Vulnerable
This post is perhaps best directed at those that are headed into the mission field or into work in another country less economically advantaged than the US. Or to those who just like to hear me rattle around about how my heart has been turned inside out... you will enjoy this post, too.
There is something that happens to a person when they do not have a garage to close, or a large Suburban Mama vehicle to drive or a wonderful pantry to turn to to feed hungry tummies ... one becomes vulnerable.
I lived the majority of my years in a house that I could run into and close the doors on the reality of anyone but myself. For most of my adult life, I drove an SUV that I thought would 'protect' me from most accidents. I could get in my SUV and drive away from the difficulties of others. I could roll up the windows when I drove past a homeless panhandler and lock my car doors in unsavory areas. Arriving home in my SUV, I could use my automatic garage door opener to close the door of the garage before anyone could come in and harm me or ask something from me that I wasn't prepared to answer or give.
For the bulk of my life, I had a secure checking and savings account. There were dollars and cents that I could use to surround myself with things to comfort and pacify.
Stepping away from these things leaves a person vulnerable.
Open.
Out there.
Friends, this is not a bad thing. In my vulnerability, I can see. Really see.
My Jesus was interested in the individual person. Not the crowd, but the single person. The solitary soul.
He did not have even a place to lay his head at times. He certainly didn't have an SUV, a garage or a checking account. He walked among and with people. He met them right there in the middle of the street.
Without my house, my SUV, my husband's secure job, my garage door, I can see the individual. Walking down the street, or driving in my open golf cart, I do see the individual.
Often, seeing the individual is painful. Often, seeing the individual means that I must act. Often, seeing the individual requires something of my heart.
This is not a judgment on houses, cars or garage door openers. It is simply an observation of what has occurred in one really odd gringa and what will absolutely happen to you if you walk these streets with me.
There is something that happens to a person when they do not have a garage to close, or a large Suburban Mama vehicle to drive or a wonderful pantry to turn to to feed hungry tummies ... one becomes vulnerable.
I lived the majority of my years in a house that I could run into and close the doors on the reality of anyone but myself. For most of my adult life, I drove an SUV that I thought would 'protect' me from most accidents. I could get in my SUV and drive away from the difficulties of others. I could roll up the windows when I drove past a homeless panhandler and lock my car doors in unsavory areas. Arriving home in my SUV, I could use my automatic garage door opener to close the door of the garage before anyone could come in and harm me or ask something from me that I wasn't prepared to answer or give.
For the bulk of my life, I had a secure checking and savings account. There were dollars and cents that I could use to surround myself with things to comfort and pacify.
Stepping away from these things leaves a person vulnerable.
Open.
Out there.
Friends, this is not a bad thing. In my vulnerability, I can see. Really see.
My Jesus was interested in the individual person. Not the crowd, but the single person. The solitary soul.
He did not have even a place to lay his head at times. He certainly didn't have an SUV, a garage or a checking account. He walked among and with people. He met them right there in the middle of the street.
Without my house, my SUV, my husband's secure job, my garage door, I can see the individual. Walking down the street, or driving in my open golf cart, I do see the individual.
Often, seeing the individual is painful. Often, seeing the individual means that I must act. Often, seeing the individual requires something of my heart.
This is not a judgment on houses, cars or garage door openers. It is simply an observation of what has occurred in one really odd gringa and what will absolutely happen to you if you walk these streets with me.
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