Reality.
As we approached the boarder to Zimbabwe, I was reminded of 2 months ago when we crossed that same border.
It was 3am and we were all in a sleepy stupor as we stood in a very
long line waiting to have our passports stamped with transit visas. I
glanced up and saw a man in tattered clothing, yanking on his child’s arm.. motioning for him to get up. The child stirred to his feet and grabbed an old tin can sitting beside the curb. The man then took a hold of the can as the child guided him over to the visa line. As the man made his way up the line, stopping every few people… rattling the can, I realized that the grown man was blind and that the child HAD to be there to guide him, otherwise there would be no livelihood at all. The man stopped right in front of me with the can pointed in the completely wrong direction… hopeful that someone would put money in the can. I glanced over at the child [maybe 9 years old] and he was dozing off right where he was standing. I had nothing in my hand but a pen to sign the visa form and my passport. I was instantly sobered from my sleepy stupor and as the tears rolled down my cheeks, I placed one hand on the man and the other on the child to pray. I begged God to let them know that my touch was the touch of love… that my touch was a voice crying out saying that i could SEE them and that i cared for them.
long line waiting to have our passports stamped with transit visas. I
glanced up and saw a man in tattered clothing, yanking on his child’s arm.. motioning for him to get up. The child stirred to his feet and grabbed an old tin can sitting beside the curb. The man then took a hold of the can as the child guided him over to the visa line. As the man made his way up the line, stopping every few people… rattling the can, I realized that the grown man was blind and that the child HAD to be there to guide him, otherwise there would be no livelihood at all. The man stopped right in front of me with the can pointed in the completely wrong direction… hopeful that someone would put money in the can. I glanced over at the child [maybe 9 years old] and he was dozing off right where he was standing. I had nothing in my hand but a pen to sign the visa form and my passport. I was instantly sobered from my sleepy stupor and as the tears rolled down my cheeks, I placed one hand on the man and the other on the child to pray. I begged God to let them know that my touch was the touch of love… that my touch was a voice crying out saying that i could SEE them and that i cared for them.
things like this happen around me every day
Reality.
Reality as i know it has changed.
fathers forcing sons to stay awake all night to beg for money so they can eat.
young girls doing drugs just to make it through another shift of prostituting their bodies.
babies trained to spit on anyone who doesn’t give money when asked [begged].
muslims that spend their days praying against christian missionaries
africans that practice muti [witchcraft spells] on the jewelry that they sell to visitors
young gypsy children that create diversions as they try desperately to take the wallet from
your pocket or the ring off your finger.
seeing young men stumble around the city centers with heroin injection lesions on their arms and necks.
walking into a village where the best meal they have to offer is 4 pieces of toast and a cup of hot tea.
realizing that the “pharmacy” i [had] in my backpack was bigger than that of missionaries living in africa.
learning that your most prized possessions make the best, most touching, and memorable gifts. it feels good to give of your time and your love… it feels even better to give away the things that mean the most to you.
My perspective of what is important has shifted more than i could have ever thought possible [and i still have 5 months to go… AND the rest of my life].
it’s a powerful thing when you finally have an encounter with the way that you know things were meant to be.
my heart for missions has shifted. it’s not just something i do because God has given me a burden… or call to do. it’s what gives purpose to my life. and in that, i am seeing God’s glory come forward. through that, i am becoming an open and broken young woman who is facing the flaws of her flesh more humbly than ever before.
and to top it off… as i shed the baggage of my heart, my backpack gets smaller too. [to be continued blog coming soon about this]
there is freedom in release.
