God usually has a way of giving us a plethora of second chances. I’ve found that my spirit has been crying out for hundreds this year and He’s always faithful to deliver. As many of you already know, I cannot escape beggars, homeless, or the poor wanders of the streets. There’s something inside of me that swells with movement every time that my eyes lock onto these people. And countless times this year I’ve turned them away, feeling as if my compassion’s waned for whatever reason.
It’s just a lame excuse.
I’m learning each day as I walk this Kingdom out that I need to operate out of a greater degree of humility. It’s been hard in the last few weeks, desiring to pick all of my rights back up, all of my self-subscribed rights and entitlements we subconsciously birth ourselves into in America. And I need to come clean: I walk past these people because I’m lazy, I’m oftentimes too consumed in myself to really reach out a hand, to get involved in someone else’s life and actually make a difference.
It’s a problem we all eventually encounter, something that we all usually find ourselves grappling with, yet ultimately we’re the ones responsible for how we react. I’m not responsible for how you react, just like you’re not responsible for how I might respond in any given situation.
God’s given me Cambodia as my second chance, as a place to respond effectively for the Kingdom.
After awhile it’s hard to ignore the silent but deafening cries from those on the streets. There are scores of children walking from tourist to tourist, begging for even a glance that might gleam a little hope, maybe it’s 50 cents, maybe it’s a hello. Several hobble around on one leg, the other having been blown off by a landmine and replaced with a piece of wood that suffices as a cane. Others are fortunate enough to have scavenged a wheelchair from somewhere to push and prod themselves around. And then there are the 90-year-old grandmothers of some children, lives who have seen blessings and curses litter the ground of their homeland.
Yet people walk by.
On Sunday we went to church and afterwards decided to walk around and find something to eat. As we were walking God was showing me a picture in my head of all these beggars gathered around a table in a restaurant eating a feast. They all looked confused, but were smiling triumphantly, as if something in their lives was overcome and defeated. Kim pulled me out of my head and asked me, “What were you just thinking about?” I told her and she just nodded her head and probably mumbled something about the absurdity and awesomeness of the Kingdom.
Then throughout the course of little conversation and little planning, Mark and I decided that we wanted to take a beggar out to lunch today, so we did just that.
After much searching, we ran into a dude in a wheelchair. His name was Ven and he was 25 years old… just one year older than myself. He’s a beggar and bums off of people all of the time, so it was no wonder that he was more than willing to eat with Mark and I. Ven didn’t speak English; just enough to tell me his name, his age, and to communicate with us that he has no family or friends. Several Cambodians translated for us, including our waitresses, motorbike drivers, and teenagers selling newspapers and sunglasses along the street.
We weren’t expecting to draw a crowd yet we did. I guess Jesus did the same thing.
We learned that Ven is, in fact, an orphan and a loner. He has nobody and he has nothing. He has no home. He sleeps on the street. Like in most societies around the world, because of his handicap he is a reject. He’s labeled as “no good” and sent away. There are no government organizations or anything that supports people like him. There are no shelters. There is no relief.
As Ven shoveled down today’s manna, I marveled at his strength. He was relentless in his pursuit for survival, yet hopeless in his quest for hope. He’s longing for the next day of unfulfilled living and hoping for nothing more than the next meal and his infrequent relief from the sun.
We gave him a meal… and maybe an hour of conversation.
And I wrestle as I sit here and write this. What real difference can I really even make in a life? What mark is this really leaving in the Kingdom? Am I actually doing anything worthwhile? I feel as if all that I have left is questions. Millions of questions. I cannot seem to communicate effectively or eloquently my heart anymore.
I’m just left in a state of idle-heartedness after lunch today.
My compassion does soar for these people, yes. I feel drawn to the poor, yes. Mark and I fed a man a meal, yes. What’s so special about that? I’m not sure. I wish I could say. I wish I could do more.
Has Kingdom really come if a man walks away filled yet still starving?
