Just here to let you know that sometimes (sometimes frequently), the race is hard.
Last Wednesday was hard. It was an easier ministry day; show up at 9:30, help the kids walk to a large gathering area to receive their food for the day, walk them back and have a debrief with one of the men in charge of the center.
It all sounds easy until you’re there and you’re trying to communicate with children who all speak different dialects of the same (ish) language. Encouraging them to grab their chairs and backpacks and to wait until everyone is ready. It’s near impossible, and sometimes frustrating.
** another ugly reality of self **
Rewind to earlier that week, on Monday, during ministry one of my teammates, Liz, picked up a little girl who I had watched 15 minutes earlier wet her pants out of need to relieve herself. The little girl was very upset that she was left to awkwardly stand in the middle of an organized playtime to just… go. Afterwards I watched her slowly waddle back to her friends, still with wet legs and wet shorts. I wanted to warn my teammate that she was getting urine on her shirt. That I wasn’t sure when we would be able to do laundry again, to let her know what I had witnessed just a short time ago. But, my sweet teammate didn’t seem phased.
I shied away from holding the younger ones out of fear of getting dirty myself. Snot and dirt, sweat and food, I can do that kind of ‘mess’ but urine? That’s just gross… right? I walked home and remembered writing in my journal what I had watched and how I was impressed with that kind of love my teammate was so willing to walk in. Willing to hold and comfort a child who was still wearing wet pants.
Fast forward back to Wednesday, we walked back to our ministry site to help in the kindergarten class. We were trying to rally the kids, instruct them to gather their chairs and backpacks, as that day an outside organization would be bringing apple slices, hardboiled eggs, and milk to the kids. I noticed how one of the younger girls (under 2 years old, at least) was asleep on a mattress in the classroom. The teachers were prepared to leave her there but I asked if I could hold her and bring her along, they said yes. As soon as I scooped up that sweet lump of love I felt it, the soaked through diaper that had drenched her worn pants. I remember taking a deep breath and letting her nuzzle into my chest. That day I cuddled a child, soaked with potty, and sat under a beautiful tree while my team wrangled 80ish kindergartners. I was quite removed from the feeding of the children (so sorry team Arise) because my mind couldn’t get over the warmth on my shirt and on my jeans from this precious girls maxed out diaper.
My thoughts went something like this…
This precious babe in my arms had ZERO control over her bodily functions, ZERO control over if her family could afford more diapers or not, ZERO control over sitting in her mess. She just desired to be held, to have a safe and secure place to nap for the morning.
How dare I warn people of messes.
How dare I warn people of a messy love, of becoming whatever I need to be for the gospel.
How dare I think that my teammate was gifted with that love while it wasn’t something for me to walk in.
How dare I distance myself from messes I’m unwilling to take on, to wear?
Let’s remember JESUS’S Love
He sought out adulterers.
He invited tax collectors to be in his inner circle, his disciples
He healed lepers.
Touched the sick, too many times to count.
Sought out the Samaritan woman.
Invested in a man who would later betray him, still inviting him to his last meal with his disciples.
… and SO much more. He’s quite the messy lover, my friends.
I’m learning to sit in the messiest of loves.
