The Race is the coolest thing ever, but it’s difficult, and you can’t do this on your own strength. Not consistently, and not effectively.
I’m a big time sinner like the rest of you, but one of my favorite things about the Lord is that despite that, he delights in using me to love his children. He and I are partners in the whole battle injustice worldwide deal, and I love that.
I strive to remain rooted in him, as the source of my strength, my passion for life, and my love for others. That’s the only way I know to battle valiantly and to my full capacity.
So this one day, during one of our last days in the jungle, we were on our way to another village to conduct a medical camp and then swim at a waterfall.
As soon as we arrive, my teammate points out a boy with cerebral palsy rolling in the grass, and we ran over to sit in the grass with him. Immediately, this guy’s whole demeanor illuminates. Then, after a few minutes of playing, he reaches eagerly for me, with his whole body, and I catch him and roll around the grass with him. The thing is he doesn’t have anyone regularly taking care of him. So he’s drenched with urine and poop, but we just rolled around like brothers who hadn’t seen each other in years, both of us booming with laughter. The stench didn’t matter. The filth didn’t matter.
Afterward, we bathed him and tended to his wounds and sores. I held him and supported his weight so he could stand during the bathing, and after a certain amount of time, my forearms start to burn, and I pray “Lord, I need your strength. Because I’m not letting this guy down.”
In need of clean clothes, I scooped him up again and pulled my high school soccer uniform over his head. Now clean, someone had recommended that I sit him down in the shade, but something inside me told me not to put him down. That not letting him go, and holding him, was even more important than tending to his physical wounds. That I just needed to hold him.
So for the next two hours, I did just that.
Eventually, I’m again praying, “Lord, I need your strength,” and there was no way I was letting go. He tightened his grip around my neck. He giggled the hours away, and eventually fell asleep on my shoulder. So I just held him for the next two hours.
During this time, I started to hear more of his story. His name was Nathaniel. Nineteen years old, abandoned by his father years ago, and without a primary caregiver, he’s been left to fend for himself. It was of the most powerful moments of the last eleven months, and Nat gave me the clearest picture of how God loves me, and all of us.
I’m filthy beyond words, and instead of ignoring me or loving me from a distance, He runs to me like I’m the treasure of all treasures and just rolls around with me, picks me up, cleans me, and then holds me. The stench doesn’t even matter to Him.The filth doesn’t even matter to Him. He loves me so much it doesn’t even phase Him. He parades me around, cleans me anew, and then holds me tightly; longer than I think I deserve.
All of this is stuff that I could never do on my own. But it is stuff that any of us can do if we just partner with the Lord. If we’re kind enough to come over, and humble enough to admit we need help, then we can be bold enough to make a difference.
There are people that need to see that they’re worthy of going above and beyond to love.
And so, ultimately, to share a glimpse of that love to someone else, it’s an honor, and something all of us can do, daily.
