I have recently realized that, though I have told a few stories about God's greatness and what He is doing here, I have failed to convey some of life's challenges and failures. In an attempt to sell as many of you out as I can for missions and for the nations, I have withheld stories of getting the door slammed in my face, feeling lonely, and being kept in bed for days with diarrhea. And though I will probably continue to spare you the stories of my bodily functions, I do believe that we can learn just as much (and sometimes more) from each other's failures and challenges as we can from each other's successes. So, below is something that I wrote in August, almost a year ago now, when I was still living with my first host family, and before I started Missions Training School. It is written in the third person, because I was too ashamed to put myself personally into the story. I hope that you may be challenged from a failure of mine to be a little bit more radical with a lot less fear for Jesus Christ.
"A woman crawls on hands and knees, her withered feet dragging uselessly across the cobblestone pathway leading to a church that can offer her nothing. Her gaze is focused on the ground rather than where she is going for she cannot bear to see the look in the eyes of those who pass her by. She sits next to the door, with a meager handful of two-day-old, slightly undersized and overripe fruit to sell for something more substantial to eat. With each opening and closing of the door, a brilliant golden light cascades over the pathway; but a painful reminder of her poverty. Every soul entering and exiting the grand cathedral has a purposeful, steadfast look, anywhere but at her. She is too humiliated to call out, to beg. She is alone, and she knows it.
Across the road, a man walks into the park, a foreigner carrying a backpack filled with the money of two different countries, a spare jacket, and extra food. He sits on a bench snacking on candy bought in the marketplace. Food bought on a whim, without having to consider the money it would cost. Laid open across his lap is a book, its pages wrinkled and it’s leather binding worn. For the man is not a mere visitor, but is there to share light with those walking in the darkness.
He pulls out the old book, which falls open easily in the palms of his hands, and is about to read when something catches his eye: a woman, sitting alone next to the door of the magnificent church. For a reason he cannot explain, he cannot take his eyes off of her. He had seen her once before, and he had passed her by. His heart, fills with compassion, and he longs to see her stand. He feels a tugging at his heart, some inexplicable force pulling him toward her, but he fights it. Fear overwhelms the compassion he only just felt. Fear of what, he isn’t sure. He fears that she will not stand, fear of being inadequate, fear of not knowing the words to say are all possibilities. One thing is for certain: this fear paralyzes him, rooting him to the bench in which he sits.
The woman knows she is being looked at; it is feeling she is only too used to. She lifts her head to see a foreign man, with eyes fixated upon her. His look is not that of disgust or disdain, but rather of tenderness and compassion. She knows that he has something to offer her that no one has ever offered her before; she can see it in his eyes. She longs to go to him, to see what it is that this strange foreigner has to say, but she is afraid. Afraid of what, she doesn’t know. Afraid that his look will change from compassion to aversion upon seeing her crawl his way, afraid that he will walk away.
So they sat, looking at one another, inner turmoil boiling within, fear stopping both of them to respond to the yearning of their hearts. He finishes eating, puts his Bible back in to his bag and walks away, crushed by his lack of faith. She puts her fruit back in to her pockets, adjusts the pads on her knees, and crawls the opposite direction, tears streaming down her cheeks at what that look could have meant.
The man goes to his room, and begs forgiveness from his merciful God, forgiveness for his lack of faith and ignoring the urgings of the Holy Spirit. His spirit lifted up, he goes back to look for her, but she is gone. He will keep looking for her. He will keep looking for all of them, all of those forgotten by the world, but remembered by God. He will not give up. When he sees her, when he sees them, fear will not overtake him. Not again."
...When we are connected to the Vine, that fear disappears. Let us all be so close to Him that we could not possibly fear for knowing that He will deliver, because His compassion and love far surpass ours (not to mention the fact that He promised He would). I pray that none of you would ever let fear hinder you, as it did me, from doing the work that God has laid out for you to accomplish, because His perfect love, indeed does, conquer all fear.