Show Up

“I will always come for you,” the father said to his son. It was part of their morning goodbye ritual. He walked his son to school every day and before he released his hand he would say to him, “Be a good boy, and remember, I love you and I will always come for you.” When he said the words on this day, however, he did not know how deeply they would be tested. 

It was December 7, 1988, in Spitak, Armenia. The earthquake, 6.9 on the Richter scale, killed 30,000 people in about four minutes. When the shaking stopped, the man ran from his office to the school and found a pile of debris. Other parents were standing around the rubble wailing, but this father would find his son. He examined the outline of the school to discern where his son’s classroom had been, climbed the pile, and started digging with his bare hands.  

People came to help him, but they lasted only a short time before giving up hope. He dug for hours--two hours, four hours, six hours--digging, digging, hearing nothing, finding nothing. His neighbors tried to convince him that his effort was useless, that he needed to let go of his son, but he wouldn’t stop. Ten hours. Twelve hours. People began to ignore him. “He is mad with grief,” they said. “It will run its course. He’ll give up.” But he didn’t give up. Fourteen hours. Sixteen hours. 

Then the man moved a large piece of plaster and heard the quiet call of a weak child. He yelled for help, “I’ve found someone!” People came running to help. They removed another layer of debris.  

And there was his son, huddled together with two of his classmates, a little boy and a little girl. They pulled the children from the rubble and gave them oxygen and water.  As they were about to take them to the hospital, the little boy said to his friends, “I told you my father would come for me.” 

“I will always come for you.” We all need to hear those words, to absorb that reality. Some children, however, don’t hear it. They don’t feel that hope. Some children are removed from their home and placed in a foster home with strangers. They lose their sense of “always;” and everything starts to feel shaky, tenuous, fragile. 

At The Bridge we strive to establish a sense of “always” for children whose world has been shaken. We call it, “Show up.” We don't say, “I will always come for you,” but we seek to embody that reality. We recruit and train Christian mentors, sending them to connect every week with a child. Because children are always worth it.  

Thank you for being a part of our village, helping to send mentors who always show up. 

PS – “Show up, listen, love, and pray,” is the job description of our mentors. If you or someone you know would like more information about becoming a volunteer mentor, check out our Lunch Buddies program.