I often learn visually and appreciate things in person. This is why I’m not regular at taking pictures. Typically whatever photo I try to snap won’t capture the reality. I’d rather be in the moment fully and have the memory of it to last later. I also like communicating with people in person. If we’re friends we may go a year without talking, but when I see you, don’t fear a faded friendship.
This month we have been working and living in the Youth For Christ center in Quilpue, Chile. Days are full of yard work, perhaps painting or repairing something, spending time with the team or our contacts, and hanging out with kids in the neighborhood at our fully functional abode… equipped with soccer field, volleyball net, whiteboard, ping pong table, basketball hoop, and taca taca, or foosball as we know it. All the essentials to grasp a child’s attention… for a hopeful 10 seconds.
My time here has been full of sunshine, laughter, and good memories. I’ll miss it when I’m gone, but am thankful to appreciate while I’ve been here.
I thought about sharing a picture of a face I see everyday, but you’d miss something if I did. You’ll have to rely on my words and let your mind create the rest.
His ribs stick out and his spine ridges like a cow. He has one cloudy eyeball. No teeth. His head is partially sunken in on one side – perhaps from getting in a fight. He has a scar on his nose which drags to his bottom lip, slicing his jaw in two parts. There are strange shiny warts protruding from his sides and his hair is as thick as the spot on Yoda’s head. He grunts and coughs and rasps when he breathes. His weak body and bull-legged stance staggers a bit as he slowly makes his way from one part of the yard to the other. Who knows how long he’s lived here. I can’t place an age. By the wear and tear of his body I can’t imagine great things in his former years. My silent hope has been that he dies soon and God shows him paradise.
It is a rare find when a dog is so poor, weak, and ugly in spirit and in look that I don’t want anything to do with it. In fact, the first few days I purposely stayed as far from it as I could. The sight of him was repulsive and something in my heart couldn’t bare it. I imagine at this point some of you are a bit disappointed I’m writing about a four-legged friend as opposed to a person. Stay with me. I’m going somewhere.
I spent my first week avoiding any sighting of the mutt while simultaneously asking the Lord to work compassion in me. I seemed to have been hit with this vision of Christ: Am I not the like the mongrel I described? Something so broken and mutilated by sin and sorrows. Detestable to the sight. Of fowl breath and stench. Where other people would rather walk away, not having the strength to get close to such a creature. Isn’t that me?! Isn’t that us?!
Isn’t it so supremely amazing that Jesus not only sees and knows this about us, but wants to run to us and hug us and get so close to us that he becomes a part of what we are. And in turn, because of his compassion, we become a part of who he is. Jesus doesn’t just give us a pat on the back and run to the sink to wash his hands of our filth. He takes our filth and wipes it on his cloak. Talk about a friend.
For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 8:38-39
**UPDATE**
Nov 2015
On our last day in Chile we discovered the death of the dog described above. Praise the Lord for His faithfulness and compassion! The timing could only be of God. As if He wanted his signature on this piece.
