This month, I’m in beautiful DaNang, Vietnam working with an international church in the city. So far, this month has been pretty luxurious. We’re staying in a two star hotel which translates to a palace on The Race. We have soft beds, hot water, and AC, but the best part is we are a fifteen minute walk from one of the world’s best beaches. Our job this month has included working a retreat for the church that was at a resort on the beach. And while the weather and scenery feels like summer, we are getting into the holiday season by helping with the city wide Christmas pageant.
All of this to be said, this month is straight paradise.
This afternoon we went for a prayer walk, something that’s become so normal this year. As we were walking down the street, earphones in, sunglasses on, feeling straight up like a spy from the Old Testament, I saw her. A middle aged woman rummaging through a trash can on the street. Her bicycle was next to her with bags filled with scraps of medal hanging off her handle bars. She had just found her next treasurer, a tin can to add to her collection.
It was the first time in the 7 days that we’ve been here, that my heart broke. And maybe even broken is too strong of a word, it was more like a ping in my heart.
This month has been so comfortable, so beautiful, that such a blatant display of poverty surprised me. Convicted, I began to pray, but before the words came out, he answered me.
“I dig through trash.”
Sometimes, my culture tells me it’s all about me. It’s all about what I do. If I accomplish a lot, then I’m valuable. If I have good behavior and do good things, it means I’m worthy. And sometimes, I confuse my culture for the Bible.
In reality, there is nothing I have to give that hasn’t first been given to me. My worth and value was settled on the cross thousands of years ago. And contrary to what I like to believe, I didn’t find God. He found me. And he dug through the trash to do so.
And he will keep digging. He doesn’t forget about the lost lamb that’s wandered off. He goes after her, even if she is a homeless woman in Vietnam, a prostitute in Thailand, a sick child in Cambodia, a comfortable housewife in America, or a homesick Racer across the ocean. He goes after his sheep. None are forgotten, and none are too dirty for him to touch.
Which is crazy, because why does The King of Kings compare himself to a shepherd? Why does he wash feet? He gave up his comfort, actually I think it was more like he made himself nothing taking the likeness of a human, a servant. Even as I sit on the softest bed I’ve had in three months, and on those short walks to the beach, I don’t want to forget that he sets the example for me to follow.
Embrace discomfort, seek him first, dig through the trash.
