Break My Heart for What Breaks Yours

Chisinau, Moldova. Erica and I are walking down the street, laughing and talking, when we come to a old man sobbing on the sidewalk. He’s a dirty tattered mess and he’s holding his hands out for money. We are both struck silent. We want to give to him but we’ve heard time and time again that giving money is not the right thing to do. We decide to get him something to eat instead, but by the time we get back the old man is gone, the sidewalk is just people walking up and down and bumping past us. We turn the corner and spot the man, but he’s changed. Now composed, he is sitting on a park bench counting a wad of bills. I feel so sad for a man who has stooped so low as to weep and wail for strangers’ money, like an actor putting on a show and getting his due. I feel I’ve been tricked but I’m not angry at him as much as I just hate the situation. We keep walking.

Kathmandu, Nepal. This time it’s Nikole and me, walking through the street crowded with pedestrians, motorbikes, and rattley trucks. It’s evening, Nikole’s just bought a sandwich for her dinner, when we come upon two young boys begging. Nikole quickly offers them her sandwich and they split and devour it. The boys speak decent English so we stay and talk with them. I ask if there’s anything else they need and the older boy answers “Milk!” I’m eager to contribute and agree to follow the boys to a store. Except when we get there I find out that they don’t want milk, they want a large box of powdered baby formula. $26 USD. I hesitate but figure that they want it because it’s nonperishable and will feed them for a long time. It’s worth the money to me and I bring it to the counter. But before the cashier will let me give it to the boys he insists I open it. The boys cry out “No! No, sister, don’t!” The man gives me a stern look “Open it or they will sell it back.” The boys cry and beg and look right into my eyes and lie. Nikole reminds me that for all we know there could be a guy around the corner using them to con tourists out of their money. My heart breaks as I get my money back and leave the kids and the formula in the store.

Cape Town, South Africa. A man approaches us sitting in the parking lot waiting for our host. He begs us to help him. Literally he cries out “I’m begging you! I don’t want to die on the street.” He goes on “I’m not a bad man. Can’t you help me? I’m hungry. I want to go home.” He cries and tells is about the time he spent in prison and why his head is bandaged. But I’ve learned. This time I don’t answer him, I don’t even make eye contact. After 7 months I’m tired of this game. I want to talk to him, to pray with him and buy him some food, but I’m afraid it’ll be like one the examples above or a dozen others I have. Maybe this time will be like the Roma girls at the gas station who wouldn’t stop asking for money no matter what else you gave them, or like the man on the trolley in Romania who followed me down the street after I smiled and greeted him. Most often I wish I’d never even tried . It hurts too much. They look at me and see dollar bills and I don’t know what they want to spend the money on. I can’t in good conscience fund their addictions. Finally the man gives up and leaves in tears.
As soon as he’s out of sight I start to panic.
What’s happening to me?
Who am I becoming?
Our host gets back and hands me my lunch and I could vomit. How am I going to eat while that guy wanders hungry? I get out of the van and try to find him. I pray God will bring him back. I want a do-over, I want to give him my food and pray for his injuries. But he’s nowhere to be found. I get back in the van and cry all the way home.

Several months ago I was talking about India with my squad coach Cyd. I was describing some of the heartbreaking suffering and she asked me if being exposed to that had embittered me towards the people of India. As in, “How could these people, this society let this happen?” And I was really honest with her. Instead of being angry with the people of India, I found myself hurling accusations and questions at God. How could He let this happen?

I’ve come a long way since then. And here’s the important thing I want you to read. Here’s why I wanted to write this blog…

After months of traveling and meeting broken people and just encountering pain that rips at my heart, I’ve finally stopped blaming God for all of it. Last weekend when I cried after meeting the homeless man in the parking lot, I came before The Lord in prayer, not as a frustrated child pointing fingers, but totally broken… and I feel I wept with the Father. I know that He does not delight in evil. In the beginning He created the world without pain and suffering. That perfect world was lost when we first sinned, and now His mission is to bring us home where He can wipe away every tear and shield us from all pain. I have come to understand that when my heart is pricked for another it is because He is the one doing the pricking. My heartache is just an echo of the ache within His. Jesus gave all in order to defeat sin and death, the roots of all suffering, and we look forward to the day when He will return. In the meantime, for some crazy reason God wants to use me and you to shine a light in the darkness… To alleviate pain where we can.
So I’m going to keep praying for the sick and the lost.
And I will not stop sharing food and giving what I have.
And next time, I won’t be afraid to look someone in the eye and take the risk of loving them like Jesus does.