As I walked in the door of the little soup kitchen a pleasant sight greeted me. People sat at the tables visiting and chatting with each other. A warm feeling of happiness filled the small room. As I began talking with the old women, the injured men I realized that these people were not all that different from myself.Of course I have plenty of food and they have none, but I realized that they were just people that needed God's love too. As I began serving the tasty food their eagerness, their excitement broke my heart. The looks of sheer joy on their faces at the food I am so privileged to enjoy every day humbled me. Suddenly my problems seemed minor and inconsequential. As I looked them each in the eye, instead of seeing dirty, weather worn old women and raggedy little children I saw souls longing for Jesus’ love. It brought me joy to see that my little act of kindness, just a few hours out of my busy day brought so much happiness to these people. As I sat on the floor playing a wild game of duck, duck goose with these tiny kids I realized that there was no where I would rather be. I was just a fifteen-year-old girl trying to feed the souls of the people around me and I feel like I was blessed even more than I was a blessing. Apparently my joy showed through my face because as I was walking out a shiny faces old man smiled at me and said "Girl, your smile could light up the darkest room".
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Feeding Souls by Sunny
As I walked in the door of the little soup kitchen a pleasant sight greeted me. People sat at the tables visiting and chatting with each other. A warm feeling of happiness filled the small room. As I began talking with the old women, the injured men I realized that these people were not all that different from myself.Of course I have plenty of food and they have none, but I realized that they were just people that needed God's love too. As I began serving the tasty food their eagerness, their excitement broke my heart. The looks of sheer joy on their faces at the food I am so privileged to enjoy every day humbled me. Suddenly my problems seemed minor and inconsequential. As I looked them each in the eye, instead of seeing dirty, weather worn old women and raggedy little children I saw souls longing for Jesus’ love. It brought me joy to see that my little act of kindness, just a few hours out of my busy day brought so much happiness to these people. As I sat on the floor playing a wild game of duck, duck goose with these tiny kids I realized that there was no where I would rather be. I was just a fifteen-year-old girl trying to feed the souls of the people around me and I feel like I was blessed even more than I was a blessing. Apparently my joy showed through my face because as I was walking out a shiny faces old man smiled at me and said "Girl, your smile could light up the darkest room".
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
My 40 Days for Life Experience
"I will never be the same again, I can never return, I've closed the door. I will walk the path, I will run the race, and I will never be the same again." -Hillsong
Sometimes an experience comes along that changes the fabric of who you are as a person. Deep inside. I have recently experienced just such a watershed moment. Nearly three weeks ago, I went to pray outside of an abortion clinic for the first time.
As I got out of my van half a block away, I did not feel anxious or apprehensive, even though I was going into a new situation. I felt like I was born for this moment. I had a sense that this was an important beginning. Goodness knows I had always wanted to do something to help. As I made my way to the sign up sheet for the 40 Days For Life, I saw other prayer volunteers walking up and down the sidewalk praying. A sweet lady with a rosary asked me if I was "going in there" or if I was here to pray. As I signed in and got my sign, she and the others were very helpful. All of a sudden, I looked up into the parking lot of the clinic, saw people coming in and leaving, and the full truth and reality of what I had until then merely known intellectually smacked me in the chest and grabbed me by the throat, leaving me breathless. Women were going in there, in that unassuming brick building, carrying their babies inside them. They came out empty. Those little babies were being murdered almost before my very eyes. Dear God. For the rest of the time, all I could do was hold my sign and cry. Poor little babies. Poor girls who were deceived by this culture of death surrounding us.
What could I do? What in the name of all that is holy could I DO? No one can put back together a torn apart infant; no one can put back together the torn apart heart that I knew these women would have one day, maybe even today. "Dear Jesus, you can do all things. Won't you please look down here upon us, your poor desperate people, and save them?"
How could I possibly love the boyfriends who were shooting the breeze and laughing with the guard while inside their children were ripped from the one place in all this harsh, cold world where they should be safe? How could I possibly love the clinic worker who shouted,"We'll take good care of your daughters when they come to us too."? Jesus, you love them. I want to.
I spent the evening completely immobilized. I lay in my bed all evening, tending to things when I had to, but feeling as if my heart was being squeezed by a giant, invisible fist. Now I know it was. The potter must sometimes crush and squeeze His clay in order to make it softer, and more fit for His purposes. I have been back. I will continue to go back. It is hard, yes, and sometimes I will cry. I know that Jesus weeps over this injustice, and this servant is not above her master. I weep, and I will never be the same again.
Sometimes an experience comes along that changes the fabric of who you are as a person. Deep inside. I have recently experienced just such a watershed moment. Nearly three weeks ago, I went to pray outside of an abortion clinic for the first time.
As I got out of my van half a block away, I did not feel anxious or apprehensive, even though I was going into a new situation. I felt like I was born for this moment. I had a sense that this was an important beginning. Goodness knows I had always wanted to do something to help. As I made my way to the sign up sheet for the 40 Days For Life, I saw other prayer volunteers walking up and down the sidewalk praying. A sweet lady with a rosary asked me if I was "going in there" or if I was here to pray. As I signed in and got my sign, she and the others were very helpful. All of a sudden, I looked up into the parking lot of the clinic, saw people coming in and leaving, and the full truth and reality of what I had until then merely known intellectually smacked me in the chest and grabbed me by the throat, leaving me breathless. Women were going in there, in that unassuming brick building, carrying their babies inside them. They came out empty. Those little babies were being murdered almost before my very eyes. Dear God. For the rest of the time, all I could do was hold my sign and cry. Poor little babies. Poor girls who were deceived by this culture of death surrounding us.
What could I do? What in the name of all that is holy could I DO? No one can put back together a torn apart infant; no one can put back together the torn apart heart that I knew these women would have one day, maybe even today. "Dear Jesus, you can do all things. Won't you please look down here upon us, your poor desperate people, and save them?"
How could I possibly love the boyfriends who were shooting the breeze and laughing with the guard while inside their children were ripped from the one place in all this harsh, cold world where they should be safe? How could I possibly love the clinic worker who shouted,"We'll take good care of your daughters when they come to us too."? Jesus, you love them. I want to.
I spent the evening completely immobilized. I lay in my bed all evening, tending to things when I had to, but feeling as if my heart was being squeezed by a giant, invisible fist. Now I know it was. The potter must sometimes crush and squeeze His clay in order to make it softer, and more fit for His purposes. I have been back. I will continue to go back. It is hard, yes, and sometimes I will cry. I know that Jesus weeps over this injustice, and this servant is not above her master. I weep, and I will never be the same again.
Oatmeal Kisses
I, for one, need to remember how fleeting the days of childhood are, and treasure each one.
Sloppy Oatmeal Kisses......
A young mother writes: "I know you've written before about the empty-nest syndrome -- that lonely period after the children are grown and gone. Right now, I'm up to my eyeballs in laundry and muddy boots. The baby is teething; the boys are fighting. My husband just called and said to eat without him, and I fell off my diet. Lay it on me again, will you.''
OK. One of these days you'll explode and shout to the kids, "Why don't you grow up and act your age?"
......and they will.
OR:
"You guys get outside and find yourselves something to do. And don't slam the door!"
......and they don't.
You'll straighten up the boys' bedroom neat and tidy -- bumper stickers discarded, bedspread tucked and smooth, toys displayed on the shelves. Hangers in the closet. Animals caged. And you'll say out loud, "Now I want it to stay this way.''
.......and it will.
You'll prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasn't been picked to death and a cake with no finger traces in the icing, and you'll say, "Now, there's a meal for company.''
.....and you'll eat it alone.
You'll say: "I want complete privacy on the phone. No dancing around. No demolition crews. Silence! Do your hear?''
.....and you'll have it.
No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghtetti.
No more bedspreads to protect the sofa from damp bottoms.
No more gates to stumble over at the top of the basement steps.
No more clothespins under the sofa.
No more playpens to arrange a room around.
No more anxious nights under a vaporizer tent
No more sand on the sheets or Popeye movies in the bathrooms.
No more iron-on-patches, wet, knotted shoestrings, tight boots, or rubber bands for ponytails.
Imagine. A lipstick with a point on it.
No baby sitter for New Year's Eve.
Washing only once a week.
Seeing a steak that isn't ground.
Having your teeth cleaned without a baby on your lap.
No PTA meetings.
No car pools.
No blaring radios.
No one washing her hair at 11 o'clock at night.
Having your own roll of Scotch tape.
No more dandelion bouquets.
Think about it. No more Christmas presents out of toothpicks and library paste.
No more sloppy oatmeal kisses.
No more tooth fairy.
No giggles in the dark.
No knees to heal, no responsibility.
Only a voice crying, "Why don't you grow up?'' and the silence echoing,
"I did."
by Erma Bombeck
Sloppy Oatmeal Kisses......
A young mother writes: "I know you've written before about the empty-nest syndrome -- that lonely period after the children are grown and gone. Right now, I'm up to my eyeballs in laundry and muddy boots. The baby is teething; the boys are fighting. My husband just called and said to eat without him, and I fell off my diet. Lay it on me again, will you.''
OK. One of these days you'll explode and shout to the kids, "Why don't you grow up and act your age?"
......and they will.
OR:
"You guys get outside and find yourselves something to do. And don't slam the door!"
......and they don't.
You'll straighten up the boys' bedroom neat and tidy -- bumper stickers discarded, bedspread tucked and smooth, toys displayed on the shelves. Hangers in the closet. Animals caged. And you'll say out loud, "Now I want it to stay this way.''
.......and it will.
You'll prepare a perfect dinner with a salad that hasn't been picked to death and a cake with no finger traces in the icing, and you'll say, "Now, there's a meal for company.''
.....and you'll eat it alone.
You'll say: "I want complete privacy on the phone. No dancing around. No demolition crews. Silence! Do your hear?''
.....and you'll have it.
No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghtetti.
No more bedspreads to protect the sofa from damp bottoms.
No more gates to stumble over at the top of the basement steps.
No more clothespins under the sofa.
No more playpens to arrange a room around.
No more anxious nights under a vaporizer tent
No more sand on the sheets or Popeye movies in the bathrooms.
No more iron-on-patches, wet, knotted shoestrings, tight boots, or rubber bands for ponytails.
Imagine. A lipstick with a point on it.
No baby sitter for New Year's Eve.
Washing only once a week.
Seeing a steak that isn't ground.
Having your teeth cleaned without a baby on your lap.
No PTA meetings.
No car pools.
No blaring radios.
No one washing her hair at 11 o'clock at night.
Having your own roll of Scotch tape.
No more dandelion bouquets.
Think about it. No more Christmas presents out of toothpicks and library paste.
No more sloppy oatmeal kisses.
No more tooth fairy.
No giggles in the dark.
No knees to heal, no responsibility.
Only a voice crying, "Why don't you grow up?'' and the silence echoing,
"I did."
by Erma Bombeck
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