It has been nearly 4 months since I have blogged. I have had all intention to continue writing after returning home and starting to work for the World Race. I'm not exactly sure what it is blocking my words: maybe it's that I feel that my life is 'less glamorous' now that I work in an office rather than the dusty streets, maybe it's that I'm struggling through processing all that I experienced last year...maybe it's both. Either way, people are still blogging, still telling the stories, and I want to share them with you as I read them. The one I am posting below strikes something within me every time I read it.
[This is written by World Racer Stacy Hume who is currently on the field in Africa]
I
knew that Africa would be different. I knew from the bus ride, the
dusty landscape, and the few people I had met, that this place would
change me. Three days in, and it has already come true.
Covered
in two days of dust, and five sleepless nights, we were crusading on
the top of a mountain range in southern Malawi, in a small village
called Namileme. At the end of our first night of prayer, preaching
and worship, we were asked to pray for the crowd and their illnesses.
One by one, they lined up before us in cues. I can honestly say, I did
not know what to expect.
There were all kinds of maladies to
pray for, from headaches, to back pain, fertility, and coughs. There
was numbness and arthritis, broken bones and sores. There were requests
to do better in school or for more intelligence, or for a husband or
wife. And then there was her.
She was small, and beautiful.
Probably 8 years old, with wide set brown eyes. She wore a stained
gray cotton dress that had turned orange at the bottom edges from the
clay roads. That is all about her physical features I can recall. She
meekly approached me, head hung low. Wanangwa, one of the pastors
that has been acting as a translator for us, asked her what she needed
prayer for. She responded in Chichewa, their native language, and her
words were so quiet, I couldn't hear her voice. She leaned in close to
him and whispered as if it were the most special of secrets, her small
hands cupping his earlobe. His nodded his head, and he walked her
slowly by the small of her back to right in front of me. He spoke to
me in bold English something I was not prepared for, "She has a hole in
her throat. When she drinks water, it comes out of her neck and down
her chest." My brain stopped working for a second, trying to catch up
to the sentence. But there was just no way to comprehend it. He turned
to walk away, but I grabbed him quickly by his right hand. "I'm sorry,
what did you say?" He repeated patiently, "there is a hole, in her
neck. She can not drink water very well." He pointed to his throat in
case it was his English I wasn't understanding. I fell to my knees to
see if what he was talking about was even possible, and underneath her
perfect tiny brown chin, and perfect little pink mouth, was a crescent
moon slit about five inches long, from jaw to jaw, mostly scarred over,
except in the middle where there was a hole. It was thick around the
edges, and looked as though it had healed that way. Either my eyes
struggled to send the signal, or my brain would not receive it, I just
went to blackout. In a moment that seemed like an eternity, I tried to
comprehend how someone could have cut her, and how she could have lived
through it. But there was nothing. And the world got so small.
All
I could think of was that I wanted to take her to a doctor. Forget the
prayer, forget everything, she needed medical attention. I need an
ambulance, I need the police, I need help. And then looking around for
any of these options, I realized we were a million miles from anywhere.
Scanning over the crowds of hurting people it dawned on me, I don't have
a car, I don't have a doctor. All I have is God. Crap. She's
screwed.
I hugged her into my chest and wept, not sure what to
do. Watching as the line behind her was growing with others, I froze
up. And so I did what I came to do. I prayed. I prayed to God a
simple and honest prayer, "I know you are there, and I know you have
done great things. I need one of them now. Heal this child, Lord. My
whole body and everything I am tells me that she needs a doctor, but
all we have is you. So I'm sorry if right now I don't believe you can
do it, but ignore me, and heal her. She needs you. You are all she
has."
And then she walked away, disappearing into the dusk covered
crowd. I will always remember the back of that tattered dress, with the
lace trim hanging below the frayed orange hem. I have never wanted to
throw up so badly. But before I could even try, there was another
person in front of me, needing prayer...
As I sit safely behind my desk in Georgia it's easy for me to forget how raw the world is, it's easy to forget the reality that people live in each day. May stories such as this always remind us. May they always remind us to do something.
The last few days I have been alone in
a house that is not my own. I have been calling this time a solitude
retreat. The so called retreat has looked a whole lot more like my
normal life full of doing rather than any type of solitude. I
realize I am really hard on myself and expect huge things from
myself, but it's not going how I imagined it. I imagined hours on
end just sitting and soaking, hours reading, hours writing. Somewhere
along the way it all started to feel like a performance, and a
one-out-of-four-star performance at that, a show about how I can't
cut myself off from the world. Now I'm realizing maybe these days
alone have been more about breaking myself out of this performance
based mindset than any solitude. There have been a few moments,
though, that I have been able to unplug (literally and figuratively)
and just be quite with God. And for those moments, this struggle
for solitude has been worth it. During one such moment I wrote the
following...
Leaders from the 'R' Squad that will launch in Sept.
I have always loved the World Race.
Since minute one I just loved it. I loved the people, the concept,
the vision. I loved it all. I never considered my relationship with
them any deeper or further than the 11 months I signed up for though.
Fast forward 12+ months and I find
myself home from the World Race and in Georgia helping train 3
upcoming squads to be sent out this fall (see picture above). From the minute I arrived
at camp I knew I was supposed to spend the next season of my life
working for the World Race.
So why did I not commit on the spot?
If I boil it down, all that was holding
me back was money and that didn't seem like a good enough reason to me. [maybe it goes even deeper to trust?]
Money, money, money- Oh how I hate you.
See, everyone who works for Adventures In Missions or AIM (the
parent organization of the WR) is support raised. The salary they
receive is from people like you who give so that they are able to
give; give of their time, their skills, their lives. So not only are
they some of the most committed, hardworking, busy people I've ever
met- they also have to find people who are willing to commit to them
monetarily in order to live.
See, if the World Race was a salaried
position I would already be there, and I'm sure many of my
squad-mates would be too. But it's not. You have to really want it.
You have to commit. Your heart must be in it.
And my heart is in it.
Well my heart is in it when I
don't get in the way, that is.
When I think about it I start to dwell
on the fact that I just got home from a year of support raising and
that I am yet to send thank you's from that. I worry that my network
isn't big enough to support something like this. I worry that I
won't have enough support in my account to pay rent in a few weeks.
I worry that people will resent me for not getting a 'real job' and
continually asking for money. I worry that maybe this is too soon,
or I am ill equipped, or that I should apply to just one more other
job...and then I stop myself.
This is what I do. I worry. I dwell. I wear anxiety like a leaden winter coat.
And I know God doesn't want all of this
on his daughter.
He wants me to go back to that day in
Georgia when I knew I was
being called there, before I told anyone, before I logically mapped
it out- while I lay on a bench watching sunshine pour through the
swaying trees. The peace I felt. A contentment that consumed. Joy
I couldn't hide on my face. Life I couldn't hide in my steps.
Excitement I couldn't hide in my voice.
I am
trying to walk into this next season with this in remembrance, fresh
in my mind, with this attitude in my spirit.
I know
the money will come in. I know
it will. My heavenly Father won't leave me out to dry-- something I
see exemplified daily by my real dad.
With
trust in my heart I ask each of you reading this to please consider
supporting me in this ministry. Maybe you are unable to but have
friends, family, or a church that is eager to support...by all means,
please pass this along to them, have them contact me, or I can
contact them. I am looking for people to partner with me, to partner
with the World Race through me and better yet to partner with the
Lord through me.
In
reality it's so much bigger than me. The vision isn't mine, I'm just
a set of hands behind it. And just as with that- may you be behind me
as I help carry this vision forward.
-------
So
what does all this mean realistically...
I have
signed on to work for AIM (and the World Race more specifically). My
commitment as of now is a 6 month “Apprenticeship” with the
intention of sticking around for much longer, God willing. I will be
moving to Gainesville, GA in a week and starting work the following
Monday, September 6th. My support goal each month is $1,500 bringing the six month total to $10,000. This money will go towards any and everything involved in living: rent, food, health insurance, gas etc. For now my exact position is rather organic, meaning I will be
floating around from department to department as needed. So one day
I may be in logistics helping set up a teams time in Kenya and the
next day I may be conducting interviews for future World Racers. I
am excited at the opportunity to work in and live in the already
established “community” that is happening down in Georgia.
More details to come.
Thanks
for reading and investing and loving me.
-----
If supporting me does interest you please email me at hollandcox@gmail.com or go to the "Support me" link in the upper left corner and follow the instructions.
As I hope you've all figured out by now I am back in America.I have been here 50 days, if my calculations
are correct.It seems both like an
eternity and a second all at the same time.In my time at home I've already: traveled to another country, attended a
wedding of two of my World Race squad mates, spent two weeks helping train 150
of the next World Racers, joined a kickball team, had my tire explode while
driving on the interstate (I don't recommend this), applied for some jobs, and
tried to be still and relax.It has been
filled with intense times of doing and equally intense times of
nothingness.I am thankful for both.
(Austin and Monica Anglea's wedding)
Of course the subject of "what's next" has come up
repeatedly during this time at home.People
always ask the question awkwardly and timidly (is my emotional frailty that
obvious???) as if I may burst into tears at the mere thought of the
future.If I'm honest the question
doesn't scare me or upset me but when I have answered with a shrug of the
shoulders and a "who knows" I am not being evasive.I am just as anxious to figure it all out as
you are for the answer.
On the World Race we talked a lot about our dreams and how
to make them a reality.We would focus
on identifying our talents and uncovering our dreams and then how those can
collide with needs of the world.I was
always pumped up after such discussions but was also left wondering just where my
heart, my skills, and my experience could meet the world in its needs.And after 11 months I never really could come
up with a definitive answer.
I would search my brain and the internet for what I would
consider my "dream job."What did I want to do?Forget all the logistics, I couldn't even
figure out in all the world where I would take myself if every door were to be
opened.It's a strange place to find yourself.
(sweet Kedanya- Pader, N. Uganda)
And then one day, I'm not sure how, I stumbled upon it.I found my dream job.It is with a nonprofit that aims to move my
generation from apathy to activism.They
advocate for the children of Northern Uganda.They tell the children's stories and share
the reality of their lives with the rest of the world.They have programs to educate and support
these children.They are helping
restructure Northern Uganda by raising up a
generation from within who can be that change.It is unbelievable what they do.And they had an opening for a communications officer. And I was fully qualified (WHAT!? When does
that happen??). I would live in Uganda.I would have housing provided and would get a
salary (which is HUGE after a year of fundraising).I would get to be the voice of the children
by writing their stories and taking pictures of them. There would be an element
of graphic design.I would also be a
sort of ambassador for anyone who came to visit, taking care of them and all
logistics.All my jobs and skills and passions
not to mention my experiences this past year...everything seemed, for lack of a
better word, perfect.
And yet somewhere between sending off my newly created
resume and getting a call to set up my first interview I started to doubt. Is this job so perfect? How will I make deep
friendships in Uganda?Will there be a community I can connect with
there?Is my heart in it?
So to speed this story up a little bit...I didn't get the job
and I couldn't be more relieved.God
knew I couldn't make the decision to not go if I had been offered the job.I knew I couldn't make that decision.And now I don't have to.
This happened for a reason.I do finally have some specific dreams and tangible ways to define those
dreams.I realized that a huge part of
my heart is still in Uganda
and will forever be, but how that plays into the future I am yet to know.I know I have a desire and gift for writing
and telling stories and I'm so excited to see how this can be used.I know I have a huge desire to help raise up
and empower people to be change agents themselves, in their own lives, in their
communities, in the world.These things
have been inside me all along but now I am able to identify them and communicate
them.So to put it simply, I've never
felt more excited about rejection in my whole life.
And so the question still stands, "what's next?"...and well,
we will see.
Night in and night out we overload a 10 passenger van and
make the 25 minute drive over the hill to Bangla Road.In our 'long' skirts or jeans, flip flops,
and faded shirts we traverse the overcrowded streets and alleys and dodge presumptuous
grabs from beckoning girls to find 'our girls'.
one of the side streets of Bangla Road, by day
While we've only been going to Bangla road for the last 6
nights we all have girls that we have made relationships with.These are the girls whose names we cry out to
God with, who we pray will be sitting alone waiting for us when we make it to
their bar, not off with a customer, who we spend our nights visiting, who are
our friends.We fight to see these
girls, we risk rejection and embarrassment and the fact that they generally
think we are lesbians, all to ask them to go to dinner with us or to go shopping
or get coffee.Many tears have been shed
on our part from failed appointments and broken engagements but we continue to
go see our girls, night in and night out.
Despite the late nights and exhaustion, we continue.Someone on my team commented this morning
that even when they were partying and living a crazy lifestyle back home they
never went to the bars 5 nights a week.They
would go for 'one good night' and sometimes two during a particularly exciting
week; But us, we go 5 nights a week.We
spend hours under the neon nights, nearly screaming over the pulsing music just
to ask our friends how their son was when they called that day or if they are
still tired like yesterday.
Last night you could see the exhaustion on all of our
faces.I saw more of our small groups
wandering Bangla road than I did sitting in the bars.We are worn out.At our nightly after midnight debrief, an
exhausted silence seemed to cover the room.No one really spoke of the usual triumphs and failures, they didn't'
have the energy; no one had to say they were tired either, it was understood.We just sat for a while and processed
internally, prayed, and crawled into our beds.No one woke up this morning to exercise like usual or get a jump on the
day.Until after 9:00 our bunk room
remained still.
Rejection is tiring.Bars
are tiring. Loving is tiring. Being tired is tiring.But today we got to taste the fruit of that
which is to come and it made it all worth it.
Two days a week SHE specifically opens its doors for lunch
and a time of fun and fellowship for any girl working in the bars.It is our job to invite our friends from the
bars and get their phone numbers at night.The morning of, one of the Thai women who works for SHE painstakingly
calls each girl and re-invites them to come that day and tells them where and
when they will be picked up.All we can
do is sit and wait to hear how the morning phone conversations go.
As word made it back to us, anxiety filled each of our
hearts."Could one of my girls actually
walk through those doors today..." we all wonder to ourselves.Someone says one of Leslie's girls that broke
a dinner date last night was coming, one of Jodi's, one of Marissa's, 2 that
came the other day were coming back that Anna knows, a few were unreachable, Michelle's
was still with a customer when they called, and a few phone numbers didn't work...some
of us rejoiced while some were severely disappointed.
We all prepared for their arrival regardless.
A casual atmosphere, and a home cooked Thai meal met the
girls as they entered SHE and almost immediately I overheard one of my teammate's
whisper that two of the girls had already committed to leave their jobs at the
bar and move into SHE.
WHAT!?It actually happens? All of work isn't in
vain?
As the news continued to spread it was almost like a wave of
rest and refreshment swept over our team.So much joy filled my heart.The
thought that two girls never have to return to work captivated me.
As time went on we found out more.
Jaeb will be moving in today.Just like that, she is done with the bar
scene.She now is a resident of SHE
where she will join the other girls who have made the same decision as
her.She will be taught a trade and
receive a salary. When she decides it's
time for her to move on SHE will help her find a job using her new trade.Her
life of freedom starts now.
Pla will move in on Tuesday.She is one of the girls that came for lunch earlier in the week as well
as today.She too will leave her life at
the bar for a life of security and love.We cannot wait until her arrival on Tuesday.
Rung came to SHE earlier in the week with Pla.Since then she hasn't been back at work,
which caused my teammates that knew her a lot of worry.We heard today that she has since moved back
to her home in another part of Thailand and is living with her family.We are overjoyed that she too has left the
bar and pray that it is a permanent decision.
So today in Phuket, Thailand we are rejoicing.Pray for these 3 girls as they get an
opportunity to start a new life.And
pray that we have the energy to continue to bring hope to these bars.
For the last 4 days or so I have been trying to put into words my thoughts and emotions from my first days working in bar ministry. My thoughts are jumbled, my emotions are clouded, and it's just hard to put into words exactly what we are witnessing each night. So until I can put an intelligible blog together, here is a blog written by squadmate Marissa Villa who is also serving in Phuket this month with SHE.
____________________
Her name is Nook.
Her eyes get wide as we play Jenga and she carefully places the block in her hand on top. She's really pretty, 26 years old, and studied marketing for a couple of years. She has long brown hair that sometimes she has to tuck behind her ear as her bangs fall over her left eye. Her son is 4 years old and he lives with her parents on the other side of the country. She calls him every day to remind him that she loves him.
And her heart breaks every time he tells her that if she really did, she'd be by his side.
Instead, she is working at a bar on Bangla Road in Phuket, Thailand, one of the biggest sex tourism capitals of the world. Selling herself so her son, who has no idea what she does, can have an education.
I asked her if she likes her work.
"No!" she said as she quickly shook her head.
"Do the other girls like their jobs?"
"Nobody likes living this way," she said.
I nod, not knowing what to say next and continue to play, laugh, and act like what we're doing is perfectly normal. But it's not. It's NOT normal.
It's not normal to walk down the streets as a man walks, quickly looking left and right as his wife or girlfriend frantically walks behind him holding on tightly to his hand. It's so hard to see the little girl trying to sell you a flower necklace as women dance behind her on poles. It's hard to see the couple walking down the street with their toddler in tow. And it's hard to see the men walk into the bars as the girls flirtatiously greet them. It's hard to walk past the men and women who hand out fliers to live sex shows.
And it's even harder to love them.
Last night, on night two, I found myself glaring at two men who'd walked into the bar next to the one I was in as one grabbed one of the girls by her hips and pulled her towards him. I glared as his friend also grabbed her and she threw herself on him, too. As I looked on, I glanced downward to a man in a wheelchair and as I did, I was reminded that at some point in these men's lives they felt rejected, like they didn't belong. And now they're looking for a deeper need in these women. The high suicide rate among sex tourists is proof. They're looking for acceptance. For intimacy.
And that makes them just like me.
Someone in need of something bigger, greater. Someone in need of something that changes lives from searching and living in such sadness to joy, fulfillment, and confidence.
What makes us different as we walk into these bars isn't that we order sodas instead of alcohol. It isn't that our clothes are different. Our cutoff shorts and t-shirts scream tourist. It isn't that we leave before everyone gets really drunk. It isn't even that we're women.
What makes us different is that we are called to look into every single person's eyes and say, "You were made for something more. You ARE loved. You ARE accepted."
Administrator. Camp director. Marketing Consultant. Personal Assistant. White House Aid. Teacher. Barista. Urban ministry coordinator. Fashion buyer. Waitress. Entrepreneur...We come from very different places, backgrounds, career paths, but all of these things have specifically prepared us for this month.
This month, the month of June, is our last month; month 11. For this last month the guys and girls are split up. The boys will be off doing 'man-istry' while us girls will get to spend the month together. In light of that we have joined up with the girls from another team to form a bigger, better team. We are now 10 women strong.
My new team, which we have named 'put on love' from the verse Colossians 3:14 will be working in Phuket, Thailand with a ministry called SHE. It stands for Self Help and Empowerment (http://www.shethailand.org/). It works to assist at risk children and women, many of whom are trapped in the commercial sex trade. We will be going into the bars at night and forming friendships with the girls and if they are open to it, introducing them to SHE where they can learn a new trade and find counseling and support. For the girls who have already gotten out of the sex trade, we will be helping them with their businesses, such as baking or making jewelry. We will also be leading Bible studies and serving in any way we can be used.
I cannot express how excited I am to get started on ministry this month, but I am under no illusion that it won't be tiring, dark, and heartbreaking.
So we are asking you to pray for us. Pray for the unity of our new team. Pray for the women we will meet at the bars. Pray for the women who have already left the bars and are under the care of SHE. Pray for the men who fuel the commercial sex trade. Pray for our men while they are off doing 'man-istry.' Pray for our protection in the bars. Pray for our protection and the country of Thailand, as it has political unrest. Pray for our last month, that we finish strong and not grow weary.
We thank you all for allowing us this opportunity through your love and support. God is love.
_____________
Below is a video SHE made, just to get a taste of what the ministry and city will be like...
You knew when we signed up for the World Race that it wasn't going to be easy for us.It wasn't going to be easy as we traveled to 11 different countries throughout the world, away from everything and everyone that was familiar.You knew we would get homesick.You knew we would have to miss birthdays and holidays as well as important events like weddings and births.You knew our living conditions weren't going to be all that great.You knew there was a risk of us getting malaria or typhoid or any number of crazy sicknesses.
But did you know it wasn't going to be easy for you?You had to sit back and wait month after month for emails that said we made it safely out of one country and into another...some of those being closed countries which we illegally entered.You had to celebrate birthdays and holidays without your son or daughter.You had to hear of us living in cement rooms in the intense heat with no electricity or sleeping in our tents during torrential rain and wind and not be able to do anything about it.You had to hear of us getting sick and going to sketchy hospitals, praying that God would heal us.You had survive with 11 months of sporadic internet, never knowing if Skype was actually going to work or how many days or weeks would go by without hearing from us.
I read this quote recently:
"The church in America needs parents who are willing to release their children to the mission field.We need parents who love God more than their children.If we recognize the importance of evangelism, we will encourage future generations to give their lives for God and enter the heat of the battlefield even in the face of great danger."
So I just wanted to write a blog thanking all of you parents out there (especially my own) for obeying God and releasing us to do His work.I know it hasn't been easy for you but I know God will bless you for your faith. You have encouraged us, prayed for us, and loved on us throughout this entire journey and that means more to us then we can ever put into words.I hope you know how much we love and appreciate you.
Thank you.
And to all J & K-Squad parents...we'll see you all in 32 days!
We have rolled into over 15 different cities thus far this year for ministry. Six kids, who don't know cultural norms and I'm sure unknowingly offend people everywhere we go. Not one of us is over the age of 25 and besides this trip we have little to no world experience outside of our little bubbles at home. We are very rarely at 100% physically. We are exhausted. Our clothes at this point would be considered rags by our mom's standards. Only one person in our group has any sort of Biblical training and even that is limited. The rest of us are trained no more than our college degrees.
(one of the churches where we served)
Yet, with very few exceptions, when we meet our pastor contacts in each city we call home, it is always expected that we will preach and any and every event they have during our brief stays there. They never question our training or our denominational background. They never look down on us because of our age. They don't give us topics to preach on or rules or time limits. They treat us like we are world renowned preachers coming specifically to address their congregations, villages, and town.
They are hungry to hear from us, their brothers and sisters. They want to know what God has done in our lives. They want to know what God is telling them through us.
Why is it not like this in America? Even if you show up to your home church after a long absence you won't be greeted like we are, much less a church you are visiting. You won't be asked to preach. You most likely won't even be acknowledged. You most definitely won't be handed the entire service and told to 'be free' and lead it as you choose.
I'm not saying this as a criticism, more as an observation. I don't understand the disconnect.
Why is the American church so different than churches across the world? Anyone got an answer?
Tonight we took a little trip to the same grocery store we went to last night to get out of our hot box of a house. The heat here is stifling.
This time we were expecting the same drill as last night, to see the street children begging before we crossed the street to the mall. Brandy and I prepared as we came up on the spot where we saw them last night; but there were no children. We commented that they must be in a different part of town tonight and continued to cross the street and approach the mall.
And then we passed the boy with the baby strapped on him from last night.
In the moment it took all the constraint I had to not empty my wallet into his outstretched hand. I want him to know that I love him even though I don't know him. I want him to know that I care about him and the baby he carries around. I want to help him out of the situation he is in but the american mindset of throwing a little money around won't change his situation.
See more than likely this child and the baby he carries are part of a trafficking ring. The circumstances are different but somehow these kids get sold or traded to the care of someone much like a pimp. They send the kids out and any money they get funnels right back into the hands of whoever bought them. So the money people give these precious children never actually is theirs and benefits them in no way.
But still in the back of your head you think, maybe, just maybe this time they would be able to get something to eat or something to make the situation better. Is it worth the try? Or do you hold off to not fund the child slavery ring anymore?
A similar battle takes place when I think about the time we will spend in Thailand next month. We will be working in the red light district, with prostitutes. We don't know what specific ministry it will be through but all are based on the idea of making relationships with the girls and introducing them to a different way to provide for their family outside of this lifestyle, a place of refuge and a new hope. So when I am talking to one of the precious girls who has been forced to live this lifestyle and some man comes up to buy her for an hour, will I sit idly and allow that to happen or will I pool all the money I have to spend that hour talking with her instead? To show her that she is worth a genuine relationship, not one based on abuse, sex, or money. I know she won't get to keep the money, that it will go to her pimp and essentially fund the purchase or misuse of other girls, but is it worth it to spend that time with the girl, to show her she's worth it?
So what do you do when the battle in your mind has no right answer? Where is the justice?
Last night was sickening. It's funny how your perspective can change. What would have not made me blink before got me thinking long into the night...
We arrived in Phenom Penh, Cambodia and within 30 minutes we all got an itchin' to go explore, find food, and get our bearing about us. We got directions to the mall and went on our way. As we were crossing the street to the mall a few little street children approached us. Two of them seemed no more than 5 years old, the eldest one of about 7 had a baby strapped to him. They were dirty, half dressed, and begging. We literally had no food or money to our names and had to continue past them.
street children sleeping on a bench
One minute later we are standing in a grocery store that in every way contrasted what we just saw. Bright lights, sparkling floors, food of every kind and brand we have dreamed of for the last 9 months. Our minds can't even wrap themselves around the excess that this place contains, so we start with a lap around the store to soak it all in. We pass bratty kids upset at the idea of only getting one of their favorite ice cream bars and full carts of food. It was overwhelming. And the thought of those little children outside made it all the worse.
How can such disparity exist so close to each other? It doesn't make sense.
So we came home and climbed into our sweaty beds and I couldn't help but think of the millions of people living lives just like these kids. I was reminded of something Seth Barnes, the founder of Adventures in Missions said one time, "What keeps you up at night?" I've been thinking on that for months. What gets your blood flowing? What literally keeps you up at night, running through your head? What ideas can you not shake? Most nights I hate to say, the thoughts that keep me up are selfish. But every now and again I get past thoughts of myself and on to something bigger.
So, what keeps me up at night?
Right now the thought of orphans and street children with no where to go and no one love them. It's even more sickening to think that some of these innocent children are bought and traded and used at their new owner's discretion. Abandoned, lonely, tired, searching...it's almost too much to handle when I let my mind go.
I am young. I am able. Why not me?
They need mothers. They need Jesus. They need stability, love, education, hope.
Lord what is my role in this?
So now you know where I am. Where are you? What keeps you up? And if you figure that out, whats stopping you from joining 'the cause,' whatever that may be?
