Have you ever noticed, Dear Reader, that when God wants to drive home a point, it seems to pop up everywhere? That happened to me recently. It started with a sermon, “Love Sees . . . the Marginalized.” Pastor Jake already had my attention with just the title.
The Lord started churning in my soul as Jake spoke about seeing and loving the poor, the mentally challenged, LGBT communities. Each of those marginalized groups holds special significance to me: our work with the Buddy Bag Project and the unhoused; my youngest uncle, JD, who has Down’s syndrome; and our gay son, James. My brain was whirling around and around the question, “What more can I do?”
Then Jake went to the heart of my struggle with a quote from Andy Stanley:
Do for one what you wish you could do for everyone.”
That’s exactly what I want to do! I want to take those who hurt in my arms, soothe, and whisper tender words from our Heavenly Father to His beloved child.
Planning and hosting events to support some of KC’s unhoused by providing personal care bags suddenly didn’t seem like enough. The taste of “fellowship opportunities” was suddenly flat. Show up, give away some stuff, smile, and leave.
But God wasn’t finished pushing the envelope.
I am currently reading “Unoffendable” by Brant Hansen. As someone who has spent most of my life “wearing my heart on my sleeve,” my feelings are chronically hurt or my other sensibilities offended. Not a fun way to live, especially for a person claiming to be a Christ-follower. There has to be something better.
Don’t worry, Dear Reader, no spoiler alerts. Hansen’s book is very readable, and at times a bit tongue in cheek, mostly poking fun at himself. And then he drops in a zinger.
Hansen wrote candidly of his first mission trip to an area devastated by a tsunami, with an extraordinary death toll. He powerfully tells of learning about deep down humility from a fellow missionary who agreed to ride with villagers in a truck. Their goal was to recover and return bodies of family members, neighbors, and other villagers to their town. The task included taking turns riding in the back of the truck with the collected bodies.
As I reread the passage to make sure I’d understood it correctly, tears fell on my tablet. My brain struggled to imagine such compassion, to grasp the devotion and humility of all the retrieving villagers. A knot in my chest hurts even as I write about it. What is the message God is trying to tatoo(s) on (my) heart?
- Loves sees the marginalized . . .
- Do for one . . .
- The back of the truck . . .
I don’t know where this is leading, Dear Reader. I’m scared and uncertain, but believe there’s more or something different I’m supposed to do. This morning I took the tiniest step forward, when I emailed the director of the homeless shelter we support to get permission to sit and eat breakfast with some guests during our next delivery of Sunday bags.
Tom can handle passing out day bags, but I don’t think that’s what I’m supposed to do this week. I think I’m supposed to simply sit and listen. Everyone has a story, a story worth being listened to.
It may not be the back of the truck, but it’s a start.
alicevwalters.net 
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