A Walk to Remember...

Ten excited, dirty faces running with the van as we pull up...

For the hour and a half drive to the village of Gypsy's we were going to minister to, I was trying to mentally prepare myself and prevent myself from crying. As we were pulling up, I noticed a mesmerizing pair of eyes almost staring through my soul; a little girl who looked about 10 years old, running back to her family to prepare to receive their company.  When my feet touched the ground, I noticed the pets (about 5 of them) casually roaming the floor, not excited, not nervous, just there. I look up and take in my surroundings. 10 makeshift shacks, each the size of a tree house, some without doors, some with holes, and some as fragile as my heart felt when I locked eyes with each person who occupied them.

"Bok!" (This means ‘hi’ in Croatian) We yelled at all the happy children, I, a little hesitant, still trying to plant my feet in their ground and realize just how real their life was. I immediately related my pride with their humbleness. Knowing how embarrassing, discouraging, yet humbling it must feel to welcome in strangers and receive necessities, that seem like luxuries. I smile awkwardly at the children who looked at me like I was some sort of alien; I could feel the curiosity in their eyes as my self- consciousness rose. Praying that my smile would break the barriers between our languages, I found myself desiring their acceptance. Longing for these children to love me and not be distracted by the color of my skin, I immediately took a mental note on it and proceeded to give away hugs.

Daniele (The Pastor's wife) called me over to help her paint the nails of all the little girls. Thankful to be given a task, I set up my station and watched as my first client approached me. This little girl was so beautiful. I felt sadness in my heart for her living conditions, which would be labeled "Condemned" in the states, yet there wasn't much done here. I looked in her eyes, and saw myself. Imagined how the parents of my wealthy classmates looked at my face and run down clothes as a child. The feelings they must have felt, the disappointment in society, the pity. I didn't like it. However, I didn’t want to pity her. My entire life, I never wanted anyone to pity me. I wanted respect, I wanted recognition because I was overcoming obstacles, I was beating the statistics. I wasn’t going to end up a teen mom or on drugs or welfare or in prison. I was going to make it, and pity (to me) wasn’t going to help.

That was before I felt the strong love and compassion of Jesus. 

Before I felt His graceful hand protect me from my enemies. Before I watched miracle after miracle right before my eyes. All because He pitied me. "Like as a father pitieth his children, so the LORD pitieth them that fear him. For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust."  
Psalm 103:13,14

God wanted me to pity her. If I didn’t pity her, nothing would change in her circumstances. How would anyone have the desire to feed the poor, clothe them and shelter the homeless? Things were harder for me because my pride didn’t allow me to ask for help, it didn't desire pity, which isn't a bad thing, but it didn't receive it either.

The part that struck me the most while observing the children engaging in stories about Jesus and receiving the gospel; not one of them knew their age. I had to walk away and let the tears fall. Beyond the living conditions, beyond the lack of electricity, beyond the hunger, something in me snapped when I learned of their lack of education beyond school, but within themselves. The reality of just how unimportant things were to them because they are fighting for their lives, every day of their life, broke me down. I worry about the little things, what I will eat or wear, and God specifically tells me not to. (Matthew 6:25-26) Although I am on a mission and I live off the donations of others, the provision continues to come. And in their case it does as well. God provides, regardless of your struggle. It may not always be a lavish meal, but for 40 years He fed the Israelites manna, which actually means “What is it”. They complained and were ungrateful and they spent 40 years traveling in the wilderness. We go through our everyday life complaining, and not once did this village complain. They enjoyed our company, and received our pity humbly.

And it made me look at myself.

 The entire struggle and frustration, all the ‘leaning on my own understanding’; showed me just how ungrateful I am as a Christian.  The world is so big, and I could have been born with the same eyes as the gypsy children. I could have been living under the same circumstances, yet I wasn't.  There is truly someone a little worse off than you wherever you go. But is that little truth meant to be ignored? Or acknowledged? Did God allow you to witness something and pity was placed into your heart? I know my God to be a God of purpose, and of order. So by me somehow ending up in Croatia after being enrolled in Bible College in Spain for a month, going to this village, and seeing their conditions, feeling pity as God would, it was intentional. God meant for me to feel it, to teach me. There must be something done. James 2:15-16 says: “Suppose you see a brother or sister who has no food or clothing, and you say, ‘Good-bye and have a good day; stay warm and eat well’- but then you don’t give that person any food or clothing. What good does that do?” (NLT)

So through this I have truly realized that the pity we feel in our heart was placed there to stir up action. God wants us to do something about it. God wants us to give, wants us to help, wants us to show compassion. How can we say we have faith in God but our action don’t look like it? Didn't Jesus feed 5000? Didn't he heal the sick? Didn't he show love and compassion? Why don’t we? So you see, faith by itself isn't enough. Unless it produces good deeds, it is dead and useless. (James 2:17) Just as the body is dead without breath, so also faith is dead without good works. (James 2:26)

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