On the World Race we dedicate one day a week as our Sabbath day, to rest and recuperate (or to explore our surroundings).
Yesterday was our Sabbath day for the week because the next three days will be fairly intense as we prepare and navigate through the child education sponsorship program. As I sat on the balcony this morning in the sweet sunshine, I asked God what he would have me do today. I surveyed the surrounding communities, the tin roofs and the neighbourhood dogs, and the bright colours and thought about the potential of a full day committed to the Lord unreservedly.
Where I ended up was an Americanized shopping mall 15 minutes away. I ate a burger for lunch, watched a movie in a leather reclining chair, and perused the shops for Toms shoes and mini donuts and things that I didn't need.
As I walked through the palatial setting, shiny marble-like floors and high ceilings with elaborate lighting fixtures, I couldn't help but see flashes of the barrio children running through the place. Chances are, those kids will never see this mall. Or be able to afford anything in it. But I can waltz in between two worlds seamlessly, in the same shoes. I can work in one and play in another.
But not everyone can. Which once again prompts the question in my brain, "Why me?" There's gotta be purpose in it. And if there's purpose in it and not some willy nilly circumstance, then there's responsibility in it. Am I owning my responsibility?
Where's the balance? This question haunts me and we're only in the first month. I cannot imagine how this question will plague me when I return back to the Western World just as Christmas is about to get its groove on. Where does privilege meet duty? It's something my heart longs to know, while at the same time it trembles in fear of the answer. I'm afraid that the answer might be too hard for me to bear, that the sacrifice might be too great and that I might do away with the thought altogether.
Where do dirty bare feet meet marble floors? Can it only happen in Heaven?
