I Dare You

"...the hard part is walking with someone through their pain, being family 2 people who have none, literally making ur home someone elses 2, living on less so somebody else can have more. n that somebody does not live thousands of miles away. they r ur neighbors or the people that u regularly see living on the street. it doesn't mean skimming alittle off my bank account, because alittle bit of my overflow is so much more 2 "those people." maybe God needs ME 2 b uncomfortable 4 the comfort of someone else..."

This was my aunt's response to the last blog post.
I love her response because they aren't just words. She actually lives it. She speaks from real stuff.
And it challenges me.
Because somehow I assume being a missionary is "out there." You know, only in foreign countries or in mission-like settings. But the truth is, Jesus actually said, "Love your neighbor as you love yourself."
Ouch.
It kind of blows my nice little packaged mindset out of whack.
It's so easy to pass out tracts and hang out with city kids when your surrounded by people doing the same. You get to look good. Your ego is helped enormously. It's true. I've been there. Some days I'm still there.
But what about the days you live a normal life?

Yesterday I found myself shaking in my boots. (Ok, so it was cold and rainy, but still).
"I don't know WHAT I'm doing, God. I guess you know."
Small clusters of people stood outside, holding umbrellas and conversing. Rather timidly, I walked up to the first group I saw. A middle aged woman stood there, along with a middle aged man and a boy who looked close to my age. "You look cold," the older man said, holding the umbrella up so I could be dry. All I did was offer them the little bags of cookies I had brought. The woman eventually walked away, and I was left with the 2 men. Paul and Brandon.
Somehow, homeless people become more real to you when they have names.
It wasn't a long conversation. Just exchanging pleasantries and the like.
But as I walked back to my car and drove away, something inside me wanted to go back again. And again.
"If we are the body of Christ- and Christ came not for the healthy but the sick- we need to be fully present in the places where people are most broken." (Mike Yankoski)
I could share many more stories of encounters when simply walking down the street, but the story isn't finished. There is more to be written. 

So I dare you.
Go look for a Brandon or a Paul. They're closer than you think.
They are your neighbor.

http://barefootmissionary.blogspot.com/2011/09/i-finally-obeyed.html
http://beginningofthewatches.wordpress.com/2011/08/03/247/

The Family on Kensington (and Where It Leaves Us)

    A brief glance was all it was really. Abby and I were spending the day in Philly, walking the streets and in that moment, hoping to visit The Simple Way. Searching for Kayla, our contact from there, we rather quickly walked past.

They were a simple family. She sat crocheting a scarf, while he cleaned a fishing pole. Their child sat in a stroller nearby, watching the world with his dull eyes. Surrounding them were several very random items. Clothes were piled neatly in a shopping cart, a small table displayed their wares, and a basket of children’s books completed the scene.

They were homeless.

They were young.

Realizing we were walking the wrong way, we attempted to make a little u-turn, walking past them again. As my eyes swept over them once more, the child caught my attention. He seemed so innocent, yet his dirty, grimy face gave away the poverty that surrounded him.

As our steps carried us away from them, something twisted inside me that hurt. This gypsy-looking family needed more than just a couple dollars from someone who felt empathy. Even the thought of saying a simple prayer for them felt so cheap. “But what?” I ask myself, “What is it that they really need?” Is it a second chance at life and dreams that have long been shattered? Someone who can look out for them, give them that second chance, and see them through?

The easy answer is that they need Jesus, and the love and peace that He has to give them. But in truth, who is going to really BE Jesus to them? We can give them a couple dollars, some good, witness-y like speeches, and then wish them good luck and walk away.

But have we really cared for them?

What are we willing to do for someone who doesn’t benefit us at all, who can’t pay us back, and who might not even seem to like us?

Those are just some of the questions I have been wrestling with and seem no closer to an answer. We are to be the hands and feet of Jesus, right? So in practical terms, in our ordinary, everyday lives, what does being His hands and feet really mean?

And once we have that question answered, how do we go about living as such?

I’ve bombarded this post with questions, but they come from the wrestling inside, and I wonder how long I can ignore the needs in front of me.

It’s not that I don’t have eyes to see.

It’s the terrible truth that I haven’t even tried to see.

But perhaps I’m not alone. Perhaps I’m not the only one that has nursed my blindness for far too long. I wonder if this is the time we quit saving the on-street witnessing/prayer walking until the mission trip. More than likely, it requires individual action, and desperately seeking His heart.

It’s inspiring to read about the gentleness of Mother Teresa, the boldness of William Booth, and the passion of Hudson Taylor.

But maybe, these qualities are actually alive in our own hearts.

Perhaps they lie dormant under the surface of our lives, crying to be free.

     

So where do we start?  

Jon Schmidt - Michael Meets Mozart - 1 Piano, 2 Guys, 100 Cello Tracks- ...

One of my favorite songs lately.
Music is truly a gift and an art.
They inspire me.

Give Me Your Eyes. Soften my Heart.

Mid-July: Reading Square

She is coming our way- Limping slowly along and pushing a little tote cart. Necklace crosses hang heavily around her neck. I walk towards her. Conversation is started. She sits in the shade for awhile, listening to the rest of the group sing. I ask if there is anything I can pray for. Asthma problems, she says. Taking her hands in mine, I say a simple prayer. And then we sit. “The singing is beautiful,” she says. “Reading needs this. They need Jesus.” As we continue to sit, she tells me of her near-death asthma attack, where Jesus became real to her. She tells of the police officer who was shot a week before. “He was so young. He had a wife and small child. People can be so cruel. They need this. Reading needs Jesus.”

In the hot shade, I watch others of the group praying with people, sharing, singing, and praying in small groups for God’s will to be done here.

(Journal entry July 7: New York City)

Coming away from this day with so much on my heart.- so much burden…There are so many needs, and so many people. How could anyone like me make a difference? …the director of the Bowery Mission shared with us after the service. “You may see all these people in New York, and say they need Jesus. You folks live in a beautiful place. But it isn’t any different there. It may be more hidden, but the need is still there…”

Days such as these prick my conscience. “Alicia, you’ve been so blind. Don’t you care for the souls? What is holding you back from taking the time to listen for the silent cries of humanity? You say you care. Then why don’t you show it?”

Again and again, I am convicted. I feel like I’m back at the start of my journey. The question haunts me again and again, “Do you care, Alicia? Do you really care?”

Perhaps I’m being too hard on myself. Maybe I have cared. But then again, there are many times that I haven’t.

Like the days when the Madison Street girls come to clubs and try my patience once again. When I’m so busy trying to keep up with the group that I hardly notice the homeless man sitting off to the side. When the person across the counter looks like she carries the weight of the world, but I “don’t have time to stop.”

Oh, forgive me.  

A Stranger in a Temporary Land

In approx. 30 minutes we will be leaving the North.
Several people have asked me if I'm ready to leave.
My response varies.
"Well, it's been a nice vacation, but I think I'm ready to go."
"Kinda of ready, but I loved it up here."
You know, that kind of stuff.
The truth is, the question they ask has a deeper meaning that goes beyond a simple visit.
I used to worship this place called Canada. It was my escape from all American problems.
My homeland. Until now.
The past several months, I have turned a new chapter in life. Being here has helped me to see. That crazy place called Lancaster is now home. I have found freedom in letting go of the bitterness I once had.
And being a strange person in a strange land has helped me to see that this home is only temporary. My real home is in Heaven.
This earthly life is only for so long.
I have learned so much from the Canadian culture. I hope I never forget those lessons. I have learned so much from Lancaster culture. I don't want to lose that either. Both places may be home for a little while.

But Heaven is no doubt so much better.

Summer Adventures pt. 1 1/2

Here we are: Confident and Excited as we set out...

But so much lay ahead... we had no idea...

Our second portage... through a small swamp. It was one of the nicer portages. No joke!



The bros showing what they're made of.

And then our first stop. Needless to say, we never realized how far or how hard this trail was going to be.

But at that point it was nice to rest. Great camping on top of a rock by the lake...

Gotta love those freeze-dried goodies. 

The second day started out with a long, wet, muddy, buggy portage. Not sure how this guy got away with snoozing while we sweated and carried the packs :)

This was pretty much how we felt by the end...

 And it was only the first portage of the day.

Next was a little dam of sorts. A nice break from portaging.

The second portage we chose the river route.

It was about as fun as it looks!

Freeze-dried soup never tasted so good that night...

And JJ ended the day by catching a fish.

3rd day- portages were shorter but just as "bushy."

Again. JJ studied the map while we lugged packs and canoes.

Opting to look for a faster way to White Otter, we tried out this road to another lake.

Guess that's why we got a flat tire on the trailer.

And why the sign stated the obvious.

All in all, despite its unexpected-ness, we made lots of memories.

Got some good family time in. The boys built muscle. We all got feasted on by mosquitoes.

 We lived in the wake of God's creation. 

We never did make it to our originally planned destination. But perhaps someday...

"Nature never taught me that there exists a God of glory and of infinite majesty. I had to learn that in other ways. But nature gave the word glory a meaning for me." ~C.S. Lewis

Dawn of the Voyageur

(cruising along Highway 11: mid-morning)

I'm beginning to feel real excitement about this whole canoe trip.
I think it might be some adjusting first. Who knew this Canadian-turned-Lancaster girl would have to adjust to the lack of noise, people, and fast-paced life.
Everywhere I look I see trees, small lakes, trees, endless road, and more trees.
The fam is getting the camera out just in case we see any wildlife, like a mosquito.
Um, yes, I think we're starting to become more and more like tourists.
After crossing the border we did our little stop at Timmy's tradition. Next time I think I'll get a large iced coffee instead of a small. It's just that good.

Ah. I can't wait to see a sunset like this again. It's been too long.

We're talking, thinking about, and living for the canoe trip at this point. We also came up with French names(and one Indian), mostly so we feel like we're voyageurs instead of amateurs. (ha!)
I'll leave it to you to guess who is who...
Au revoir! ~Dominique for Papa Jacque, Mama little running deer, Richard(pronounced ree-shard), Jean Paul, and Pierre.