We pulled up alongside the gutter in my inner city neighborhood. Eddie hadn't noticed us yet. He was too busy throwing rocks at cars. I sighed, glad we weren't the target of his arsenal. Then he saw us, me and Jennifer, and did a little leap in the air, dropped his rock and twirled around.

"They're here! They're here. We're going to the zoo!"

And I couldn't help but to smile. Then began an everyday conversation we have with the kids, "Where's your jacket?"

"I ain't got one." He smiled and wiped his dirty hands on his filthy shirt.

"Do you have one inside?"

"I'm wearing a sweater! Let's go!"

In fact, in the middle of March, he was wearing only a sweatshirt and sandals…no socks.

Eddie, who uses curse words like they were common verbs and has been sexually educated by cable TV, is barely taller than my knee. He lives with his aunt in a house that looks like it is about to fall over. This five-year old plays in a front yard of hard-packed dirt and tries to be like the neighborhood boys as they bully their way into power on their block. He doesn't have anyone else to look up to. His father is in prison for a sex crime and his mother lives out of state. With all those strikes against him, Eddie, though troubled, has nothing on his cousin when it comes to violence and anger. Eddie, the youngest, is continually the victim of this boy's cruelty. In a fit of rage his ten-year old cousin burned Eddie and later he tackled him and began to shave parts of his hair off with a straight edge razor, leaving thick cuts in his scalp. Eddie, the youngest and smallest, is a convenient target for his family's anger and frustration.

Even so, Eddie will melt your heart. With just a hint of hair on his head and ears that stick straight out he is the cutest little guy around. He struts on into the parish hall, wearing his overalls like a gangster. Popsicle stains run from his mouth, down his chin and end on his shirt amidst a blend of last night's supper and today's trek across a muddy playground. His only mode of movement is jumping and he'll hop on up to our kitchen counter, which he can't even see over, and ask for something to eat. Resilience in the one gift that the city offers these children. Eddie has a supply that seems to know no end. An amazing little life.

The day we avoided Eddie's rock pitching we had plans to spend the afternoon at the zoo with him and one of his cousins. He jumped into the car and demanded that we see the lions. We assured him we would see it all. But we were barely through the front gates of the Zoo when Eddie started lagging behind.

"My leg hurts." He said, "They hurt."

"You tired?" I asked, turning around.

He shook his head. "They just hurt."

But it wasn't really his legs. It was his feet, they were bleeding and had been for some time. Those sandals were just too big. Who knows how long he'd been wearing them, or how many times he told someone "my legs hurt".

So I reached out and picked the boy up. And we carried Eddie, on our backs, high on our shoulders, in our arms…however we could. Because he's just a little boy…and my shoes fit.

And it's not just the shoes. It's what they represent. Little boys shouldn't be hungry. They shouldn't have to wear the same clothes day after day. When you say Jesus, they shouldn't answer back, "Who?"

At times I fear this is hopeless. Often I cry when no one else is looking. Here, behind closed doors, in alleys and neighborhoods bars exists a world that makes me refuse the theory that we can fix ourselves. Often I look at the lives that survive around me. These are souls that can simply not take another step. It's not a matter of laziness, apathy or lack of determination. It's just that they can't. Some don't even know how. Most can barely envision a life that's any more than the nightly beer, an occasional hit of something stronger, always being behind in the rent and not having a clue what love can be. They're tired. Their hearts hurt.

Just like Eddie, they cry out, "I hurt…I can't go any farther." Their load, too much. The road, too long. And sometimes those of us with legs that work and hearts that only ache occasionally, look at all these Eddies lying in the middle of the way and we convince ourselves that poverty is a choice. We assure our consciences that there's really nothing we can do, that the helpless don't really want help. And even if they did would our offering really matter? The problem's too big. Too complicated. We satisfy our guilt believing that time and human kindness are too simple a solution. We accept the myth that we made our lives better and refuse to ponder that mystery of why I was born with white skin, privilege and options while someone else was born without a future.

We forget that we're not that different than Eddie. We might have clean faces and clothes that fit, but we all need to be carried. Life's just too hard and sin too strong to be without God. But still, we fail to remember and sometimes we even walk by the likes of Eddie, confident that our shoes will always fit. But our absence doesn't silence the Eddies, they still cry out…whether we're there or not. "I hurt…I can't go any farther."

But God always hears and he never forgets little boys like Eddie, women like me…children like us. So God bends down, scoops us up…and carries us. I believe he holds us even before we know him. He carries us when we haven't a clue as to who he is, let alone that he is the Savior we need. You can never be a stranger to your God. He knows us long before we know him.

We carried Eddie for an afternoon. It wasn't hard, I doubt he weighs more than a sack of potatoes. But eventually we had to put him down and he ran back into his aunt's rickety house. As we silently walked away a small doubt began to grow in my mind. This boy has nothing. But with a few more steps I remembered that God is everything. We carried Eddie through the city zoo. God carries Eddie always.

Do I really believe this? Is Jesus really here? Can the unseen presence of an intangible God make a difference? All I know for sure is that when we carried Ed on our shoulders his feet didn't bleed any more…surely God, who is the king of the world, can top that.

* all names and identifying details have been changed to protect anonymity. © Amy Beth Augustin Barlow 2003