It felt like an inquisition. She was attempting to create a report to bring back to a church that had given our inner city after-school program some money. Though well meaning, her questions were ones I've heard far too many times. How many of the kids have been saved? What kind of success stories can you tell me? I felt a little embarrassed that I couldn't conjure up any memory of a child that would meet her requirements of "successful". This year I've had two girls get pregnant at 14 years old. Actually nearly every girl I began working with seven years ago is now a teenage mom. Some of my boys invest their anger in violence. I have 5th graders who can't read.

But is this what matters? Is the Gospel a generator of statistics? Do we have the courage to believe that it can be, that it is, something more?

I believe that the essence of the Gospel is knowing and being known by God. And in a troubled community the knowing happens regardless of what surrounds us and what we accomplish. What I want to communicate to the children who sit on our church floor is that the promises of God are laid before them whether they can read at a third-grade level or not. Grace abounds whether your dad works as an executive or stands in line everyday, waiting for the labor truck. And for that matter grace is there if you don't have a father around to do either. It is this assurance of Christ's goodness that has carried me for more years than I can even recall. That same assurance brings peace to the children who arrive in our parking lot yelling, "We're here! We're here! We're at church!!!" And unlike for the labor truck, they don't have to stand in line to know God. This redemptive story holds out a compassion that empowers and a hope that motivates. Truth leaves less and less room for the despair that seeks to disable each of us...wherever we are.

This is what matters, not success stories.

Consider Sarah, a third-grader. She is right in the middle of nine children, half of whom live with mom, the other four have been farmed out to relatives. Sarah is one of ours that truly lives in poverty. Many of our families struggle to put food on the table but still have big screen TVs, pagers, $80 shoes and gold jewelry…but not Sarah. She wears sandals that are at least 3 sizes too big and her mom asked me last week if I could get them some underwear. The crumbling plaster walls in her home are held together with duct tape and her front window is a piece of cardboard. I knocked on the door and her drunk father nearly ran into me. Carefully moving past him I found Sarah's mom holding a baby in one hand and trying to cook with the other. She was frantic and agitated. Her movements were quick and careless. Words stumbled out of her mouth. She was angry, but still careful to apologize after every curse word.

"God…I'm sorry. I know you're church people. It's just that this is who I am."

I nodded, "It's OK, be who you are."

"I'm just going crazy. He's drunk again…again!"

I sat down on a mismatched kitchen chair that was covered with a pile of laundry.

"Now don't get me wrong, I'm no stranger to the bottle. I'm pretty sure I'm an alcoholic. But when I drink, I just get loaded and pass out on the couch. I don't hurt nobody."

I listened, thinking about her four kids under the age of nine.

"I don't hurt a soul…unless I'm provoked. And that's really not the same thing." She handed one of her young sons a cup of Jell-O, "Baby, go find your dad and tell him to eat this."

She had some strange notion that Jell-O reversed the effects of alcohol.

"I can't talk about this no more. It's just works me up. I'm a wreck. Why are you here?"

I smiled and picked up her baby girl, "To see if the kids want to go to summer club."

"Oh they do, I'm sure. Let me get Sarah." She turned around and yelled towards the back of the apartment. And then out of the back room came eight-year old Sarah, dressed in a beautiful sundress.

And I'll tell you one thing about Sarah…she's a diamond. Whether she has eight kids of her own, lives in poverty or is the first in her family to graduate, she will always be beautiful. Because being a diamond is simply something she is, something she was created to be.

Sarah is resilient, smart, caring…and though it defies our calculated reason, Sarah is full of an indescribable joy. It might take a steak dinner to put a smile on my face but Sarah will dance around the room for a package of Ramen Noodles. Why? Because Jesus spreads his hope anywhere.

Often we think of the Gospel as a bridge, a way out. But sometimes it's simply a way in. A door for us to walk through, into the lives of those who might need anything from a friend to a fresh gallon of milk. An entrance into hearts that survive on our prayers alone. God is here, not to take his children out but to bring his Spirit in. That's how Sarah became a diamond. And perhaps that's not success, but it is hope and it is healing. I'm certain it will be enough

* all names and identifying details have been changed to protect anonymity. © Amy Beth Augustin Barlow 2004