I always think of Max

When I think back on past Austria mission trips one major memory that sticks in my head is that of little Maxim. Max, was a political refugee from a neighboring country who couldn't speak a lick of English or German! Keaton was his small group leader and Max called him "feesh" or "fish" because in his language Keat meant fish...hahaha. I'll never forget Max because of one day when he drew for Keaton and myself a picture of his life, I still have the picture tucked away in a prayer journal which I'm staring at as I write this.
Max started at the top of a college ruled paper that Keaton handed him and he drew a house full of people. In the house Max began to draw two larger stick people standing next to a little one. Pointing at the little one he said "this Max". What Max had drawn was a picture of his family. Next, he took the black tipped felt pen and drew another house. This one was much smaller and it only had three larger stick figures inside, but none were Max. Outside of the smaller house Max drew another stick figure that carried what looked to be scales of some kind. Out beside that man he drew a bunch of dollar signs. Then max got really quick with his pen strokes, almost frustrated that we could not fully understand. Max went back to the larger house that held his family and he drew two other stick figures outside the house. He then made a siren sound with his mouth and started making gun noises. He started frantically X-ing out the stick figures inside of his house while making the gun noises louder and louder... all except the little one.
"Max," I asked, "did these men kill your family."
Max didn't have a clue what I had asked.
I tried again, "Max, papa kaput?"
"Ya." He replied.
I don't know who the men were, nor why they killed his family. What happened next is best explained by an entry in my prayer journal that night (8.8.06):
"Father it's humbling to watch a 15 year old Muslim child draw you a picture of how his father was killed, then watch him pull his pants leg up to show you the bullet wound in his own leg."
Keaton and I sat there taking in what we had only seen on television and then, by the grace of God, we were able to do what we came to do. We took the piece of paper from Max and drew what would have been cheesy to most Americans. We drew a cliff on the left and right side of the paper, separated by a canyon. Now, most of you reading this already know where it's going, but Max didn't. Next, we labeled all three of our names on the left side and then wrote "God" on the right. We drew a little stick figure on the cliff and little dotted lines that showed him falling into the cavern. We named the cavern "sin and death". Max looked intently at the paper, with his eye brows wrinkled as much as possible... Max was curious to see what these crazy Americans were doing. Keaton and I then began to draw a bridge across the gap, and the bridge was shaped like a cross. We took the little stick man and with dotted lines we walked him across, to be in the presence of God. Ironically, just below the man with scales and money signs outside the little house that Max drew stood another stick figure with his hands raised high with joy as he sat in the presence of God. Max pulled his pant leg back down and we all walked out of the room.
We didn't see Max after that week, we've never heard from him since. I often wonder what happened to Max. I often wonder where he lives, who he lives with or even if he is alive at all. When I wonder why we go to Austria, I always think of Max.