As I promised, I want to tell the story of my little neighborhood. Time is a big issue for me lately, so I can only commit to little snippets of the story at a time. The first snippet is dedicated to K.

K is a young boy who lives across the street from us. He is the same age as my son: 14. The day we moved in, he excitedly scurried around us, pointing to my husband's truck, squealing with delight: "toys! toys!". He was of course referencing my son's vast collection of too much stuff (already too much at the age of 3...). You may wonder why an unsupervised little 3 year old boy was running around our moving truck. We wondered too. He was dirty from head to toe, face covered in that yucky mucus/mud combo that only a busy little boy can perfect. We would come to know him very well over the years.

He was the 3rd of 4 children trapped at the time in an extremely bad marriage. The marriage is no more. It was one of the most necessary divorces I have ever witnessed. The negative synergy of the two people was incredible. They were so much less together than the sum of their two parts. The marriage needed to end, but the beast didn't die easily. It left an awful lot of carnage in it's wake.

At 3, K would be at our house from the first moment he could escape his home. Our doorbell would ring at 5am, 6am. I would open the door a crack and look down into his eager face. Always dirty. Always the same mixture of mucus and mud. This was a challenge for me. I was juggling a new home, 3 year old boy of my own, brand new baby girl, and a full time job managing a restaurant. I worked 2-12, my husband worked 4am - 2. We were literally 2 ships passing. The doorbell would awaken my baby and my boy hours before I was ready to face the day. Some days I would be patient, others not so much. I set boundaries: "you can't come in until we clean your face and hands and blow your nose" (he eagerly agreed to this, although I would be the "Cleaner") "you can't come over until 8 am" (not so easy to explain -- doorbell would ring incessantly, "is it 8 yet?" -- eventually just easier to clean him off and let him in. Not awful. My son was delighted to have a friend over.)

When K wasn't in my house, he was at another neighbor's or he was roaming the neighborhood. By 4 he had mastered his big brothers' bicycles and was riding all around the neighborhood. Cul-de-sacs, busy streets -- we'd see him everywhere. His mother, partially overwhelmed by the bad marriage, largely overwhelmed by 4 kids aged 1-7, was often "resting". She would comfort herself with prescribed medication and be unavailable. Social Services had been to their home on several occasions. She had been corrected for her disciplinary methods (beating which occurred before our time). She just gave up.

K was a fixture in our home. He appears often in the many snapshots I took of my kids in the early days. He ate breakfast and lunch with us, watched Barney and Winnie the Pooh, then eventually Batman, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Power Rangers. He lived by the same rules as my kids, was respectful and good when in my house. He had a difficult speech impediment that he carries to this day, and let my son do all the talking. He didn't know his birthday or middle name. He didn't really know how old he was. On many occasions, his brothers would come over to retrieve him at about 9pm. Time to go to bed. Sometimes he wasn't here. They simply didn't know where he was. This is amazing even at 14. But at 3, 4 or 9 -- it's unthinkable. "he said he was going to your house..." I wondered on those days -- "was it because I turned him away at 6 am?" I worried that something awful would happen to him. Yet against all odds, K has survived.

Although K is still a friend to my son, he is not my son's favorite person. He has no self-discipline, no boundaries. He is always in trouble at school. He is a poor student. His family life is much better now that the parents have resolved their differences. His new step father is agreeable (and only seen every other weekend). His biological father won custody of the boys, mom got the young daughter. Dad took an active role in the parenting after the divorce, (better late than never), but K wears the scars of a tough beginning. Bad habits die hard, speech impediment remains -- K is a bit of a wild hare.

Despite the different paths they are on, K still begs to come over, even when my son isn't here. He calls me Mommy, even after my own son has graduated to "mom" (he giggles when he says it, but still always says it). He wants to eat dinner here, sleep over, come along to sporting events. My daughter groans. "NOT HIM AGAIN!" She feels that one brother is quite enough. He persists. He even helps with chores when my own kids grumble. So we let him come. Sometimes when we have committed to having him over he will go off and not tell us where he is. The consequence is simple, he can't come the next time. "If we are responsible for you, you need to follow our simple rules," we say. He eventually comes back, although sometimes not for a while...

You may think we are K's only hope. This is simply not true. He always manages to find the safe havens. A Christian family who has since moved away had K and his family in prayer for years before we arrived. They even came for those kids every Sunday for years after they moved away. They brought them to church with them. Recently, a youth pastor started a community program in a surf shop near the local High School -- K found his way there. The pastor gives K work to do, and K hangs out there. Somehow, against all odds, K finds the safe havens. God is at work in his life.

The last time he slept over, we took him to church with us. I asked the boys how Youth Group was, K piped in "lots of hot girls there!" My son rolls his eyes, my daughter gives her best huffy breath. "I hate you K, you're such a DORK!" she says, utterly disgusted. He smiles. He fits right in.

++Lord, watch over all the children, but especially this one. You have clearly covered him with your Grace. Protect and Defend him. You are his only hope. In a way, we are all a bit like him. We find refuge in your family. The world is a dangerous place. Thank you for being our home.