Daring to be....Me

Every day on my way to work I pass by two beggars. Two different men, sitting on two different street corners asking for money. Every day it’s the same. One has a bandage around his face—making me wonder if he even has a nose. The other is an elderly gentleman that quietly looks up as I walk by and meekly asks for a gift. This is their life.

Sometimes the needs in this place are overwhelming. Some days I find myself with my heart hardening because I just don’t know what else to do. Other days I’m so filled with compassion that I find myself wishing, if just for a second, I could track down some millionaire who could step in and give lavishly to these people. But the truth is, deep down I know that the needs of these people stretch far beyond the financial arena.

I remember two years ago when I was teaching at Ozark. I had asked WL to come and share on the issue of poverty and disease to my night class. Throughout our two hours together he repeatedly made one statement that stuck with me: I hate being rich.

I hate being rich.

Some of you are probably thinking that I need less support. (I’m not saying that!) But it's true…I’m rich. And every day in this place I’m reminded of it. Every day at least one person asks me for something. Give me a book…give me money…give me medicine…give me a job…give me food…etc. Some days I just want to scream, “STOP ASKING ME FOR THINGS!”

But I’m rich.

I’m rich because I’ve been educated and can read and write my own language. I’m rich because I have a roof over my head, an indoor bathroom, and running water. I’m rich because there is never NOT a time when I don’t have food in my kitchen. I’m rich because I have clean drinking water ALL the time. I’m rich because I can treat myself whenever sickness may arise. I’m rich because I am hardly ever sick to begin with. I’m rich because I have a family who loves me and supports me in this crazy work. I’m rich because I’ve got amazing people all over the world who are partnering with me to bring life to this dry land. I’m rich because I have the Word in my own language and have my own copy in hand right now. I’m rich (insert a million more reasons here)….

I’m rich and no matter how much I hate it, it’s a fact.

And so I find myself constantly on my knees, asking Dad for guidance in these matters. Asking Dad to let me see these people the way He does. Asking for compassion, instead of frustration. Patience instead of annoyance.

He’s working on me in this area. I hear Him speaking His words to me. Words like “freely you have received; freely you give.” Or “If they knew who it was they were talking to, they would ask for Living Water.” Or “And then He looked and had compassion on the crowd.”

It’s tough. It’s not in my nature. But it’s truth.

I * am * rich.