Normally when I post a blog it’s after I’ve experienced an event, circumstance or have met the subject of my blog and I’ve had some time (ie: days) to process what has just occured. So, it was rare that I found myself typing up a blog in my usual spot in the coffee shop only hours after visiting the floating villages on Monday. It was Monday evening though, when the thoughts came flooding into my mind about what actually happened on our three hour tour.
Now don’t get me wrong, I still think God has an amazing sense of humor, but I felt like He also wanted me to share a little more with you about what I saw on our outing. By no means was I trying to disrespect the people in the village we visited, I was merely trying to account for the funny events that happened during our day. However, in accounting for the funny things, I would also like to share with you what else God showed me that day–thus, “remembering all my personal belongings when exiting the tour.”
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As we rode down the river, a thought came to mind. Who is reaching out to this community? Do they know Christ? What would a missionaries life be like living out here on the water? Not two minutes later I saw this:
Next, I witnessed families who lived along the shore and on the river, as I mentioned in my previous blog. Kids were running along the shore line, jumping off the boats into the water, playing and laughing. They had such joy. I saw yet another community that day for the very first time in my life. I want to make one thing clear, I did not gloss over these people’s lives. “Lord, help me never to do that.” I never want to let the poverty I see become “normal.” I do however, believe that God has allowed me to no longer be frightened of the poverty [in all forms] that I see or feel helpless for those people. He has given me His eyes to see His children. He has given me HOPE for the hopeless. He has equipped me to help His people and given me prayers to pray for them. And so although I pray it will never be “normal” to me, God has allowed me to no longer be shaken to my core when I witness such things.
A question I find myself revisiting often is: why them, not me? I don’t feel quilty for the life I live, I feel blessed, but I didn’t do anything to receive the life I’m living, where I’m living, how I’m living. So why then is it them, not me? I’m not sure if I will ever know that answer, but I do know that I won’t stop reaching out to those in need. Those who are in need of a friend, someone to laugh with, those in need of a listening ear, those in need of a voice to speak for them, those in need of someone to look after them, those in need of food or clothes–those who just need.
