Something doesn't feel right. Something's growing inside of me. Something that makes my brows furrow even harder still at this culture we live in. I'm looking at grave stones, thinking how fragile, how short this life is and I decide it. I refuse to sit back any longer and confuse consumption with living.
I love when the atheist challenges the Jesus followers. He says things like:
"If you really believe that your life
is redeemed and all earthly things
are pointless in light of eternity -
why do you live for your stuff?"
"Why do you not tell people about Jesus if He is the answer to life's mystery?"
"Why do you muzzle Truth if the Truth will set us free?"
And my heart aches hard because he's right. Not about all of us, but about most of us. Especially about the STUFF. Children die alone in Uganda - and we're buying new couches. Bigger TVs. Better iPods. Mothers can't clothe their daughters, and yet, we throw our shirts away and trade them for newer name brands. Babies wander alone, three year olds who can't find shelter - yet we long for the next fancier, bigger house.
I whine about sleet and drizzle and mud and a mucky dog and then I hear from friends in Soroti, that there's been no rain since December.
And I ache. Tears pool. I scream out in a moving car, alone, and crazy - "HOW? How God? How? How do I live?"
I sing, desperately, hands clutching not the wheel, but the sky -
"Break me for the nations,
Let my heart become your heart for all the world.
Send me to the harvest,
as an ambassador to speak your holy name.
As a vessel yielded in the Master's hand.
And please touch me with your annointing
for a world that broken and in need..."
This is my urgent prayer, and it cuts deep - I don't just want to be broken for the nations, I want to be moved for them. Moved - the way a rushing river flows, unstopable. Relentless. That I could not spend a dime in vain - because someone else always need it more.
how can we be broken and moved for the widow and the orphan, when we're wandering in an aimless journey of mindless consumption? When we're burning up the wealth that was meant to serve the oppressed. The cold hard cash that is so desperately needed to build up the willing and wanting. To shelter the forgotten. I am no better than they - because I was born into this squaller of a selfish nation. We are equal, one in the same. Why do I have much, and them, nothing?
This - all that I have - was it not given in trust?
What is mine is not mine. And that is a life-changing truth. To fully embrace it, HAS to change everything. Every breath. Every penny spent. Every thought of why we're even here. And I'm figuring out what this means in light of Jesus. In light of eternity. In light of now. In spite of me.
And it aches.
Writen for Five Minute Friday @ The Gypsy Mama