by no accident

I'll quote myself from a post back in January...

"One of the biggest things that sticks out in my mind from being in Haiti is surprisingly not how much we have compared to how little they do. That was blatantly obvious, and I could have told you this fact without ever stepping foot in the country. Instead, it was the experience of finally giving God one full uninterrupted week of my complete devotion and utter dependence. And what I will also never forget is the experience of returning home to a life that simply gets in the way of my life with God."

As I think back over the last 7 days, I nearly shake while reading my own words. This past week has been one of the most painful growth experience in my walk with Christ thus far. Trials are always difficult, but coming face to face with spiritual warfare in my own front yard was wrecking and sobering all at once. What I can be certain of is that there is a purpose, that God is in control, and that His perfect timing means I am a part of this experience by no accident.

I look down at my knee and see a small bruise. A physical wound from a spiritual war. I have never put so much of my life on hold as I have in the last week, and with no other agenda than to prayerfully seek His face, His guidance, His strength, His healing. To give Him my complete devotion and utter dependence. Sure, leaving for Haiti means putting life on hold for His sake, but that seems easy to do when you vacate the area. It was coming home that was the difficult part. Coming home to a life that simply gets in the way of my life with God. I can't begin to understand all of the intricacies of why God has me where I am at this moment, but I am certain that He is providing the perfect opportunity for me to rid myself of every last thing that stands in the way of His presence with me here in my everyday life.

Learn a name.

I've been revisiting Nehemiah this week. This is not my writing, but instead another convicting story from Kelly Minter, the author of the Nehemiah study book.


"Do you know the name of a poor person?" A young man in his twenties who was sharing about his experiences as a missionary in Moldova posed the question to me in church. His phrase was tricky because if he'd said, "Do you care about the poor?" I might have tossed it in the drawer where you keep all the stuff you've heard a million times and are supposed to ponder but probably won't do much with.

When he asked if I knew the name of a poor person he exposed a glaring gap in my Christianity: Whose name did I know? Not whose face had I passed on 21st Street on my way to grab coffee; not what homeless man had I handed a dollar for the paper he peddles at the stoplight; not what anonymous tsunami victim had received an online donation I'd made. Whose name did I know?

I was left to consider this very important question because if I didn't know the name of a poor person, I didn't really know a poor person. I always knew that if God's heart was for anything it was for the least of these: the suffering, sick, needy, uneducated, foreigner, lost, lonely - this much was clear. And it's true that these were people I cared about, prayed for, and on whose behalf I tithed, but how many of them called me friend? Who had my phone number, been to dinner at my house, or sat beside me at church? Without condemnation, I had to recognize that I was someone who cared for the poor mostly from a distance but who had yet to intimately involve herself. My first step: Learn a name.

In the Law of Moses God commanded the Israelites to leave their extra sheaves, olives, and grapes for the alien, fatherless, and widow - for all the people who didn't have what the Israelites had and who didn't have the means to get what they had. At the end of this recurring command the Lord gave his people an intriguing reason for why He required this, "Remember that you were slaves in Egypt. That is why I command you to do this" (Deut. 24:22). 

God didn't want them to leave their excess food for the poor and outside because these people were hungry, because they needed community, because they couldn't provide for themselves, because He loved them? Wasn't that why? Oh I'm sure those were all reasons, but I believe that God first had to deal with that sneaky mind-set, the one that tries to trick us into thinking that when we step over a stalk of wheat to leave it for the poor we're doing something really noble, plain over-the-top gracious. That we're going above and beyond by giving away what is rightfully "ours."

The Lord was staving off this kind of thinking by saying, "Hold your fancy horses. Remember you used to be slaves too! Don't forget to tap into what that felt like." The Israelites were no strangers to poverty, oppression, or powerlessness as ones who had once been enslaved to Egypt. It was only because of God's deliverance they were now free, only because of His goodness they were blessed with flourishing fields and bursting branches. By remembering their once low estate, they were poised to welcome the foreigner, fatherless, and widow, not out of self-righteousness, guilt, or duty, but out of the love God had shown them.