Contrary to what you might think, my title was not inspired by Enid Blyton. This is a true story about a boy who really did vanish before my eyes.
I was depressed. I felt abandoned. It seemed like God was not listening to me. I thought he did not care. Thus, I was having one of the biggest pity parties of my life.
Deep down, I knew I was verging into dangerous territory. Being a little sad is one thing, allowing oneself to become bitter because of impatience is another.
I headed to my favourite spot in London to take time-out to speak to the Lord. I needed his comfort but also, I wanted answers. Why had he taken so long to give me what I’d asked for? Was he having a long nap, oblivious to my needs? My faith was at an all-time low.
As I made my way towards the serene seating area outside a large train station, I fished in my bag for my sunglasses. I had already begun to cry and did not want to draw attention to myself. Behind dark shades, I could bawl my eyes out and no-one would notice.
Suddenly, a young lad appeared in front of me. He looked about 12 years old. As he stood facing me, it seemed like he had a learning disability of some sort. He was wearing spectacles that had very thick lenses – the type that make one’s eyes look really tiny. Despite this, he was desperately trying to give me eye contact, but they kept darting around. He had a mop of dark, messy hair and he was wringing his hands nervously. His shoelaces were undone and they kept flapping on the pavement as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
He did not hesitate to speak:
“Excuse me. I really need your help.”
Something about that simple, but humble sentence, hit the core of my being. He had my full attention. It startled me how direct he was being. Despite all the possible warning scenarios that could have played inside my head, somehow, I knew he considered me to be his only hope. I don’t mean that arrogantly, after all, there were many other people around. But it felt like my response would determine whether he would have the confidence to approach anyone else.
“Okay.” I said.
He pointed in the general direction of a double-decker bus that was passing by.
“I missed my stop and I need to get home. Driver told me to get off. I need to catch a train to get home. But I don’t have any more money. Can I have some money please?”
“How much do you need?” I asked.
“Two pounds forty-seven.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes please.”
“Are you sure that’s enough?”
“Yes please.”
I knew there was a possibility that this boy could have been working for a gang – a group who would be waiting to pounce on me as soon as I pulled out my purse. But I wasn’t worried. Something about this lad’s vulnerability made me not care about my own.
I searched through my change to see what I had and was disappointed that I could only give him a £1 more than he had asked for. I emptied my purse into his hands, and he thanked me promptly. As I placed my purse back into my handbag, a sadness washed over me. I would have given him much more if I’d had it, because all I could feel was compassion for this lonesome child who seemed quite frightened and in need of immediate assistance. I quickly looked up, so as not to lose sight of him, for I was going to offer to accompany him to the station. I not only wanted to make sure he bought the correct ticket, but to enquire whether he needed me to travel with him to his street.
I had visions of an anxious mother wondering what had happened to her precious son and I decided that even if I had never travelled to his destination before, I would endeavour to make sure he got home safely.
To my surprise however, his departure was so sudden that that I could not see where he had dashed off to so quickly. There were no bushes, trees or concrete posts blocking my view. We were a good 10 metres away from the station entrance, as it is set back quite a distance from the road and I could see the front doors clearly. If he had darted to the right, I would have seen him dashing down the road. He could not have got into a car nor mounted a bicycle. There were no air balloons in the sky, and he hadn’t been holding a skateboard.
I frowned and looked around. There was a telephone box on the other side of the road, but I’m pretty sure it was not a TARDIS.
I trotted in the direction of the station, but I knew he could not have got there so fast even if his bashed-up trainers had been Heelys. Not to mention, his laces would have tripped him up.
And then it hit me. No, he was not an angel. Despite the fact that he seemed to have dematerialised, he was not an alien and we were not on the set of Star Trek. He was not a figment of my imagination, nor was I on any medication. To this day, I do not know where this boy disappeared to so rapidly and how, but what I did know there and then, was that the Holy Spirit had used that situation to chastise me and comfort me all in one go.
As I made my way back to the benches, the Lord, whispered in my ear:
“So, a pure stranger asks you for help and without a second thought for your own safety, you not only respond to him immediately, but you were willing to put yourself out to assist him further. You would have given him more money if you had it and you would have accompanied him home, risking getting lost yourself. Yet you struggle to trust me? You struggle to believe me when I say I care for you? You did not know that boy, but I know you intimately because I created you.
You had compassion on him, yet you are doubting mine?
If you, being evil natured, know how to give good gifts to your children… His very first sentence struck you to the core, yet you have asked me for help many times. Don’t you think that I am moved with compassions for your needs also?
‘I really need your help.’
“Come to me with that same sentence and see how much I want to have mercy on you.”
I found my spot, sat down, and cried like a river. But this time, not because I was feeling sorry for myself, but because my loving Father had taught me a valuable lesson using an innocent child who was there one second and gone the next.
