I love telling everyone about the World Race. I love telling them about what countries I will be going to. I love telling them about the type of work I’ll be doing. I love telling them about the interesting opportunities I might have.
Some people get excited for me. They start gushing about what a great opportunity it is for me. They are so excited to hear the different countries, the different places. They start telling me things like “Oh, I’ve been to South Africa! You’ll have to check out such and such place.”
Some people tell me I shouldn’t go. I’ve been called a “stupid American”. Some people have said “It’s too dangerous.” They’re worried about me, about potentially dangerous situations. I don’t disagree that it will be dangerous… we’re not going to the pretty, safe places of the world. We’re going to the nitty gritty heart of these countries. The backwoods, the high mountains, the places steeped in poverty.
I’m excited and happy for this, I think this is beautiful. I think this is real.
I have a hard time explaining this to those people who are worried, though. “But it’s so dangerous out there, aren’t you scared? I don’t think you should go.”
I always think… But, what about them?
What about those who LIVE in these places? Those who aren’t there for just a while… those who can’t get away to a safe place? What about those people who live in garbage dumps, in the streets, in huts that don’t quite keep all the rain out? What about those people who die from the common cold, when they could be cured with essentially pocket change? What about those children who can’t get clean water, who are sick from the ugliness in their water.
What about the children who are stuck in the sex slave industry, who have suffered more than I could ever imagine? What about the orphans who are forgotten by their neighbors? What about the widows who have been abandoned by society?
What about that old man, who has been rejected by his neighbors, because he is no longer useful? Who thinks no one sees him, no one notices him, no one loves him? What about the unnoticed?
And then I turn it back around on me, and I think… Why do I deserve safety and love more than them?
God has given me the opportunity to live in a very safe place, but that does not mean He loves me more than all the other people in the world that don’t have such luxuries.
I can’t provide them safety, but I can give them my love. And maybe, just maybe, for one person in the world, that might be enough.
I was watching The Amazing Spiderman 2, and I watched the scene where Gwen is in the elevator with Max. The smile on his face when he says “Out of everybody in New York, he saved ME” just breaks my heart. And when Gwen says goodbye to him as she exits the elevator, he gasps “She remembered my name!”
These are such simple things that most of us take for granted. Having someone who at least acknowledges us. For most of us, having at least one person who loves us. Such a basic human need.
There was an experiment done, once, with monkeys, where they made two ‘mothers’. They were both made of something like wire frames, or some sort of hard material. One mother had food, the other was covered with soft cloth. It was discovered that the monkeys preferred the cloth mother. They preferred comfort, and a loving embrace, over the basic survival instinct of food.
That is powerful. That is telling.
Everyone should feel love in their lives.
And THAT is why I am going. Not because I want to vacation around the world. Not because I’ll get to do cool things. Those are wonderful, of course, but not my reason.
People need love. I want to give it to them.
And I want to be changed by the power of their love.
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“I have been wandering to find him and my happiness is so great that it even weakens me like a wound. And this is the marvel of marvels, that he called me Beloved, me who am but as a dog.” ~The Last Battle; C.S. Lewis
