My heart is so struck by the brokenness and desperation of this world. I just got back from bowling with a bunch of people from my prophecy teams. My hair and clothes stink of smoke (which is really strange, haven’t had that for years as smoking in public places is illegal in Norway and even the UK now), and I feel a sobriety (I am not sure that’s the right word, but I suppose what I want to say is that I feel like I’ve had my eyes opened again to a bit of what reality here in Missouri is in a sense).
My heart feels heavy. Not from the bowling time in itself, because it was a good bonding time, but from being around people who are enjoying themselves bowling and drinking and laughing loudly (I’m talking about the other people in the bowling alley, not the people I went with), yet seeing their whole composure portraying another reality then the one they are attempting to express. Laughter doesn’t always mean joy. It can also mean a desperate attempt to encounter that feeling of joy, which they so long for, yet cannot find, lost in the emptiness and hopelessness this world brings us. The lane next to us had a group of people who were getting more and more drunk and who were very loud, and maybe to some, apparently having a good time. Yet thinking about them my heart is burdened for them and longing for them to encounter something so much bigger and greater, to encounter Truth and love and the peace which passes understanding. I have no idea who they are, or even where there from and where they’re headed in life, but I know that it’s a dark road they are walking on, and that when they’re alone and have to face the issues of life with nothing to remove the pain, it’s tough. I mean life can get pretty tough walking with Jesus…imagine facing it without Him.
Driving back from the bowling alley it was dark and we were on the highway. There is something about the atmosphere of a city at night that just gets to my heart. It’s like the true heart of a city is revealed in a way you can’t catch during the day in the midst of the hustle and bustle which so easily drains out the sounds of it’s heartbeat. Night is a different story. At night things quiet down and a rawness is revealed. As we were driving along a friend of mine pointed out that where we’d been bowling is the area where there is the highest percentage of child molesters in the state. It struck my heart and I felt so desperate. Desperate for the children who are suffering, so many in silence; unknown and unnoticed. Desperate for those committing these horrendous crimes to encounter truth that transforms them.
I sat looking out the window as we sped by restaurants and billboards. One had a picture of a girl who is missing and the text “if anyone has any information about…”. I cannot even try to imagine how it must feel to be her parents who every day wonder if this will be the day their little girl is brought back to them, or if it’ll be the day that they get the phone call telling them that something really bad has happened. What are their lives like, if it can be called “life” living in that kind of uncertainty? At the same time I noticed places like “freedom bikes” and “candlelight apartments” and this one place with the motto “dream, dare, discover”- what do these names say about peoples’ hearts and longings in this city? There is something in each one of the people here that longs for something better. There is a tiny flicker of hope, no matter how small it is, that maybe, just maybe life is more then what they are living. Except in those who have given up hope.
And so my heart feels heavy. Heavy, feeling some of what the darkness in this city carries. And I am grateful. Being in the place of such bright, shining light there is at IHOP-KC it is good to have my eyes opened to the darkness that covers so much of this region. Good to see what this place is really like so that I can go back and ask Jesus for the light to spread and shine and transform. Transform not just something and someone I cannot relate to, but transform real people in real desperation, knowing that Jesus can and wants to do it.
This is what is on my heart as I’m sat here. I want to remember it, so that’s why I’ve written it down. I need to be reminded when it’s been a while and the smell of smoke has been removed from clothes and hair and the sound of the laughter of the people in the bowling alley has become distant. Then I want to be able to come back and read this and be reminded of what the heart of the city feels like, and carry that heart together with Jesus.
My heart feels heavy. Not from the bowling time in itself, because it was a good bonding time, but from being around people who are enjoying themselves bowling and drinking and laughing loudly (I’m talking about the other people in the bowling alley, not the people I went with), yet seeing their whole composure portraying another reality then the one they are attempting to express. Laughter doesn’t always mean joy. It can also mean a desperate attempt to encounter that feeling of joy, which they so long for, yet cannot find, lost in the emptiness and hopelessness this world brings us. The lane next to us had a group of people who were getting more and more drunk and who were very loud, and maybe to some, apparently having a good time. Yet thinking about them my heart is burdened for them and longing for them to encounter something so much bigger and greater, to encounter Truth and love and the peace which passes understanding. I have no idea who they are, or even where there from and where they’re headed in life, but I know that it’s a dark road they are walking on, and that when they’re alone and have to face the issues of life with nothing to remove the pain, it’s tough. I mean life can get pretty tough walking with Jesus…imagine facing it without Him.
Driving back from the bowling alley it was dark and we were on the highway. There is something about the atmosphere of a city at night that just gets to my heart. It’s like the true heart of a city is revealed in a way you can’t catch during the day in the midst of the hustle and bustle which so easily drains out the sounds of it’s heartbeat. Night is a different story. At night things quiet down and a rawness is revealed. As we were driving along a friend of mine pointed out that where we’d been bowling is the area where there is the highest percentage of child molesters in the state. It struck my heart and I felt so desperate. Desperate for the children who are suffering, so many in silence; unknown and unnoticed. Desperate for those committing these horrendous crimes to encounter truth that transforms them.
I sat looking out the window as we sped by restaurants and billboards. One had a picture of a girl who is missing and the text “if anyone has any information about…”. I cannot even try to imagine how it must feel to be her parents who every day wonder if this will be the day their little girl is brought back to them, or if it’ll be the day that they get the phone call telling them that something really bad has happened. What are their lives like, if it can be called “life” living in that kind of uncertainty? At the same time I noticed places like “freedom bikes” and “candlelight apartments” and this one place with the motto “dream, dare, discover”- what do these names say about peoples’ hearts and longings in this city? There is something in each one of the people here that longs for something better. There is a tiny flicker of hope, no matter how small it is, that maybe, just maybe life is more then what they are living. Except in those who have given up hope.
And so my heart feels heavy. Heavy, feeling some of what the darkness in this city carries. And I am grateful. Being in the place of such bright, shining light there is at IHOP-KC it is good to have my eyes opened to the darkness that covers so much of this region. Good to see what this place is really like so that I can go back and ask Jesus for the light to spread and shine and transform. Transform not just something and someone I cannot relate to, but transform real people in real desperation, knowing that Jesus can and wants to do it.
This is what is on my heart as I’m sat here. I want to remember it, so that’s why I’ve written it down. I need to be reminded when it’s been a while and the smell of smoke has been removed from clothes and hair and the sound of the laughter of the people in the bowling alley has become distant. Then I want to be able to come back and read this and be reminded of what the heart of the city feels like, and carry that heart together with Jesus.