It’s always funny to me, the way you choose to bring us ’round to your will. The seeds you water and tend, dropped in our unsuspecting laps, while we’re busy, oblivious to the bigger picture unfolding around us.
I don’t remember when I started to ask you deliberately, to break this stone in my chest and shape it into a real heart. I’ve tried to nail the time down, and I just can’t–I don’t remember, but you do.
It was that way with that one Compassion trip to Africa. I watched from the comfort of my home, from my air conditioned 2000+ square foot home, I flipped through those posts while making dinner, glancing from their thin faces, and gangley, starved limbs back to the refrigerator, overstuffed with food that would likely go to waste before we could consume it.
You spoke quietly, but definitively, in those strange paradoxical moments. I heard your urging and experienced just a fraction of your grief for these little ones I don’t know, and that feeling hung heavy around my neck for months.
I forget, over here, in my comfort and abundance, that others live on less than a sliver of what I whine about. Abundance suffocates me, while poverty squeezes the very life and hope out of those I haven’t met.
Your grace extends over them too, the least of these, and your love pours out through ministries, through people willing to be the hands and feet and eyes and heart of Christ. I am so grateful for the ways you move me to come closer, thankful that while I often forget my own prayers, you never do. You see us each in our deceit and pretentious, self-called glory. You see the glutton and the the pauper alike.
You reveal to me again and again, how my material wealth does not a princess make. My soul can be as bankrupt and starved as any, when I walk out from under your wing, when I dare to imagine that I have the abundance I do, apart from you.
Thank you for opening my eyes, for opening my heart and hands in your perfect timing. I pray you keep wrecking me Lord. Don’t stop chiseling away at my heart until it most closely resembles your own.
Carve the names of these children and others in need in me, that I might always remember them in prayer and with action, practicing a living faith, that serves not out of fear of condemnation, but out of a reverence for you, and respect for the lives of your people, whatever country or station in life they hold.
I am unfinished–I know this small beginning, is your doing and none of my own.
Help me Lord to remember that the blessings you bestow are not for my own hoarding, but rather that I might bring them ’round the communion rail of life, passing them along to others, that we might feast on your goodness, on your rich blessings, and be sustained only and ever by your grace.
September is Blog Month at Compassion. This post is part of a weekly series through the month of September. As an Advocate for Compassion International, it is my hope and prayer that you’ll join me in sharing the mission of Compassion which is, to set children free from poverty In Jesus’ name.The goal this month is to have 3108 children sponsored. Isn’t that exciting?
If you have any questions regarding child Sponsorship or Compassion International, feel free to email me or drop me a note in the comments section of this post.