This week has been a learning experience for me. What do my lessons consist of? Finding out how adventurous it is to attempt and write in a journal while sitting in a large blue van hurtling at high speeds down the highway. My writing from the last three days looks about as intelligible as a two year olds scribbling. ...It's a good thing I haven't completely lost my skills in deciphering.
Monday morning I stared out the window of our van into the greyness, and thought about sheer randomness. Then I read Deuteronomy 5 and 6. Does anyone besides me find it absolutely amazing to think the Israelites could ever try and escape God? Especially in chapter six where He is telling them they should teach their kids the commandments, they should talk about them when they sit, walk, lie down, or rise. That seriously covers just about everything. He even goes to the extent of telling them to write them on their door posts and their gates. Did these people seriously have the memory span of a fish? ( I have stories....fish aren't very intelligent in my experiences....) I guess when considered in the context, it makes more sense. They were really wayward, and they did seem to be apt at forgetting quickly who had rescued them from Egypt. Very apt, incredibly forgetful, actually. But it does always remind me how near God wanted them to stay to Himself. He wanted them to always be aware of His presence, and to always be living in that awareness. They had to continually come back to Him. They couldn't help it and couldn't avoid it when His words were written and talked about everywhere.
Tuesday. Oh, tuesday.
More van writing adventures, in large doses. I remember wondering on Monday about the simplest of questions, at least it would seem that way if it came from the mouth of a five year old. I was stocking pencils, boxes of them, thousands of pencils with the names Rebecca, Renee, and Rachel on them. Companies had overstocked them and been kind enough to donate their excess to World Vision so that they could re-distribute them to school kids in the Bronx who couldn't afford them. And I envision in my mind a five year old articulating this question: "If there is so much extra stuff then why do some people still not have anything?" It seems like such an easy question. Once they are grown up they will understand. Well, I am twenty-two and I don't understand. If we have such a large amount of excess, then why are there still people with practically nothing? You can tell me it's greed, you can quote to me as many statistics as you want, blame it on as many societies, or governments as you want. In the end, it still makes no sense. I am not saying it would be easy to fix, I am only saying the problem should not exist. And if it does exist, we have to do something about it.
I also found out yesterday how much fun it is to give away other people's excess. I never knew packing boxes, figuring out how to arrange them on a pallet in the most 'packable' stacks, and then plastic wrapping them could be one of the best games I have played in ages. Actually, I think it could have been even more interesting if we had decided to plastic wrap someone, unfortunately I didn't think of that until now, which quite obviously is too late.
'Would you walk with me and hold my right hand, and whisper in my ear?'
More van writing on the way back from the Bronx. ....and this time it really doesn't look like anything an adult would write. I think the van was shaking so much it almost fell apart a few times. At the soup kitchen today while we were getting things ready, I glanced up at one of the mirrors that line the walls and saw in it's reflection a plain wooden cross with a red cloth draped across. And honestly, I smiled; I knew we weren't there alone. Jesus dwelt in that place, and He loved it. He loved being among those people, He loved what they were doing there. He was among them, the desperate, the homeless, the lonely, the poor- it was His home. But He was just as much in the Aids home in New Haven that we painted in, and among us when we worked in The Space. And I wonder how often we walk around, blindly seeking Jesus when He is right in front of our face. God help us, what is wrong with our eyes, what is wrong with our hearts when we can't see you in these places? If we can't see you in those in desperation, in the 'stranger' walking down the street, in our neighbor or the person we despise (which we shouldn't, by the way) as much as we see you in the eyes of other christians, what is wrong? Have we elevated ourselves to look from such lofty heights that we miss where God's eyes see, because He, in His love, stoops low?
I don't have any wise answers. All I know is I see Jesus more in the places most people don't want to be at, than in my own comfort. I asked God to walk with me, to take my hand, and to whisper to me, and He did. He whispered Joy, Grace, Peace, Love. .....and His whisper was louder than all the turmoil that surrounded me.
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