The Love Hammer

I love being here in Honduras and getting to know more about the poeple. I love teaching Jiu Jitsu to the local guys. I love driving through rough neighborhoods like Maradiaga and picking up my students. They love to ride on top of our truck and shout and laugh. But I especially love to use the love hammer.

The Love hammer is what I call it when you tap or hit or even smash somebody with love, in the exact moment and timing of Gods perfect will.  

Nobody survives the love hammer.

I picked up a large crew of about 20 students from Maradiaga this last Sunday. I drove with them hooting and hollering on the roof rack back to the cabildo (our meeting hall/church). About half of the kids were 12 and under and we were joined by four missionary boys. I began teaching the chokes and joint destroying fun of Jiu Jitsu after we prayed and went over rules and stretched. The younger students were hyped up and after about 20 minutes of wrestling each other slowly lost focus. After forty minutes they were a little bored and I told them to go outside in the gravel parking lot and play or to calm down and wrestle. Ten or so kids went outside with the missionary boys. After two minutes I heard angry shouting and glimpsed through the doorway two boys both with faces twisted in anger, kicking and grabbing each other’s shirts. I yelled my best drill sergeant yell and they stopped and looked at me, each with a fistful of the others shirt in their hands. It was my second smallest neighborhood kids named Nero and one of the missionary boys named Napolean (I changed the names to protect the innocent). I didn’t know this, but little Nero had a reputation for slinging insults and foul language. He apparently began insulting the other kids and punching or kicking them until he got a rise out of Napolean. He persisted, sensing a good target, and called Napolean’s mother all sorts of terrible things. At this point all the boys, except the other missionary kids, began yelling for Napolean to fight Nero. Napolean could not take anymore insults and the shirt grabbing and kicking began.

Thankfully I saw the fight in its embryonic stages and my yell aborted the altercation. I dragged a missionary kid outside with me to help translate and because he had witnessed the fisticuffs, he informed me of the chain of events. I told the boy Nero that fighting and cursing was not allowed and that it violated one of our five rules: Always purport yourself with a Christ like attitude considering others before yourself. I watched him harden under my words. His eyes took on a look of flinty disdain for me and my rules. I told him that at least he would be suspended from practice and maybe not asked back, that I would have to think on this. I returned to the wrestling room to tell the rest of the kids that I was very dissapointed in them. I have been teaching this class for almost a year and a half and have never had an incident. I knew it was my fault for letting them go unsupervised outside and I regretted that decision, but also I expect better out of the kids who urged the fight on. I told them so and when we had picked up our mats, I returned outside to find that Nero had fled on foot.

We loaded up the truck and carted the guys back to their neighborhood. As I was turning around and heading back out through the neighbor hood, the older boys began yelling at me to stop. They had found Nero and were holding him on the bench for me to talk to. I got out of the truck and walked over to him. His chin was thrust in to the air with more defiance than I have ever seen in a child. He wouldn’t make eye contact. I had been praying about what to do the whole car ride back and the older boys had told me how troubled Nero was. His parents were always absent though that was better than present because when they were present, they beat him. He was always hungry and poorly clothed. His older brother was in prison for drugs. He was known for casting vitriol at all who he percieved to cross him. When I saw him there I knew what to do, I felt what God felt for this boy. I grabbed him and hugged him to my chest, I whispered softly “Te amo”. I repeated it over and over. I felt him sob and lifted his face to me full of tears. He looked incredulous. He looked like he could never believe me, like he could never believe that anyone would love him. I squeezed him gently and repeated that I loved him. He looked shocked. Then the other boys started calling out that he was crying. Immediatley harshness crashed down in his eyes and he pushed me away.  

I asked him to come back to wrestling in two weeks, I explained that for fighting he had a one week suspension. He nodded and stood there looking hard as granite. I told him that I would look for him in two weeks. He didn’t respond.

I know that he wants to come back, I know that he needs attention. I know that he he has a tragic situation at home. I know that he is angry.

I also know that Jesus can fix all that with His love hammer.

- Peter