It Could be My Child

Compassion Sunday is in two days.  I’m not going to lie, I’ve been stressing a little.  My package of child packets and materials arrived at 7:29 p.m.  I opened it up and the enormity and importance really hit me. 
Suddenly, and rightfully so, it transcended the business of making it all happen.  The emails, proposals, phone calls, ordering, volunteer sign ups, set up, tear down…. it all faded away as soon as I looked at the faces staring up at me from a carboard carton.  The “work” drifted into the fog and all that mattered was so clear.  These children.  These very real children.  I was tempted to let the fear and anxiety of temporarily holding their futures in my hands wash over me.  What if I fail?  What if I don’t find them sponsors?  What if I didn’t do everything I could?
Graciously the good Lord loves to intervene in those moments.  “Holy smokes Mari!  Do not make this about you and your fear of failure!  I love you daughter but it is not about you, and your abilities.  It is about Me.  It is about Siranee, Berenice, Enoch, Deymar…. and millions of others. “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest? Consider how the wild flowers grow.  They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Soloman in all his splendor was dressed like one of these.  If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you, you of little faith.”  {Luke 12}  I’m not going to worry, I have great faith.

In the middle of the night, in the quiet moments, He quietly whispers.  Instead of indulging myself in twisting knots in my own belly, I’m going to pray.  Each one of these faces, well, that’s what its all about.  Because somewhere there is a mama and daddy, who are praying for someone to step in and help them feed and clothe their child.  They are heartbroken that despite their daily, valiant effort, they need help to care for their child.  That could be my Donovan.  My Addison.  My Layla.  My Isabella.  It could so easily be me praying for someone to come to the rescue of MY children. Will you intervene?  Will you be the hands and feet of God, love like like Him, and support a child in desperate need?  It could be my child, or it could be your’s.

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