I've spent the past several months pondering what God is calling me to do to help in this world that needs so, so much help.
I sometimes cringe when calling myself a Christian because I know what the world's perception is of Christians, especially in the Land of the Free and Home of the Brave. Christians are hypocrites, narrow-slit-eyed judges just waiting to point out sins to the sinners.
Honestly, many people who label themselves Christian have no clue what that even means. Jesus didn't die for my sins and conquer death and sin itself on my behalf so I could go on living a selfish, broken life. He died and rose again so His followers would become like Him, willing to die, willing to follow Him until we look like Him. Looking like Him includes loving people He created. No matter how much they have rejected Him. He loves them.
One of my struggles is the immensity of the sea of need. Hurting people are dying for a glimpse of the real Jesus rather than the one so well painted by the hypocrites or posers. What direction do I go, what am I supposed to do, what is my designed role for helping people find their way to Jesus?
My heart burns to help people really be set free from bondage. There are so many who live in prisons that have been erected by others and sometimes themselves. There is an enemy out there who doesn't care what prison we live in. He just wants to see us in the dank, dark, hopeless cells of death. He has lots of ways to lure us and capture us and so many start when we are children.
Being a support to my daughter while she is on the frontline of the battlefield taking hits for her little foster babies is not enough. Even loving those children as my own grandchildren feels like not enough. An author friend is involved in a homeless ministry in the metro area and has asked me to write a couple stories of local people who've spent time on the streets for an upcoming book. Ideally this book will hopefully sell and help support the ministry. I met with Jessica and wrote her story. Even though my part is finished, Jessica's tale is far from complete. And my heart breaks for her knowing that she will be struggling with some of her issues for a long time. But that's not enough, either, voluntarily listening to someone's story and writing it out.
On Sunday I went to an event to raise money, and eventually bring, Mercy Ministries to our area. I hadn't heard of Mercy Ministries until I saw the promo for the event. This is an organization that is privately funded (no state or federal aid), free for young women who want to escape from a hellish landscape, and a ministry that pledges to be debt free and tithe to other ministries.
Young women, ages 13-28 are accepted into homes at several locations around the world. They are given love, and Jesus and their lives are changed. Several women told their stories. From eating disorders and self harm, to planned suicides if this didn't work for them, to horrific childhood trauma.
There are people who are being Christ to those who need Him. And I want to support them, which might be a very large part of my current path. So I'll keep on tuning my ears to God's heart and turning my eyes to those I can see.
Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.