My life, for the past few years, feels like a broken record.
I get excited (hugely excited) about going on a mission trip.
I go on mission trip.
I come home.
I am brokenhearted.
I pray for God to show me what to do HERE.
I fall short of being who I think God wants me to be.
I am brokenhearted.
I never feel like I know how to deal with what I saw and how I live back at home.
I pray some more.
Since coming home from southeast Asia I have lived with a torn and broken heart. At first I felt like it was a different torn feeling than I had felt from other mission trips. But now I’m not so sure. I always come back pretty broken.
And then, after a few weeks or months back in America, I’m back to life as normal. Only I don’t know how exactly to live with “normal.”
Life in my comfortable home, my air-conditioned, padded-pew church, my life of leisure – without having to work a “job,” walking in to the grocery store with millions of options – literally, a building that contains enough to feed all the hungry that I have met on my trips. I want to scream, “do you not know how good you’ve got it? Do you not know that with the money you spent last month on tv or jewelry or junk food you could have SAVED LIVES?”
Today I still feel sick to my stomach. Why me, God? Why have I seen the things I’ve seen? Why have you chosen me to carry this burden?
I can’t live with it. I really can’t. I don’t know what to do with it. I hate feeling upset and negative all.the.time. I hate feeling critical about my life and the life of my friends who choose to buy a candy bar or a new shirt or build a new church building when there are children around the world dying without clean water or food to eat or without a Savior.
Some days I feel like my heart can’t bear it for one more minute.
I read this and know I’m not alone. And that helps. For a moment or two. I read the updates from my blog friend, Tiffany, and see what she is doing to change the life of an orphan boy on the other side of the world. And I think, what am I doing? What could I be doing?
I don’t know. I just don’t know. So, I continue to pray. I continue to go when given the opportunity. I continue to grieve. I don’t want my heart to be numb to the hurt around the world. So, because God has placed this burden on my heart I continue to weep with those who are weeping, pray for the persecuted believers that I have myself worshiped with, and pray that God will use me right here and right now. Sometimes I feel like God has asked me to be an advocate…to come back home and share what I have seen, to gather up more support, more prayers, more to go.
It sure doesn’t feel like much, though.
Then, I read these words and for a few brief moments I have a glimpse into the heart of God. I trust Him. My faith grows. I keep on keeping on for another day. In His kingdom, the last shall be first. The hungry will be filled. Blessed are the poor in spirit.
“Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will be see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
Matthew 5:3-10
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