They watched as the truck bounced over the potholes in the streets, coming to a stop beside the houses. The barrios have instantaneously taken a large part of my heart, and eager to get out and see which kids were around, I hurridly got out of the car. As the door shut behind me, three Haitian girls ran and pounced on top of me. A gringa. I picked them up, hugging them tightly, my heart overflowing with love. I was made for this.
I was made for this. Not necessarily this exact location or these exact children. But this kind of love. The love that these kids show unconditionally. And the love that I get to give back, hoping that it reaches even half of what they have to give. But more than that, the love of the Father.
These kids take me by the hand, touch my feet, my legs, my arms, all in amazement. I'm white. And they are black, by color's terms. But we all come from the same God who created this universe, making us brothers and sisters by love and by supernatural creation. Something I began to dwell in today, as these girls took me as I was, where I am.
In America, we love on so many conditions. If someone doesn't answer us in our own time, if they neglect to acknowledge our presence, or if they just don't like us, we automatically withdraw our love. We don't grasp the love that God had and has for us. He gave His only begotten son so we could live, yet we ease ourselves away from living like He commands, because our own feelings matter more. How much we can gather in possessions matters more. But here, these people have nothing.
Yet they have grasped the greatest concept, to love thy neighbor as they love themselves. They have no reason to love me. Just as before with trusting me or believing in me. But yet, as I walked through the barrio, a mother holding a sleeping child stood up to offer her chair, others kissed my cheek, embracing me as I walked in what was their territory and their homes. They love me unconditionally, whether I'm sick or healthy, white or black, if I have money or if I don't.
They love to the very essence of who Jesus is.
I can put on a good talk and ease most people through situations that are just battles with the enemy. It's just who I am and who God has called me to be. But my only true desire is to love as these people have loved me. Whether that be by talking through situations or sitting in complete silence- however that may look, that is who I want to be. Because when I came here, I thought I knew who Jesus was completely. I had the greatest friends, an amazing family, and was blessed beyond measure in possessions and being. But I lacked the notion of letting others love me exactly where I was at. I don't know that I knew what it was to overflow.
Walking back to the car, I opened the door and felt two sticky arms wrap around my waist. I turned around to one of the girls hugging me from behind. As I bent down, she wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek. 'Adios.' I was sold.
I'm completely sold on the love of Jesus Christ. More than anything in this world, I am sold. I was bought at a price, and that was His life. He gave me the air I breathe. And He is the love that overflows from my being.
He is the love that exudes from you and I. Even when it comes from one little Haitian child.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Monday, July 23, 2012
Dominican Republic: Finding Purpose
This hasn't been a place where Jesus is in your face evident. It's been a place of seeking, of believing, of trusting- even in the unseen and the unknown. Because still, He is here.
I've spent a lot of time asking why I was here. Questions of identity and purpose- why He would put me in a place where I was alone and stripped of everything I held dear. He knows my struggles with purpose and He knows I struggle in remaining faithful even when there is no fruit to be seen. So what was I doing here?
A few months ago, I had asked God why He asked me to love the way I love. And His answer was one that I never fully grasped until this past week.
I'd had kids climbing on me, jumping on my back as I walked holding two others, falling at my feet all week. Children encompassing the true reality of the love of Christ, with humility we can only hope for. But among them, few stood out, as they sat in the background.
She stood by me as the girls played in the rain. Staring blankly. No smile. No joy. I placed my hand on her shoulder and for a brief second, made eye contact. And then her eyes were on the floor again. There was so much brokenness that I wished I could cut off of her pure heart in that moment, but all I could give was love.
When we arrived at the club on Firday afternoon, I found her in the back room painting. Another brief moment of eye contact and it was back behind the walls. A sight I know all too well. But as the afternoon progressed, so did eye contact and so I took the opportunity and sat in the back room with her to color while the other kids played sports outside. The minutes ticked in pure silence, as I watched her. When I went to get up and walk past, she wrapped her arms around my waist and held onto me. For the first time, I felt the walls break down.
He called me here to love, because I love beyond circumstance. He's called me to love, because I know the lack there of. I know the pain. And I know the confusion. But more than anything, I know His love.
When I first got to the Dominican Republic, I thought I was here to see how He is working in this country. But I've found that it has been so much more about finding my identity and purpose in Him and establishing His will for my life. Sometimes we seek to find Him in others, when we need to merely look within ourselves to see Him working.
We are merely vessels of light and hope. When the darkness is overwhelming, He is everpresent. And we are His people.
I've spent a lot of time asking why I was here. Questions of identity and purpose- why He would put me in a place where I was alone and stripped of everything I held dear. He knows my struggles with purpose and He knows I struggle in remaining faithful even when there is no fruit to be seen. So what was I doing here?
A few months ago, I had asked God why He asked me to love the way I love. And His answer was one that I never fully grasped until this past week.
I'd had kids climbing on me, jumping on my back as I walked holding two others, falling at my feet all week. Children encompassing the true reality of the love of Christ, with humility we can only hope for. But among them, few stood out, as they sat in the background.
She stood by me as the girls played in the rain. Staring blankly. No smile. No joy. I placed my hand on her shoulder and for a brief second, made eye contact. And then her eyes were on the floor again. There was so much brokenness that I wished I could cut off of her pure heart in that moment, but all I could give was love.
When we arrived at the club on Firday afternoon, I found her in the back room painting. Another brief moment of eye contact and it was back behind the walls. A sight I know all too well. But as the afternoon progressed, so did eye contact and so I took the opportunity and sat in the back room with her to color while the other kids played sports outside. The minutes ticked in pure silence, as I watched her. When I went to get up and walk past, she wrapped her arms around my waist and held onto me. For the first time, I felt the walls break down.
He called me here to love, because I love beyond circumstance. He's called me to love, because I know the lack there of. I know the pain. And I know the confusion. But more than anything, I know His love.
When I first got to the Dominican Republic, I thought I was here to see how He is working in this country. But I've found that it has been so much more about finding my identity and purpose in Him and establishing His will for my life. Sometimes we seek to find Him in others, when we need to merely look within ourselves to see Him working.
We are merely vessels of light and hope. When the darkness is overwhelming, He is everpresent. And we are His people.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Republica Dominicana: Learning Trust
The smell was faint, but amidst the dry heat, everpresent. But there I sat, little black and sticky arms of a six year old Haitian girl wrapped around my neck, inhaling a smell I can only describe as that of old infant formula on a sweaty child- a smell that a few months ago made me naseous. Only now, I put my head against hers and just sat as minutes ticked by, and her arms tightened around my neck.
I could have put her down at that moment and told her in broken spanish to go color or play with the few children still straggling around as their mothers gathered to collect their monthly food, but my heart was open for her. After all, to her I was just a Gringa (how they refer to white females), and she had absolutely no reason to trust me. Or to find safety in my arms. Yet there she clung.
These children here, they find their safety in Jesus Christ. They trust in Him, because without Him, their circumstances are hopeless. It clicked as I held that little girl and her mother looked at me, more appreciative for someone loving on her daughter than quite possibly that food she was there to receive. His playground is this dirt floor, his playmates are the poor- because they trust and find safety in Him, when this place is anything but safe.
They grasp that it isn't this world that is supposed to be safe- but Him, who we find shelter and security in. How many of us can honestly say that we find safety in Jesus on a daily basis, that we seek it in Him? I know I don't. I fail daily. I've begun to realize how much of my safety comes in things of this world- in a car, in the money that keeps me from poverty, in friends who put walls up around me to keep me "safe." Yet most of the time, that safety turns into barriers that keep me from the heart of who God is, and I sink back into the "reality" of this world.
All these barriers and walls that have been put in place as a "safety" measure in my life have left me with little old me and nobody else. Because what I consider trust is to more often pour my heart out in bits and pieces, and then pull the gates back up and lock the door. But in nothing more than a couple of hours, I had children climbing up my back, while two clung to each of my sides, arms wrapped around my neck. When is the last time you even hugged someone you knew for more than five minutes? The outpouring of love here is not conditional, and is a pure reflection of the trust that I've mistaken my own definition for. Trust in Jesus Christ, and through that, trusting in those who are led by Him. They grasp something I have seemed to miss the mark on.
I don't say any of this lightly. I've been one to make excuses for why I lack trust and why my heart stays on guard even around my closest friends and Jesus Himself. Years of pain and confusion. Hurt and destruction. Yet these children here- they still pour out the grace and love that only comes from trusting in God. And they live lives of poverty; drugs and prostitution, abuse and neglect. Every day. And still they trust.
What if we chose to live with our hearts on our sleeves, with the trust and security in Jesus that nothing can be against us if He is for us. These kids have something that we can't grasp. And that is that they have nothing to lose. And it is those who Jesus comes for, and those who He promises eternity and abundant life.
So really, trust Him. What do you have to lose?
I could have put her down at that moment and told her in broken spanish to go color or play with the few children still straggling around as their mothers gathered to collect their monthly food, but my heart was open for her. After all, to her I was just a Gringa (how they refer to white females), and she had absolutely no reason to trust me. Or to find safety in my arms. Yet there she clung.
***
These children here, they find their safety in Jesus Christ. They trust in Him, because without Him, their circumstances are hopeless. It clicked as I held that little girl and her mother looked at me, more appreciative for someone loving on her daughter than quite possibly that food she was there to receive. His playground is this dirt floor, his playmates are the poor- because they trust and find safety in Him, when this place is anything but safe.
They grasp that it isn't this world that is supposed to be safe- but Him, who we find shelter and security in. How many of us can honestly say that we find safety in Jesus on a daily basis, that we seek it in Him? I know I don't. I fail daily. I've begun to realize how much of my safety comes in things of this world- in a car, in the money that keeps me from poverty, in friends who put walls up around me to keep me "safe." Yet most of the time, that safety turns into barriers that keep me from the heart of who God is, and I sink back into the "reality" of this world.
All these barriers and walls that have been put in place as a "safety" measure in my life have left me with little old me and nobody else. Because what I consider trust is to more often pour my heart out in bits and pieces, and then pull the gates back up and lock the door. But in nothing more than a couple of hours, I had children climbing up my back, while two clung to each of my sides, arms wrapped around my neck. When is the last time you even hugged someone you knew for more than five minutes? The outpouring of love here is not conditional, and is a pure reflection of the trust that I've mistaken my own definition for. Trust in Jesus Christ, and through that, trusting in those who are led by Him. They grasp something I have seemed to miss the mark on.
I don't say any of this lightly. I've been one to make excuses for why I lack trust and why my heart stays on guard even around my closest friends and Jesus Himself. Years of pain and confusion. Hurt and destruction. Yet these children here- they still pour out the grace and love that only comes from trusting in God. And they live lives of poverty; drugs and prostitution, abuse and neglect. Every day. And still they trust.
What if we chose to live with our hearts on our sleeves, with the trust and security in Jesus that nothing can be against us if He is for us. These kids have something that we can't grasp. And that is that they have nothing to lose. And it is those who Jesus comes for, and those who He promises eternity and abundant life.
So really, trust Him. What do you have to lose?
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