So I guess that was goodbye. It was one of the last times I saw Sergio. He had jumped out of the van and was standing in front of his mother's subsidized apartment.

"Come on A.B…just let me do it once."

I shook my head, "How safe is that Sergio?"

"You'll be right here with us! We won't get run over. I promise."

We had made plastic masks at club and Sergio wanted us to run the van over his.

He continued, "It would look so cool all smashed!"

I got into the van and tried not to laugh, "It's very artistic and creative of you, but sticking things under cars is just not a good habit to get into. Run on up and let your mom know your

This was a typical conversation with nine-year old Sergio who lives in a forgotten inner city neighborhood. He always wanted to do something crazy. Over the years I've acquired quite a collection of boys who like to leap off high places, hang off ledges and tempt danger in the most horrifying ways. Working with little boys who raise themselves on the street has taught me the finer points of worry. I've seen these boys run in front of cars, roam through dark alleys in the middle of the night, jump out of trees and play in dirt lots littered with broken glass. And more than once I've come running, retrieved them out of high places, replaced torn clothes, cleaned up skinned knees and darted across the street…hoping to be a moment ahead of the evening traffic.

Sergio and I finally found a good compromise. He seemed happy. The van began to pull away from the curb.

"I love you Sergio…" I said quietly.

He looked both shocked and embarrassed.

"Well I do." I restated.

He started running up the steps to his house, stopped and smiled, "I love you too…"

And that was that. We drove away. The next time I saw Sergio was the last time I saw him. For months his mother had been spending most of her social security check on street drugs. No one knew about the eviction notices she kept crumbling up into the garbage. When the money was gone and the bills were pending she simply left, abandoning her four young children without an explanation. The eviction came as a shock to the man who was her live-in boyfriend. Within 24 hours everything they owned was dumped onto the sidewalk in front of their house and the locks were changed. Sergio stood at the curb and screamed at anyone who stared. And then he just sat on the sidewalk and watched as his neighbors picked through his things.

Their mom's boyfriend, came and picked the boys up. He simply told them to keep their heads held high and that everything lying on that sidewalk could eventually be replaced. Then he carted them off to a pay-by-the-week motel.

Now I'm left with three years worth of rather colorful memories. I remember the day Sergio's mom shaved his head and out of utter embarrassment he wore a hooded sweatshirt for a week. Who could forget the countless time-outs and last year when he sent a boy to the hospital needing a handful of stitches? He leaned on every boundary we made and questioned every rule. He knew he'd get sent home, but he did it anyway. He was our personal object lesson for grace. We always let him come back…I know he didn't have anywhere else to go. And with a certain fondness, I remember watching Sergio's face as he sat through each and every Bible time. For a boy so full of anger and action, he surprised us with his ability to listen to stories about God.

I miss Sergio and think about him every time one of my boys jumps and doesn't land quite as he had hoped. It's part of the journey around here. There are a lot of bumps and bruises, some you can't see. Even I've had a couple spills and wipe-outs here in the neighborhood…most are those dreaded moments when the words stumble out of my mouth, "Goodbye…". Watching a family take a taxi cab out of the neighborhood breaks me up whether I've known the kid for a week or can remember back to the day she was born. It's just that you get to loving them.

I don't like the change that brings more chaos into the lives on these kids. A boy like Sergio can survive incredible odds when afforded a little permanence, but I can't be that rock to either him or the dozens of other kids who have filled up my last eight years. I rise and fall in the same waves of uncertainty and change.

My life is full of good-byes…but with God it's different, good-byes make little sense when you are everywhere at all times. God exists in a constant state of hello. And wherever Sergio is, jumping on a cheap motel box spring, sliding down the banister at his great aunt's apartment or hanging out the window of low-income housing, God will be there. This is where our hope lives and grows, in the heart of a God who knows no distance from his children. This is why we must spend ourselves telling children the awesome Gospel. Long after we're gone…their God will remain. And so, Sergio will be all right.