It’s officially the last week of ministry. Things are going well- I love what I’m doing, I was able to take a real dance class last week, my diet may be all carbs all the time but there’s coffee, too, so I’m ok- you’d think this last week would not only be a breeze, but it would be, I don’t know… enjoyable?
Happy Manic Monday. Today I worked in the clothing shop- the upstairs attic with stock piles of donated clothes that Kawan gives to the homeless men and women who come through. They come to the “window,” say what they want, and we give them the closest thing we can find.
Easy.
My partner today was Aliyah, the ten year old daughter of some Canadian YWAM missionaries helping here, too. She’s a gem and I was so grateful to have her with me when we opened the doors and the chaos descended upon us.
That’s right, chaos.
Sheer and utter madness.
Men yelling, “Shirt! Shirt!” “Too big!” “Too small!” “Wrong color!” “Pants! No, shorts!” “He wants shirt!” “He said no white- he doesn’t like white!” “Shirt!” “Girl!” “Girl!” “GIRL!”
We didn’t have many small clothes (apparently only large Americans donate), so almost none of the men had pants that fit. Rather than admit defeat, they stood watching every other man and trying to yell over his voice.
There was a similar problem with the shirts- most of them wanted nice collars or button- ups, but the smaller sizes went like hotcakes, and we were left with loads of extra large t- shirts and more yelling men.
And, as much as I protest being called a ‘woman,’ it’s been a long time since I’ve had anyone holler “girl” at me to get my attention.
To be completely honest, I was offended and flustered. Who were these men, who have nothing, who thought they could rudely order us around and yell at us when we didn’t give them things we didn’t even have? Did they really think that I was just hiding the smaller sizes, or that by yelling at me I would somehow realize how right they were and how wrong I was and would then graciously bow down and kiss their feet and make the clothes magically appear?
What is this sense of entitlement, and where did they possibly get it- these men who have nothing– no homes, no jobs, not even clothes of their own. How do they think they deserve the exact pair of pants they want, and with a smile, too?
This is total mental instability.
When we come before the Lord, we come with nothing. We have no homes- we’re wanderers on this earth. We have no jobs- our work has been prepared for us to do but it is not our own. We have no covering- our sin is exposed and open before the One who created us and then even paid the ultimate sacrifice to redeem us.
Where did this sense of entitlement come from?
Who cares if they yelled at me? So what if they were less polite than perhaps I care for? At the end of the day, and I serving for their nice manners or for the Lord?
Because I’m pretty sure He loves me despite my negative attitudes and poor behavior, and I have been called to love the “least of these.”
Whether or not they’re nice to me.
