A throng of people gathered around my sister for a pre-wedding brunch. Our hands emptied expensive cups of coffee down our throats. We made small talk. We gawked at each other when we thought members of the other family weren’t looking. We stared at gourmet bread rolls. Finally, to break the awkward tension, I asked the most American question I could think of:
“So… what do you do?”
I listened intently to their response, halfway hoping they would be so enthralled by my intrigue that they wouldn’t ask me the same dreaded question:
“So… what do YOU do?”
For a brief moment, a fuse silently blew within the synapses of my brain:
You wanna know what I DO?
I get my heart broken everyday knowing that there are sex-trafficked girls in Thailand as well as America.
My stomach still shudders when people say: “There are starving kids in Africa”.
I remember seeing the faces of neglected youth in Romania and how much they look like the youth here.
I get freaked out that Thai massages cost $100/hr in America and less than $2/hr in friggin’ THAILAND!
But instead of turning over tables, I sipped my diet Coke, “Oh… I work for a non-profit.”
As the barrage of questions start, I pray to God for understanding and grace. Not for them, but for me. As much as I want to separate myself from all of America, I can’t. I can no longer claim ignorance, but I can’t claim to be better than those who haven’t been through what I’ve been through.
So I remember that I was asked to give ALL of my life to Christ, not just the exciting parts of it. I have to give the small talk, the time it takes to correct misunderstandings, the listening to people vent about how bad Christians are, and being a witness.
Being a witness to what God has done, does, and will continue to do is what I was called to be when I became a Son of God.
And in living that testimony, I have faith that God can/will change my heart, and in turn change minds, and redeem His kingdom.
That’s what I do.
