts from the drugs forced upon them by those in charge.
There is one man and his wife with a heart larger than mine. They had a vision of rescuing these boys from a life of sex and addiction, with the hopes of loving them with the love of Christ.
There is a house: a small house. The man and his wife have taken in ten boys. They have no sewage system but the situation is so much better than what they had on the streets. The boys have a bed, and food, and a couple that love them.
There is a plot of land on which this house sits. It is large: large enough to build dormitories to house the thirty boys on the waiting list.
There is no money to build.
This is one of the stories told to me by my daughter as we talked for the first time sense she arrived in South Africa. Her eyes are opened: my heart is bleeding.
(This photo is not of these boys. My daughter could not bring herself to take a photo. That makes me proud.)
Part II of this story