This is my first time traveling out of the country. My first time traveling, and meeting so many people from so many places. We’ve spent time in small villages, and large cities. And one thing I’ve found, no matter where we are, is that there are broken people.
I see them in India. In the children that wonder the streets and beg for food. Their parents keep them out of school because people are more likely to give cute little children money. They’re dirty, have no shoes on their feet, and they can’t speak much English. But my, do their eyes speak for them. They look into my soul and my heart breaks for their brokenness.
I see them in Nepal. In the man with one leg. He’s sitting on the sidewalk with his crutch and cancer. He asks for money. His cancer is eating away at his leg. Half of its gone, and you can see the tumor taking what it wants of him. We pray for him and ask him his name.
I see them in Vietnam. In the mother and daughter at the park. We sit with them, and she pulls out the doctors notes. In broken English she explains that her 3 year old little girl can’t speak. She recently started having seizures. She can’t walk perfectly on her own, so someone’s always gotta be holding her hand. She asks if we can help pay for the doctors bills.
I see them in Cambodia. In the street children we’re working with. We pick them up at 6AM, clean them up, feed them, and send them off to school. They spend their time on the streets begging for money. Some of their parents are dead, drunk, abusive. They learn to fend for themselves and how to tolerate pain, physical and emotional.
I see broken people, and they’re breaking my heart. Helpless and heartbroken, I ask my friend what to do. Do I give them money, do I give them help? I only have little to offer, and giving money to fix something for a little while doesn’t really fix it. She answers me so simply but her words have meaning, they have weight.
She says “I just look them in the eye. I let them know that I’m really seeing them.” Isn’t that all we ever want in this life anyway, to be genuinely seen. I hold onto her words and the ones that Jesus gives us.
He tells us to love one another. So I look into their eyes. I let them know that I see them. I pray for them, and ask Jesus to transform their bodies and transform their lives. I ask them about themselves, their names, and communicate as best we can with our different languages. Though I’ve found laughter is my favorite form of communication. It does more than words ever could.
There are broken people, and broken hearts. But giving them the chance to be seen heals even the smallest of creases, makes even the smallest of difference. And though I can’t rescue them from their despair, I can tell them about the one who can. The one who can heal their souls, the one who can make their hearts whole again. Because He’s all I have, and all that I really have to give. But He’s more than enough.
