whale watching

A beautiful story from a friend of a friend: Pursuing Normal

This girl is amazing. She goes into war zones! She is my hero. She shows me there is hope for me yet in living between the two worlds of the West and the Third World. She loves and cherishes them both. That is a healthy place to be. Where you don't feel guilty in either one. She makes me feel normal for filling my online cart on J. Crew just for fun. This is probably one of the things I wrestle with the most as a "missionary", living between two worlds. Even my own world here in Mozambique is so divided- extreme beauty and extreme poverty. I consider our beach to be the most beautiful in all the world. At our Sunday service at the beach house, the view always commands my attention. It is breathtaking and I cannot take my eyes off it. It is expansive and turquoise and white. Whales were breeching in the distance. Blow spray high into the air and flapping their fins and tails. It is surreal to sit and watch. That is my view to the east, to the west are mud hut villages and garbage dumps and barefooted children scavenging among the rubbish. But I see the beauty in both. These tiny brown-eyed treasures.

A few nights ago I sat with a group of Zimbabwean and South African men who bashed our causes and made fun of missionaries and claimed the poor will always be and that is simply the way it is and you cannot help them. I can agree with some of their claims regarding ways in which the West try to help but only hurt the poor by giving handouts and only creating a cycle of dependency. But I cannot agree with standing idly by while the poor die and live in a world of injustice. I also understand that these men grew up with the extreme poor in their backyard and are familiar with their cultures. I think a lot about this and am careful not to fall into the cycle. I see it all so clearly- there are really poor people in the world, God told me to go help, so I did. I don't see how they can't have sympathy or at least a little bit of compassion. It all weighed heavy on my heart. As I prayed and asked God to show me the truth behind it all, I clearly heard Him say, "They're just ignorant." The wealthy, educated white men are the ignorant ones. I don't need them to join my plight or my cause. But I don't understand a world that doesn't have compassion on the poor. Even the Bible says the poor will always be among us. But that doesn't mean we have the right to look away and ignore it.

In the story above, Cassandra goes into a war zone and plants flowers. Something God told her to do to show love to a frightened people and bring HOPE. It is frivolous and it doesn't make sense but it brought hope and beauty to a village running from war and guns and dying. I do believe that we are called to be His hands and feet and the poor are our responsibility. Knowing your place is as simple as asking Him to show you who needs help day by day. It is the "wise" who are missing out on the simplest of truths. Politics aside, history aside, God called us to love and love does look like something. Somedays I am terrible at it. Other days I do a pretty decent job. But it comes from Him, and His eyes and His wisdom. The white men at the table the other night simply don't know the truth. I can't imagine living in their world, one where you fend for yourself and fight for worthless treasures. The treasures are in the garbage dump, y'all. The last place you'd ever look. And the answers to their plight may look like pansies in the dirt, which seems a little absurd. But I am finding God is like that- extravagant in love and mercy and kindness. And he sees the treasure in the scruffy, chain-smoking South African men. And I don't and He still loves me.