These past few months God has been revealing to me that my identity has been held in comforting others…how needed and valued I feel by them; how I can help “fix” their struggles. When I am not “that person”, I find myself with hurt feelings…upset…disappointed in myself.
I am cutting Jesus out of the equation. I am not giving Him room to work His ways. I am trying to do it on my own. I am trying to do what He does best.
We walk into the home of Jorge Luis; its bare, tight, darkness strikes to the core. He is one of our ministry contacts – a 22-year old so full of joy, love and smiles. He lives with his three brothers and father in a home that couldn’t be any bigger than my parents’ family room. His mother and sister died in a car accident a year and a half ago. I can’t fight my tears at the thought of their reality..their home is missing a mother. The pure love, comfort and warmth that a mother carries through her home. I wanted so badly to sob for him. Just to sit in sadness for their family. To spend time fixing up their home. Making them feel cared for and loved.
We are at the orphanage for our weekly visit; we are doing pre-bedtime devotionals with the kiddos. Nine little freshly-showered bodies are gathered around the long kitchen table; heads turned, eyes attentive to the computer screen where we are watching sing-along bible songs; although very few of them can read, they each belt out every single lyric. Nine little voices cry out, all so off-tune and off-rhythm. Yet it is the most beautiful sound in the world. Tears stream down my face, and before I know it I can’t see a thing through my blur of tears. I have to step away to the “bathroom” after little Genesis whispers to me “why are you crying??” (in Spanish, of course:). I silently sob to myself. These kids have no mom or dad in their lives. No parent to show off as theirs. To tuck them in at night. To comfort them when they are sad. To be their stability as they experience life’s struggles. I want so badly to bring them home to the states, providing them with a “good life”. Spend every minute loving on them. Shower them with attention. Make them feel loved, valued, comforted, like they have a home and a family that they can call theirs.
We enter through the big metal door of the old folks home, and I feel lonely, cold, out of place. It appears as its own little community, but in reality it embodies zero characteristics of a community. I begin a friendship with Manuel, and through his soft grin and deep brown eyes, God shows me so much hurt. Loneliness. Pain. He has no good friends here because “everyone talks too much and no one listens.” He stays in bed until 4pm each day because “there is nothing else to do.” I want so badly to sit with him all day, every day, providing him with a friend. A listening ear. Company. Making him feel loved. Like he has something to get out of bed for each day.
But I can’t.
And that kills me.
But He is showing me that it isn’t my place. I cannot carry the loads of others; I am not created to handle what other people are walking through. You see – He promises to be all those things that we are not equipped with in this earthly life. None of that is anything that I’ve been given the strength, wisdom, or courage to handle on my own.“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still” (Exodus 14:14 NIV).
Ultimately – I am lacking trust in Him that He is who He says He is. He is Comforter. Father. Best friend. Companion. Provider. Lover. Encourager. And so much more. “And this same God who takes care of me will supply all your needs from His glorious riches, which have been given to us in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:19 NLT). Yes, my desire is for Him to continue to break my heart for what breaks His. But following that, I must cling to His promises of who He says He is.
“…For the battle is not yours, but God’s […]. You will not have to fight this battle.” (2 Chronicles 20:15, 17)
