I’ve been peed on. Not once…oh no no but TWO TIMES!!! I’ve been peed on TWICE on the Race. (Well… three if you count the time I peed on myself. But that’s a story for another day.) You know what though?! I didn’t mind at all…not in the least bit.
The story was beautifully woven by Papa starting on a Friday morning. A few of my squad mates and I hopped in a van and travelled thirty minutes along a not-so-well-paved, nausea-inducing road to provide food for those in Tent City, which is a housing project made up of..you guessed it…TENTS! It was created for those left homeless from typhoon Ondoy in 2009.
Our feeding team drove into the subdivision, snapped some shots with the kids and within 8 minutes the arroz caldo (aka a chicken rice soup) we brought for the community was annihilated! We were able to provide some people with a bit of medical attention and got to chat with a few who were washing clothes and pumping water from the poso (manual pump). However, the interactions never really went beyond a simple, “Hi. Kumusta. What is your name?!” While my heart wept for this community, I was searching for something a little more substantial from the feeding ministry than that.
Don’t get me wrong. I think it was a blessing to have been able to serve the loving people in that area, but I didn’t feel Papa was specifically calling me to invest myself into the feedings. Particularly because my being hungers for relationships and my heart craves intimacy, I just couldn’t see myself walking into these peoples’ lives and leaving after 20 minutes (if that) every week.
Reasons I was NOT returning to the feeding ministry:
1) No specific burden was placed on my heart.
2) No special bond/connection was formed.
3) Honestly, I just wasn’t feeling it.
The funny thing, though, about having expectations about where God will show up, how He will show up or how you will feel about it is that He will far outstrip those expectations!
To be continued…
