SNAPSHOTS

WHAT'S WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?

Made
to shine but we have hidden,
to love but we stay distant,
to give but we mostly keep.
The world waits, groans, dies.
Untouched, seemingly forgotten.
A people made to fill the earth
with light, love, and goodness
Remain.

SNAPSHOT #1

The face of hopelessness

Click! It happened again. The picture was captured. Not on camera but by my brain and eyes (I have a suspicion my heart was involved also) working cleverly together, a picture then filed in a very accessible and often visited folder in my mind. A moment indelibly burned into my memory. An image that will shape who I am and how I view life from this point forward.

The little girl had tightly braided hair woven with masses of colorful beads that bounced around her head as she played on the side of the dusty excuse for a road in a town that hope seemed to have forgotten. The air was heavy with dirt particles thrown up by the slow-moving vehicles and the smell of stale alcohol wafting from the darkly lit bars, which seemed too plentiful in this slum. They called this Main Street, possibly because it was the only place in this "town" where you could buy anything. It was lined with little stalls (and bars) selling mostly tomatoes and manned only by women colorfully clad in traditional African dresses. The men, slumped over railings, chairs, and windowsills, seemed to think that their single role in life was to keep the aforementioned bars open. Loud music belted out from these establishments, only partially drowning out the heated arguments that seemed to be a normal and frequent occurrence on Main Street. The road itself was really only dirt, with lots of deep holes that our driver seemed intent on exploring in their entirety. Fine dust covered everything, robbing it of its original beauty and color.

That is, apart from the kids. Even the African dust could not hide the beauty I saw in that little girl's face. She was probably eight or nine years old and was wearing a cream dress with multicolored polka dots and a frilly skirt. No shoes. Her hair, plaited with multicolored beads, caught my eye as we approached, but her eyes made me look again. Or maybe it was the lines that ran down from her big brown eyes where tears had cut a track in the caked dust layered on her skin. She had probably fallen earlier and hurt herself. A smile was cracking as she saw the strange white face looking back at her.

I had seen similar sights many times in my travels, but it was what happened next that caused my eyes, brain, and heart to do their thing. My host, OM's leader in that part of the world, turned to me and said, "Andrew, do you know that every girl in this village will be raped by someone she knows before she is ten years old?"

Click.

Filed.

SNAPSHOT #2

The desert city

It was easily 110 degrees (40°C) as we stood almost a thousand feet (300m) up on top of the tall, ornate tower overlooking the capital city. As far as we could see, sandy-colored buildings stretched into the distance and eventually stopped somewhere in the desert beyond our line of sight. Down below, 6 million people were intently going about living life, providing for their families. Minarets were evenly distributed throughout the landscape, each one letting us know that it was time for prayer through their noisy loudspeakers. In the midst of the cacophony of sound emitting from the traffic-filled streets and the hundreds of muezzins calling to the multitude, we gazed out on the vastness of what our eyes were taking in when one of our leaders from that region said, "Andrew, do you know that we do not know of any followers of Jesus in this entire city?"

Click.

Filed.

On both occasions it was as if time stopped just long enough for something to well up deep inside me. What little girl in this dusty, dirty, forgotten slum is being raped today? How many of these dear Muslim people will die today having never once heard of Jesus' love for them? No matter what I do next, tomorrow is going to be too late for some. Out of a churning mix of spiritual and emotional angst burst a guttural, primal response: "This has got to change."

These two photos are often pulled out of that "filing cabinet." Each time they appear I am wrecked. In a strange way, I don't mind because they represent reality and I want to live in that place rather than in the place of ignorance or denial.

This is the world we live in. This is happening on our watch — at a time when we enjoy more technology, resources, and ability to travel than ever before and the number of Christ followers in the world has never been bigger.

How can that be?

Something is not right.

My father the pessimist

My father was one of the godliest men I have ever known. I am deeply indebted to him and my mother for how they brought up my siblings and me. He was also a card-carrying, highly committed, practicing pessimist. The pastor of the church we grew up in recounted a story to me that sums my dad up well.

Our church was soon to go on a vacation together to Scotland. The week before, my father, as the church elder, was in the pastor's room with him just before they were to go out to lead the church for the Sunday morning service. Seconds before they were to leave the room he turned to the pastor and said, "Well, if the bus doesn't crash and the boat doesn't sink, this time next week we will be in Scotland." The pastor walked out that day laughing, which was not typical for the church I grew up in.

My father's pessimistic outlook on life is the one thing I did not want to emulate. In fact, I think early on I committed to being an optimist. I am not sure if I have the member's card yet, but I do like to think of myself as having a positive outlook on life and always seeking to see the best in people and circumstances. My commitment even affects the movies I choose. I will never, and I mean never, go to see a movie with a sad ending. There are enough horrible things happening and bad endings in the real world, I don't need Hollywood adding to it.

I remember one time when I let my guard down. It was when I was dating my girlfriend (now my wife). I took her to see the movie My Girl. I was proud of the fact that I let Sharon choose the movie, even though there would clearly be no car chases, or anything getting blown up. Just perfect for a date night, such was my commitment to my woman. If you are old enough...