I watch as the water running to the drain gets clearer and clearer. My heart is saddened as I watch the evidence of my day slip away. I don’t want to wash the sweat and smell and dirt from my skin. As dirty as I feel when I look at my hands, a few shades darker than usual, covered in a layer of dirt that is now embedded into my finger prints. I can’t help but think that if I leave it there, it somehow makes me closer to them. It somehow closes the gap between me and the boy who lives under a tarp who plays in dirt next to a polluted and toxic river of waste. The only beauty he knows is the seagulls flying over the landfill that goes on to the horizon. The only Himalayas he will ever lay his eyes upon are ones made from the trash of tourism in the big city. People come and go and spend rupees on fancy coffees and North Face knock-offs completely unaware that he lives in a landfill, let alone exists. But I want so badly for him to know that I don’t care how dirty I am or how terrible the odor of the dump is when the wind picks up or if I ever make it back to my shower and bed in Thamel. I want him to know that I would spend forever with him there by the hills and mountains made from trash, that I would stay dirty forever just to play tag with him. Because I want him to know that he is loved. He is loved beyond what he can imagine.
I never wanted to leave her embrace. The details of her story are unknown to most, myself included, but I knew it without her having to say a word. A man came to her village promising a prosperous life in the city to her family. She, as the oldest daughter, is eager to give up her simple life in the village to help provide for her family. The man pays her family a sum of money and she is sold. In an instant she becomes property and the dreams of working hard to honor her family are crushed when she is sold night after night. She is little more than investment property, and everyone gets a return except for her. The day finally comes when she is rescued from her hellish reality and now she is in my arms and I in hers. I thank her for allowing us to sit and drink tea with her and the other girls who share the same story. I want her to know that I see her, that I see past her past and wounds and scars. That even though her culture might shame her, I don’t, and Jesus doesn’t. I want her to know that I love her, not because her craftwork adorns my wrist but because God’s heart in mine is bursting with joy and overflowing with affection every time I look at her.
…
These moments are what the Lord handed me when I said yes to Him. In my mind, the outcome of saying yes to the Lord looked a lot different. It looked more like a life filled with comfort. It looked like a comfortable job, comfortable community, comfortable home, comfortable.
But now it looks like these stories.
I’m coming to an understanding with the Lord that his invitation to follow might not always be comfortable, but as it turns out, the return of the created to the Creator will always feel like home.
So choose yes.
Yes to aligning your heart with the Father’s, to being burdened by the things that burden him, to rejoicing with his children over a plate of Dal-Baht and a large stuffed tiger, to living beautifully, to sharing heartache with strangers, to fighting for those who cant fight for themselves, to experience the joy that comes from freedom, to the lovely intersecting of stories, to everything.
It’s messy.
It’s difficult.
It’s not always easy.
It’s worth it.
It is so worth it.
