In case you wondered, no, this blog hasn't been discontinued. :) I know it's been at least a few months since I last wrote anything here. Life has been wonderfully busy. [End of why-I-never-blog disclaimer]
The Lord has really been narrowing my vision, clearing away the fog on the windshield and showing me PEOPLE. I've been spending the majority of my time in various cities, interacting with many people of many different religions, cultures, languages. Some are living on barely enough income to keep going. Others have all they could ever desire in life.
I remember one day several weeks ago, as I was walking down the street heading for a refugee's home. It was the lower-income part of the city. It seemed like the Lord opened my eyes and made me intensely aware of the people around me; suddenly they were more than crowds and masses pushing around me, heading to their various destinations. They were people ... individuals - with lives, pain, needs, fears and dreams.
I was waiting to cross the street, and happened to notice that there was a young man in a wheelchair also waiting. His mom stood next to him. They caught my attention, and we chatted a little. Her son is suffering from leukemia. He's barely 21. He's in the midst of treatment, very sick, very weak, and obviously loosing the battle. He looked like a very-alive guy trapped in a painfully failing body ... and it broke my heart. Outside of his tired, discouraged mom, does he have anybody cheering for him? Anybody speaking life into his seemingly hopeless situation? Anybody who will see past the fear of sickness, fear of ______, to give hope to that very-hurting person trapped in that failing body?
Angie lives on the street. She looks like a tough lady, carrying her bag with her only earthly possessions. We crossed paths several weeks ago, and I didn't realize she was homeless - just thought she looked lonely and tired. I smiled, chatted a little ... and I wish you could have seen her face. I was taken aback at her joy. I think she would have hugged me had she not had her bag in her hands! She's one soul in a thousand in my city - but she's precious in the eyes of the Lord.
I was horrified to see a lady and her young daughter, sitting on the street in Brooklyn, NYC, begging. They looked so out-of-place, so vulnerable, so lost in the millions of people walking down the sidewalks of that huge city. Both wore distinctly un-American clothing and headscarves. Most likely they are refugees, having moved to that city for the opportunities of jobs, escaping violence in their own country, education ...
What made me even more concerned was when I met them again in one of the street-side shops. I tried to strike up a conversation with them, and noticed that they wouldn't make eye contact; both mother and daughter flinched. They looked terrified. Are they being used - unknowingly - by someone who has stooped low enough to enslave others? Who took advantage of them simply because they were unknowlegeable; simply because they couldn't speak English; simply because they trusted a man who promised them a bright future? Where will these women ever find hope in their dark world?
One day in the city. Thousands of lives. Thousands of futures. Destinies. What kind of difference could we make if we stopped long enough to see them? To notice them - let them know that we believe they're worth something? If we reached out a hand to give hope? If we reminded them that they're not a lost cause; that there is someone who has hope for their mess? I wonder. I think it could be awesome.
