Skip to main content

How much do I really care?

I sat next to a lady at lunch this week in the inner city. Her right arm was in a cast so it took a while for her to eat. Everyone greeted her and she seemed to know everyone in some way. As I struck up conversation with her I asked her some unthreatening questions about her life- the first step in building some kind of relationship. It wasn’t about getting the whole story, but rather to be available and see how God would move.

She mentioned that she was a grandmother of four, so I asked her if she saw her grandchildren much. Her eyes filled with tears and we sat in silence for a while. I gently touched her arm and said quietly: “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” My heart was filled with compassion. After a while she shared that she had no family in Kansas City and that she misses her grandson who used to live with her a lot.

As we chatted she shared some of her current challenges with a broken arm. Challenges like moving furniture and doing dishes. I suggested that maybe some of the people around her could help, to which she replied: “I don’t have anyone.” I could feel the loneliness. And it made me think how we might have people who know us, but people who care enough to be inconvenienced and go out of their way are few and far between. And I realised that sometime my life is a bit like hers. I might have people around me, but loneliness still comes and when I’m in the most vulnerable of times and places, and I reach out to see if someone can help, it’s surprising how few respond. I don’t think it’s that they don’t care; it’s just that they’re busy…yet if we care enough we will find a way.

I am the same way though. Like with this lady my heart went out to her and I wished that somehow I could have gone with her to do her dishes or help in some way, but I said nothing. I couldn’t see how I could do it practically and I am no fan of empty promises. But was there no way, or was it a lack of seeing a way because I didn’t care enough?

These are things going through my head. When I use my lack of a car or even my schedule as excuses to not reach out, at the root are they just that, excuses? Or are they real barriers? Would my response be different if I had the resources, or would I find other excuses to not get involved? I hope I would care enough to show it and walk it out.

That short time with Maria really made me think. And even if I couldn’t reach out to her in a greater way, I know there must be plenty of people here who could use a friendly smile, or outstretched hand and listening ear. I’m sure if I open my eyes more I’ll see them. It’s not like they hide, they are there, I just need to care enough to take time to see- really see intentionally. See with more then my natural eyes, and look at them through the eyes and heart of God and see what He sees. See beyond the appearance, the masks, or maybe even just defences put up to make it through.

I don’t want to keep walking as I have walked. I want to walk as Jesus walked and see the way He sees. And take time. People who crossed His path never interrupted Jesus. What would seem to be an interruption, He viewed as simply part of the Father’s divine plan for that day. Divine encounters with hearts. The Father’s heart and peoples’ hearts.

I need God to help me. Daily I am faced with the reality of my selfish heart and even my own grumbling and complaining over my own life. My complaining that I am not “seen” when really my own eyes are so very blurred to those around me, and I am really no better then what I am accusing others of in my own heart.
But I do want to change. Not selectively in how I want it to be, but how God would choose, letting His heart permeate my heart. Letting His eyes become the lens through which I view the world and see myself through. I want to represent Jesus well. I want Him to use me to be His eyes today. I want to see people and do something about it.

Popular posts from this blog

Getting to know the local culture.

Life is a strange thing. Last week went…not much happened, and then it was over. The weekend was quite calm without too many wild and exciting things happening. Except, of course, a wee outing to watch the National Championship for Veteran Ploughing. Now, like me, you might be sadly lacking an understanding of what this actually means. So I am delighted to be able to enlighten you in this respect. It’s basically (for the “farm-language-illiterate” like myself) a competition where you use old (hence the name “veteran”) tractors and ploughs, and plough up a stretch of field which is then evaluated and the one scoring the highest sum (accuracy, depth, how well the soil is turned is all given points) wins. I must admit that this information I got by eavesdropping on a conversation next to me where a man was explaining to some of my friends how it all works. So that was a fun adventure….although we only stayed for a bit. What is sort of occupying my mind at present is my upcoming travel abr...

Taking in the familiar and a heart connected.

Amsterdam. It still has that muggy feeling in Summer, and a constant flow of people which if you stop to think about it, it's quite amazing that there would even be space to accommodate them all. But then I guess they are not all staying. Just passing through on their way to or from somewhere. It's always good for the heart to visit somewhere that was once home. The familiarity of streets and customs makes it easier to embrace what might be new as well as the joy of being reacquainted with old friends. Friends. So many of them to be found in this city, ready with hugs and good words that are uttered when seeing someone who was away again. Friendship. A treasure that cannot be bought. Cobblestones trodden by many, including myself. Sitting on a bench. Praying. Remembering the first time I stumbled upon this area lined with windows with red lights and curtains. An area which has come to represent no longer windows, but people to me. Some still behind a window. Others who have ...

Romania- so much hope filling my heart for this nation.

As I sit down to write this, I am at the little table in a rented flat in the centre of Bucharest, Romania. It’s quiet. Strangely quiet considering we’re in the centre of a huge city. My feet are propped up on a worn fake-leather puff thing, and as I check the time I realize that I have been in the country less than 24 hours... and yet my heart is overflowing with impressions and emotion for a nation I barely know. It’s getting late, but I know I am too awake to sleep and so have made myself a cup of Earl Grey (with milk) and have sat down to try to capture at least a bit of what this day has been. As always, I write mostly for myself and the occasional other who desires to enter into the telling of my story. Driving from the airport last night, and getting the first glimpse of the city and seeing majestic buildings lit up towards the night sky, filled me with expectation. A beautiful city filled with so much history. I came wondering. Wondering what this nation I knew from w...