Sometimes I think I've adjusted back to life in America.
Then, I go to Walmart.
I still get weirded out that there are 17 brands of toilet paper who are competing to wipe my butt.
There is always some kid throwing a temper tantrum over some action figure that his mother has sensibly said "no" to, and is now forced to listen to some whining variant of: "BUT YOU SAID YOU LOVED ME…" While I want to condemn that kid, I'm pretty sure my parents can tell you stories of when they suffered from my chronic whining disease.
I was then taken back to a Pastor's house in Africa. Their 9 year old began to throw a fit because he didn't want to eat broccoli. Without thinking, my teammate begins to stay, "Hey man, there are starving kids in Afri…oh…." [awkward silence]
I just got back from co-leading a mission's trip in Dallas. It was strange being back in my homestate to show kids about homelessness. I know poverty knows no race/ethnic group/religion, but it was surreal. I left Dallas youthful and naive about the poor. "Lets help out the poor and if we all pitch in, we can beat this problem," used to be my attitude.
Now I uncomfortably see, through Christ, I am so connected to the poor that I can't walk away. We are both angry, overjoyed, scared, and in need of everlasting love. We both need the loving arms of Christ so much all we can do is look and see His face in each other.
I was reminded of this on the last day of ministry in Dallas. We were going out through downtown to help search for homeless to give them some food and water. We ran into two gentlemen named Juan and Cowbody. Juan, although he had already polished off half a forty, he began to tells us how God had saved his life. After listening for a good twenty minutes, Cowboy began to shake all of our hands. He was a big man, and told us of some of his adventures "taking care" of people. When he got to me, he stopped. I could smell the stale sweat on his bandana. He leaned in, I began to say what I say in awkward situations, "Uh… can I pray for you dude?"
Tears streamed down his face. Although I could see he wanted to talk more, all that uttered from his mouth was, "Jesusjesusjesusjesus…" and he put his head on my chest.
We prayed. We prayed for peace. We prayed for unity. We prayed for healing. And we prayed for Christ to breathe in us.
When we finished, I remember the sacredness of the moment. At that moment we were both poor brothers, standing in the shadiest part of Dallas, intimately encountering the most high God.
