God always sees the bigger picture than we do…and I can’t quite seem to constantly remember that:)
I was exhausted. We had ministry earlier in the day and had just finished sitting through an hour-plus Christmas performance by some of the local children. It was beautiful and heart-warming. Unorganized and over-crowded. Comical and powerful…watching a variety of Malay children sing Christmas carols in broken English, play instruments with wrong notes and rhythm, and speaking parts with close to no order. Dressed in their best, which, to the public eye, would look like a random hodge podge of children in the nicest clothing they could find. Yet it was so perfect.
Let’s all take a minute to chuckle at little Wan Cien who wasn’t too happy to be at her Christmas performance..:)
Following the service they invited us to the back to eat. I have to admit, all I was thinking about was going home to sleep. Brat. After probably 15 minutes in a pretend line (Asia doesn’t do lines…and then I realized, who was I to get feisty over a buffet of food that I didn’t even want for anything more than to be polite?), heat, and pure chaos, I finally got my plate and weaseled my way through the million people and took off to the table furthest as possible from the crowd. Terrible, I know…I should’ve chosen a place intermixed with the locals, but I just couldn’t. Brat. So I sat down and was relieved when two of my teammates followed. Phew, I thought. I really wasn’t in the mood for the pressure of having to make small-talk with a stranger, I so vividly remember thinking as Jess and Lizzy sat down at my table. Brat.
It wasn’t but a minute later when what do ya know… (this is what you get for being bratty…:)
Molly. A hobble-y, elderly lady makes her way to our table and plops down right in the one open chair. My heart sank…Ugh. Lord, you know I’m really NOT in the mood (brat), I was thinking behind the warm smile that the Lord somehow placed on my face.
She is Chinese Malay. When she smiles, you can hardly see her precious little eyes and you can see more into her partially toothless mouth. Our conversation slowly warms up and after asking a few obligatory questions, we realize Molly is very interested in talking, and her English is even very strong.
Early in the conversation she randomly made the comment “it’s difficult to get to church.” That was our chance. Here in Malaysia, it’s illegal to evangelize to the native people; however, if they initiate the conversation, you can respond. So there the three of us were, flirting with the lines of legalities, yet being led by the Holy Spirit.
Throughout the conversations at that little outdoor, iron table, I don’t think I said more than 2 sentences; I left it all to Jess and Lizzy. I don’t know what it was, but I was just so at peace sitting there gazing at Molly throughout the entire dialogue. I couldn’t break my stare or wipe the smile off my face. But wasn’t my usual full, energetic, big, lively smile; it was a soft, gentle smile with piercing eyes. It somehow seemed surreal.
Molly was not a believer, nor was she tied to any religion other than society’s Islamic pressures. Her late husband was a Catholic, but she was afraid to commit to anything because of her children and their different beliefs. She loved Christmas carols because the “words are touching.” She questioned us on prayer and why sometimes God doesn’t answer what we ask for. She continued to bring up the idea of our mission trip and what we were doing it for; why weren’t we getting paid? We shared with her that being a Christian isn’t going to church or doing the right things to earn eternity. We asked her if she wanted us to pray with her to become a Christian that day (to which she politely, embarrassingly declined while giggling). We reminded her that Jesus loves her and that we’d be praying for her.
Mid-conversation Molly stopped. She turned her attention to me, who had not at all been engaged (verbally) in the conversation. “You have a very loving smile,” she genuinely, slowly stated, as if she was pondering something. “Do I?” I asked with a smile. “Yes. A very loving look,” she repeated as she continued to focus into my eyes from across the table.
Molly was far too shy that day for me to have asked to snap a photo of her. But what I did get from her that day was a beautiful reminder of why I’m here.
No, Molly didn’t accept Christ that day and I’m not sure we’ll see Molly again. I’m praying I see her in Heaven one day. But, I’m convinced that it was Jesus that Molly saw in my eyes that day. No, I’m not meaning that I deserve glory or that I did anything. What I mean is that the power of our God is incredible. I firmly believe the Holy Spirit interceded and Molly saw Him that day; she saw something different that caught her attention. He used me to reach her- a lost, precious child of His.
Never underestimate how our God can use you, “just one” person in this big world of His, to shine the light.
