He had one leg and glazed eyes and used crutches with practiced ease as he limped to my table. I was waiting on friends for coffee and doing squats (ridiculous, I know, but you workout when you can out here) He struck up a conversation but I wasn’t feeling it. It was 6:30am and I was off duty. Besides, I hadn’t slept and was so tired I could hardly focus. Naturally he went deep quick and asked me if I would die for Jesus. I told him indignantly that of course I would. He told me that if given the chance, he probably wouldn’t. He said he wouldn’t die for his brother who he sees everyday so why would he die for a God he can’t even touch.
This man didn’t want to be fixed so I opened my Bible and tuned him out as my friends continued to make conversation.
He asked another question and I annoyingly answered him. It was obvious I was frustrated. My friend turned to me and said, Just listen.
As I sit here and write this, my heart hurts for John the homeless man. My heart aches that he knows God loves him yet he won’t love him back. And my heart is broken realizing the state of affairs in my own heart.
I couldn’t fix that man so I wrote him off.
Maybe I can’t fix him, but I can refocus the paradigm I’m operating under.
I tried to hide the crocodile waterworks coursing down my filthy face. At first I threw on glasses to block the view.
Then I stopped and let them flow freely. I put my head on the table and felt the weight of each burden fly off with each tear. I’ve never been much of a crier but if it feels that good every time, I may start doing it once a week—at least.
When I got done, I looked up through tear stained contacts, wild woman hair and sweat—so much sweat— and realized something. I recognized that even though I felt like a broken heap of ruble I was still alive. Nothing crazy had happened. I hadn’t faded into oblivion or disappeared. No one was disappointed in me for failing. I was still breathing, maybe even more so than before and I felt strong. Really strong. I felt the Cornerstone my life is based upon strengthen underneath me. I breathed Jesus in and finally understood that admitting I was broken didn’t take away the work that God has done in my life. It doesn’t diminish His victory. If anything it makes me more grateful for His grace and love. I felt the buoyancy of the Spirit rise in me—calming peace amidst the chaos.
There are seasons in our lives when it falls apart. That’s so dramatic to say but when it’s your life and you’re the one living it, that’s how it feels.
Remembering past victories pulls us through the trials of today in order to bring us back to the mountaintops tomorrow. To say I’m passionate is an understatement. It’s humbling when life doesn’t go according to Christin. When my plans are wrecked and I’m sitting in the clutter it’s like God joyfully exclaims, Finally! Scoot over so I can do work!
John the homeless man called something out. I want the quick fix, the fast answer, the simple prayer when maybe I just need to listen; maybe I just need to love.
As we delve more into intimacy, He is taking me through a season of nothingness. Crutches and comforts are being stripped away and it’s been breaking me. Not necessarily because I miss these false satisfactions but because I am finally seeing how independent I was acting in a relationship with God that’s meant to be dependent.
It’s funny when you have nothing left to do that you just have to be.
I’ve warred and struggled and fought a crazy fight but on my own I’m just a somebody looking for an anybody to hear that a great Guy loves everybody. I’m trying to fix people so they can experience mind blowing freedom but in the process I lost the focus, lost myself and stupid satan tried to steal my identity.
Quiet is good as I rest in His victory. Sometimes it’s listening to His whisper to rise up. Rise up and be victorious. Rise up and be. But sometimes we have to be silent to hear the call to stand.
It’s humbling to live in the liberty of unearned forgiveness. What if we started living with the mindset as though we’d never sinned…Ya know, the way that God sees us anyway? Definitely something I’m going to chew on as we build a cement wall this week in Managua.
Much love from Nicaragua, Christin.
