There was a fat kid in my high school, as I’m sure there was in yours.  He must have been tired of the struggle.  Everyday listening to other kids picking at him, making fun, joking, laughing at his expense.  No friends.  No one to talk to.  Perhaps his parents were too busy as well.  Maybe they didn't care.  Maybe no one cared, and none thought about the damage they were doing.

             I remember him, but just barely.  He was fat, not good looking.  I think he was intelligent, and got good grades, but that was not nearly enough.  He needed something.  No.  He needed someone.  I wasn't the one.  I never thought about him . . . until it was too late.  I recall seeing kids torment him.  Humiliate him.  I can't remember actually taking part, but I probably did.  It was all so innocent.  Just for fun.  Just for laughs.  Did we ever mean to hurt him?  No.  Of course not.  But our laughs were at his expense, and the cost was far too high.

             I got off the bus at school, and the hustle and bustle was as boisterous as usual.  Pushing, jostling, moving among the crowded hallways.  I got to my locker and listened as a couple of friends were discussing the news. 

             "They found him last night, just hanging there" one said. 

             "Who found him?"  the other asked.

             "It was his mom.  She came in and . . ."

             "Who are you talking about?"  I jumped in.

             "You know that fat boy we always kidded?  It was him.  His mom and dad came home from work last night and found him hanging in the basement.  He had tied a rope to the ceiling, stood on a chair and jumped off."  He spoke animatedly.  "He was dead as a door knob when they found him."

             "No great loss!"  My second friend chimed in sarcastically.

             Even in death the fat kid had to suffer humiliation.  He had to be tormented. 

             There are thousands of “fat boys” out there.  Thousands who need someone to care enough about them to say something to them, something besides taunting and teasing.  They may be next door or across the ocean, but they are out there.  We need to care enough to go and find them.  They are the lost souls who would relish the thought of fellowship.  We can give them that fellowship.  It’s found in Jesus Christ.

             We are all missionaries of one kind or another.  We may not live in some exotic foreign place, but we have many lost souls around us that need a caring friend, or a loving neighbor.  Will you be that person today?

 Josiah Tilton