I write to you this morning with a raw heart. Raw emotions. It seems I can’t look at a stranger without crying.
photo credit: ashley rose, via Compfight
His name is John. He is 15. His blonde hair and innocent looking eyes draws my attention quickly. I’m here to teach him English. I forgot to take a picture of him before I left.
photo credit: katiew (creative commons)
He sits with his friends, all no older than 15, in a smokey room. There is a picture of the bong. A picture of his friend blowing smoke out of his young mouth. John laughs as he shows me pictures.
I’m taken back to my teenage self. I too sat in a room with friends smoking pot, laughing, thinking I was having the best time of my laugh. I remember the moments of “freedom.” The nights of drinking, getting high, giving my body away.
I grab a hold of his arms and shake him, in my mind anyway. Do you see what you’re doing to your life? Open your eyes! Walk away. Run to Jesus! Please run to Jesus.
We talk. The conversation is shallow. Before he leaves I tell him in my best broken Russian, “God loves you.” He is gone.
Does he really know how much God loves him? Does he know there is a better life for him? Has he ever had a childhood? Does he know my heart is breaking watching him walk away without Jesus? Does he know Jesus is weeping over his brokenness?
The face of Caleb, my little cousin, fills my mind. He is 12. The day he came into this world is marked as one of the greatest days of my life. The innocence of his blue eyes captures my heart every time he looks at me. Does he know?
I’m reminded of a broken world as I think about John today. Where is he? What is he doing? Does his father hug him? Does his mother tuck him in at night? The anger in my heart of innocence being stolen wants to pick up that bong and shatter it against the wall.
I want to hold John in my arms and repeat the name of Jesus over and over again. I may not be able to do it with him, but I can do it with Caleb.
Some prefer cocaine.
Others choose their job. Another clings to alcohol. My preference? Cheeseburgers, pizza, and anything else that would make the world disappear with every bite.
photo credit: edog1382 (creativecommons)
I didn’t have to concentrate on the pain of sexual abuse or the truth of my dad’s abandonment. He chose alcohol over me. It never occurred to me I was choosing food over others. Before I knew it I was 25 years old and 330 lbs, still trying to hide the pain of my childhood and the fact that my father’s diagnosis of cancer was going to leave me abandoned yet again.
I was flat on my back in a hospital bed with headaches I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I couldn’t hold my head up because the vertigo was so intense. I couldn’t help but see this as a fork in the road — a sovereign chance to make a change. I could keep doing what I was doing or try something different.
If you’re reading this right now, I’m probably on a plane. I could be in Chicago, Germany, Austria, or my final destination, Moldova.
Today is the day I embark on the mission trip journey. It’s my first time. I’m not really sure what to think, and I probably forgot to pack something. A friend told me the other day,
If you have your passport and a clean pair of underwear, you should be good to go.
Check. Check.
Would you pray for me and the other members of my team on the trip? We left this morning and we’ll be back on the March 17th.
Oh… and maybe that I can sneak a sweet child from the orphanage I’ll be visiting into my suitcase for the trip home. I wouldn’t be opposed to God making that happen – just sayin’.
I’ll see you when I get back!
It was December 2005. My parents came for a Christmas visit and wanted to visit a church. They had become believers two months prior. I hadn’t yet made the decision to surrender my life to a guy named Jesus I barely knew anything about. I was, however, willing to go to church.
photo credit: whfc
Change is consistent. It’s the one thing you can always count on. As Country singer Tracy Lawrence sings, “The only thing that stays the same is everything changes.”
photo credit: shirokazan (creative commons)