“Love thy neighbor”

“And love your neighbor as yourself.”

The first time I actually thought about that verse must have happened sometime in middle school, because I remember thinking, “Huh, I can do better than that.  I don’t love myself, but I love others.  I can love my neighbor better than I love myself.”

I’ve heard quite a few sermons and theories about this particular verse over the years.  Everything from, “Well, it actually means to love yourself as you’d love your neighbor” to “You know, try to love yourself, try to love your neighbor” to “Love God, that’s what really matters”.

I wonder if loving ourselves is a uniquely Western culture problem (where very few people actually love themselves, actually are comfortable in their own skin – everyone just pretends) or if this is an age-old human problem.   I think maybe, if it were a universal problem, perhaps the scriptures would have been worded differently.  Maybe.

Because we pretend we love ourselves.  And sure, we’re selfish, we still take care of Number One before we take care of everyone else.  And if that’s what the scripture means – to take care of everyone else to the same extent that you take care of yourself – as some of my professors think – than it’s an easy scripture.  I mean, no not easy.   Taking care of someone else to the same extent that you take care of yourself, or protecting someone else as much as you protect your own well-being is never “easy”…but it’s rather surface-level if you ask me.

I have come to realize, over the years, that if I don’t “love myself”, than I can’t love others well.  And this gets tricky.  Because, yes, without fully being comfortable with whom I am, without liking my quirks, strengths and weaknesses, I can still be nice to people.  I can still be kind.  But…it is not the same as if I am fully embracing myself.  If I’m not a fan of who I am, I can only be nice or kind or giving or date someone so long before things start blowing up.  Whether I suddenly start showing my judgmental thoughts, or just stop showing up to hang out, or start getting super depressed (this is NOT the only reason for depression, mind you) or dependent on others or any number of super unhealthy things, something awful is going to show up.  Guaranteed.

But even bigger than that is the simple thing that love is generally meant to be reciprocated.  So, if you don’t love the person you are created to be, than how can you allow anyone else to love you (because yes, to some extent you have to allow and accept love from others)?  If you don’t love yourself, you can’t allow someone else’s love for you to really penetrate the depths of you that love is meant to penetrate.

The tricky thing is – that you can’t.  You just can’t love yourself, love the person you are, without God’s help.  Sorry.  It’s just not going to happen.   Only through the knowledge that you are Christ’s kid, and dearly loved by Him, specially created to have the quirks, strengths, weaknesses and passions you do, can you begin to really, truly, embrace the person you are.  And it is only by His strength in this world of brokenness that is trying to get you to believe the lie that you are never good enough and must be constantly doing something else; that you can even begin to accept the amazing being you have been created to be.

So, again, start praying.  Pray that God opens your eyes to see yourself as He sees you – as much as He’ll let you.  If we could see how deeply loved and precious we are in God’s eyes, than I’m pretty sure we’d be able to enjoy and hold close the person God is calling each of us to be.

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freedom

I sit on my bed, a puppy curled up next to me, my laptop on my lap, a thunderstorm rolling in (which, if I didn’t live in Colorado, I might worry about interfering with the fireworks later on, but the storm’ll be gone in a couple minutes here), a familiar ache in my heart (again, don’t worry – I’m used to this one, the pain will also pass in a few minutes here), and I’m rather uninspired to write.
Which is sad, because I’ve had an awesome week.  Camping with teenagers, getting to know some new friends a bit more, finally sumitting a 14-er (an over 14,000 feet above sea level mountain), some relaxation time, some good ministry, sensing God moving, and just so much.
I could talk about the necessity of community, or how God loves each and every one of us, how His grace really is sufficient for each of us every day, how, with God, our history does not necessarily dictate our future, just…so much.
But the familiar ache is rather overwhelming in this moment.  And none of the above feels right.
So, instead I’m simply going to tell you to enjoy your 4th of July.  Enjoy the family and friends, the food, the crowds (somehow), the fireworks.  If you’re odd like me, go buy a pack of black licorice and eat it as you watch the fireworks explode in gorgeous colors above your head. Enjoy the deliciousness.  Enjoy these moments.  They are priceless.
And while you are enjoying the summer holiday, I challenge you to be “real” with one person.  Let one person see the mess you are (because, be real, we all are messes).  God uses messy people in awesome, powerful ways – especially their stories.  So go share your story.  Experience the freedom in letting someone really know you.  Be willing to open up, that God might use your story to reach into someone else’s heartache moment and heal or encourage or free them with what He’s done in you.

 

 

PS – I have a new tab up there. It’s meant specifically for any teenage girl reading this blog, but feel free to go check it out even if you’re not!

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Moments

I have been troubled recently by how busy I am.  I am not proud of my busyness.  I do not think I am running from anything; I am not trying to avoid anything.  Yes, there is brokenness in me.  I experience acute loneliness, but I do not run from it, or ignore it, or deny it.  Not all of my relationships are what I would like them to be, nor are they all healthy, but I do not think I am running from them either.  If I have had one realization over the last ten months (I’ve had many, but one of the most obvious ones), it is just how very important relationships (family, friends, romance) are, and how incredibly crucial it is for us to enter into them as fully, as brokenly, possible.  We are to fight for them.

Not the point of today’s entry though, however.

My busyness bothers me.  When I picture who I want to be, the woman I feel called to be, my fullest self, I envision a woman with enough time to be spontaneous.  I don’t have that time, currently.  I envision many other things for that version of me, but living a slower life is the one aspect most incongruent with the current version of me (well, the part which bothers me the most).

So this afternoon, I was given a gift of an inconspicuous realization.  With an adorable, almost-two -year old princess on my lap, blowing bubbles and watching them float above the curves of purple bell flowers that I love so much, I realized sometimes a slower lifestyle is not so much in how busy we are, but in the willingness to slow down when the unplanned moment presents itself.  Watching one large bubble in particular float extra gently, with more grace than you would expect for a mere sphere of soap, ascend above the tips of the twilight lavender fairy-skirt flowers, the iridescent magenta orb popped, and then ceased to exist, I realized that in that moment, I was given the gift of a reflecting a bit more of the woman God originally thought up when He thought of me.  It was a beautiful moment of stillness, of buzzing bees, of feeling deeply, intimately loved.

I might not be able to leave my life of busyness right now.  I deeply want too.  But, until that time comes, I am going to start searching for more delicate bubble moments.  Moments to witness the fleeting bubble lives.  Moments to watch the pearl clouds sing the harmony of a luminescent full moon.  Moments to watch the yellow butterfly flitter around, delighting in the freedom of wings after being mere mush, unable to even walk, let alone fly, not so long ago.  Moments to wonder if that flying thing is a gigantic moth, or a bat with antennae.  Moments to delight in the song of the hummingbird, or the enticing fragrance of pine in the early mountain air.  These moments are more valuable than gold, or knowledge, or anything else physical that I might try to hoard.   These moments whisper lyrics of the woman my heart strains for and is being, ever so slowly, whisperingly sung into being.

 

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Be STILL, and KNOW that I am God…

Abide in ME….

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Potential Prepping and Reflections on Open Hands

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This particular blog post is probably more for me than for anyone else, but here goes anyway.

I think God’s prepping me for something, and in His divine wisdom, He’s not telling me what for.  See, two of my closest friends left the state on Sunday, and will leave the country in a couple days, following the path that God has so obviously laid in front of them.  These are two of maybe five or six people who know me – the ins and outs of me.  Which hurts, their leaving – for they are taking a rather large chunk of my heart with them –  but at the same time, I am so excited for them!

But, oddly enough, over the last two and a half weeks, three books have made their way into my hands – one before this last Sunday, and two within these past couple days.  All from different sources, all kinda just showing up.  But all three books have a couple things in common – they all are stories of people saying, “yes” to God, no matter how ludicrous His request is.  One girl left the US and is living in Uganda, surrounded by hundreds of children who are no longer quite as hungry,  who are getting an education, and who are (most importantly) learning tangibly of God’s love for them, because of what God’s doing through her “yes”.  Another was the story of a Texan-stay-at-home momma whose husband started seeing things differently.  And when God changed her heart too, they as a family, started a house for teenage pregnant mothers in Kenya.  The third book is written by a lawyer who, while still definitely rooted in the States, has had many crazy adventures all over the planet because he simply says “yes” every time God calls him.

Seriously – all three books have landed in my path recently.  That, piled on top of my friends who are doing exactly the same thing, and I’m left a little bewildered at the possibility of what God is trying to do in me, or with me, or prepping me for.

I’m jealous of all of them – I want to be a part ofbig, crazy, only-God-could-do-this stories.  I want to hold everything that “belongs” to me with open hands, so that when He asks me to do…who knows what, I don’t mind giving the man on the street my scarf, or spending my non-existent savings to meet someone’s need, or, or, or I don’t know.

Sunrise at St. Malo's

But, as I was praying about this desire inside me (again) this morning, my eyes landed on a picture on my wall.  A long time ago (okay, so like, 3 and a half years) I was pouring my heart out to God at a little retreat center in the mountains, asking God what was next, asking Him what He wanted of me. One of the mornings, as I was watching the sunrise, I saw the sun coming up behind a tree, highlighting the tree.  And He reminded me that all He wanted of me – was ME.  That’s all He wants from me – for me to be the woman that He originally created me to be.  The story He has picked out for me is my own, it’s not going to look like anyone else’s.  But, in order for the story to be how He intends it, I need to be as fully me as possible.  Which, of course, is only possible through Him.  Oy.

So, I don’t know what God’s prepping me for.  If He’s going to ask me to move to Africa when I graduate (or before), or if (as I suspect) it’s something far more local.  But I think, for now, I get to learn to live a life that continues to pursue Him, and the passions and desires He has placed within me.  And I get to learn how to do that with hands wide open, allowing Him to take and give what He chooses (possessions, opportunities, friendships, time, etc.).  Which is hard in our rather consumeristic society.   But those around me need Jesus too, and they need to see someone who is not giving into the overwhelming (on so many levels) materialism that numbs us to our deepest need – God.

I don’t know what that looks like exactly yet for me, but that’s what I am going to strive for.  A life that is not my own.  A life that is not dependant on stuff (I say that sitting in my bedroom which is packed with STUFF – most of it stuff that I don’t want to get rid of).  A life of open hands.  A life of saying, “yes” and trusting that He will do what needs to be done.

 

Sunrise at St. Malo’s

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Loved One

Sometime in the last year or so I read an article floating somewhere on the internet that talked about how we shouldn’t compliment very young girls with words like “pretty girl” and such, because then, somewhere in their psyche, they will think they have to be pretty to be appreciated, loved, and accepted.

 
I’m not sure how much I buy that, though I know that at some point in my childhood I definitely adopted that mentality.  That I had to be pretty, I had to be skinny (well, or at least, ‘normal’ – which I was not) for anyone to actually love me.   Being the child who saw things from a long-term viewpoint rather than just this-minute, I assumed this meant that I would never marry, since I would never be pretty, thanks to my extra serving of body curves.  Or, if I married, it would be a man who was a widower, and needed help raising his children.  No joke.  That’s what I assumed.

 
Which is heartbreaking, looking back.  I want to take young me, pick me up, cuddle me, and whisper truth into my younger ear.  But I don’t get that chance.

 
All that to say, I’m pretty hyper-sensitive to body-image remarks by women (or men) about themselves and others.  I’m also hyper-sensitive to comments that articles like the one I read make.  They stick with me now.
 

There is a little toddler that I babysit fairly frequently.  She’s absolutely adorable.  Blue eyes, curly hair, and the happiest, brightest smile that is reminiscent of a buttercup (that’s a flower for any flower-ignorant people out there).  She is toddler-gorgeous.

 
And while I tell her this fairly often (because I do think it’s necessary – girls NEED to hear they are pretty) I also make a point of complimenting her in other ways.  The endearment I try to use most often is “Loved One” – because that is exactly what she is, by me, by those around her, and especially by her parents.  And nothing can change that.  And there is nothing she can do to earn more love – or to lose it (not saying that she can’t make loving her harder or easier, because that is possible).

 
And so, if the names we call children when they are very young CAN take root deep inside them and help show them how to see the world, the name Loved One hopefully shows her how very un-dependent others’ love for her is based on her looks, or intelligence, or achievements.  In fact, others loving her, or her value, or her worth is dependent on nothing save her simply being her.
 

This hit me hard when I first started calling her Loved One – because I think that’s how it works with us and God.  Our value, our worth, our identity, God loving us, is dependent on NOTHING we do.  In fact, it’s simply because God made us, and we are who we are that gives us value, worth, identity, etc.  I wish I had realized that as a young girl, and especially as a teenager.

 

You are loved by God and others around you simply because you are you – not because of what you do or how you look.  Just keep bein’ you.  It’s the best gift you can give the world.

 

(Assuming, of course, that you bein’ you is a you that is striving to become more like the you that God envisioned when He made you.  I think that’s kinda incredibly important.  Of course, you can’t do that either without Him and accepting His love for you.)

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Time Treasure

It is late, and I have had a very long day, and I am in the middle of saying “good-bye” to two very special people who have been a huge part of my over the last five years and “hello” to two others who I suspect will become incredibly special to me as well.  I am in the middle of a whirl-wind of emotions.  Planning a sermon and parties and photo books on top of “normal” life.
I’m ready for things to slow down.  I’m ready for this craziness to end.
But not really, because when it does, I’m that much closer to saying good-bye to my two dear friends.
I’m learning how incredibly precious each and every moment I am given is.  I am realizing that I need to get better at simply enjoying and treasuring life – the crazy times, the heart-wrenching times, the tired times, the wonderful times, the every-day times.  I’m not good at this.  This is something I need to get better at, a gift God has given me that I need to learn to treasure.

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An Epic Life

I was driving home from church on Sunday, which means I was driving through the mountains, back down the hill towards Denver.  And, because of the time of year, the mountains are actually green.  This time of year is so pretty.  The mountains are like a girl in a new pretty dress – she wears it and feels pretty in it and shows off a bit in it, twirling and just glowing with the knowledge that she’s pretty and people are noticing.  The mountains are that way in late spring: full of vibrant green grass and trees and bushes.  It’s gorgeous.

And as you drive through them, especially when the morning is cloudy and slightly misty with rain droplets as it was Sunday morning, it feels like you’re in the middle of Middle Earth, or Narnia, or Damar, or someplace epic.  If you have any sort of imagination at all, it wouldn’t be hard to believe that you might see a centaur, or a faun, or an elf, or a hobbit, or a warrior-woman, or a man in a kilt, on the mountainside as you drive by, if you look hard enough.  When it’s misty, and the mountains are green, there is an air of epic-ness.  Something major, something world-shaping is bound to happen.  It’s just gotta!

And I realized today, as I drove through the story-inviting mountains, that something in me is drawn to the idea of epic-ness, of living a life story that is heroic, that is different, that is bigger than myself.

And I think that’s not only me.  It might be only a cushy-culture thing.  Maybe I live such a safe life in this Western culture that does not require a day-to-day striving to survive, that the inner strength that God put in me to get through times of survival, turns into a longing for an epic, larger-than-life story.

Maybe it’s only me, and I need to look into how I’m living my life.

But I don’t think it’s just me.

There are too many people out there who love epic stories, whether in movies or in good-ol’ paper-back form, for me to believe that I am the only one who longs for an epic life story.  There is something about a story with a supremely-evil, definitely-can’t-be-defeated, draws-you-in-and-then-kills-you villain that battles a little know-nothing, toothpicks-for-arms, just-woke-up-on-the-farm this morning good guy who doesn’t stand a chance.  There is something about a story where the good guy has a couple close friends who encourage him and who help him do battle (though, of course, he must do the hardest, most dangerous, impossible part himself) that calls to something within (I’d wager) each human.

We were made for something bigger.  Something in us deeply longs, more intensely than we can even realize, for a life story that is larger than our routines or jobs or love lives or furniture.  Some people just dismiss the longing; others silence it (or try to).

But if you listen to that longing, if you listen to that still, quiet urge that you were created for something larger than iced coffee drinks (it’s okay, I love them too), than your life is never going to be the same.  Because that voice is God, calling you to a life lived that isn’t spent completely or even mostly on you.  That voice is the Holy Spirit in you, reminding you of your part in this redemption dance.

So listen, and follow.  Who knows where it might lead? To green misty mountains, to the dumps in the Phillipines, to a camp in Ecuador, to the red light district in India, to your wealthy self-focused school, to the apathetic, comfortable people in suburbia America.  Who knows?

Listen!  And follow!  After all, no matter how hard you try, this life does not have to be your own.  It is so much more enjoyable when you give it away.

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In the Still Of The Morning

Morning Reflection by the Lake

 

This last Sunday I was up early, and so had the time to sit out in the backyard, drink tea, and just soak in the early morning sun, the fresh air, the bird songs, and the general quiet.  I never seem to do that sort of thing enough, and yet when I do, I am always aware that I need to be doing it on a much more consistent basis, and just how very good it is for my mental and spiritual health.

When I am quiet, still, and listening, when I am purposefully spending quality, enjoyable time with my savior, there is something deep within me that awakens.  I am healthier.  I am bolder.  I am gentler.  I am more patient.  I am so much more aware of the needs of those around me, and so much more willing (and able) to enter into that need and minister as I may.

So, I guess that’s my challenge for you and for me this summer.  Regularly spend quiet time*  with the one who created you, with the one who loves you better than anyone else, the one who knows you better than anyone else, the one who stretches and protects you.  Spend time listening to Him, quiet in His presence.  See where He takes you, what He does in you!

* By quiet time, I do not mean spending 30 minutes reading the Bible.  Do that too if you want, and certainly have it nearby, with, perhaps a journal, but spend the time simply being quiet, praying with words only if you must, and listening. 

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Living in a material world

On Wednesday, I was sitting in the last class I would have of a course, (yay!  Summer is here!)  and we were talking about volunteers in churches, or more accurately, problematic volunteers.
This particular discussion was about what to do with volunteers who cause pain and division among a congregation – because, unfortunately, it happens.  People want to serve in the church for all sorts of different reasons, and often, those reasons are selfish or poisonous (not that the volunteer realizes this, or has even taken the time to reflect on why she wants to volunteer).  We joked about how it would be so nice to have a list of the people who moved from church to church, causing destruction (because that happens), or how maybe we should warn whatever church they are going to next (assuming they tell someone – which they usually do), or how we should maybe call their previous church to see what their impact was, before allowing them to serve in our church.  Like, actually having references (and checking them) in order to volunteer with your church…or maybe even join the church.
Someone in my class likened it to sexual predators, saying that if they knew the person was a sex offender, and was going to another church, she’d warn the other church.  And everyone in the class seemed to agree.  But, everyone quickly followed up, only warn the other church THEN.  Not if the volunteer was causing spiritual or emotional pain, or even a split in the congregation.  You can’t warn the next church congregation victim of the destructive volunteer is the volunteer does ONLY spiritual or emotional damage to their previous church.
WHY IS THAT?
I mention this because I think it shows a fault in our physically-aware Western culture.  If someone is going to harm the physical side of another person, we do everything we can to stop it (as we should).  But if someone is known for causing spiritual harm, or emotional harm, well, the victim should just toughen up.  Distance themselves, if they can, sure, but often we Christians encourage them to stay in the painful, awful situation.
SERIOUSLY?
By saying that, we are saying that the physical part of a person is the most important, or most valuable part.  At least, that’s how I see it. Protect the physical part of people from those who would do harm, but if we know of other harm – our hands are tied.
GAH!!!
Assuming you believe in an afterlife, than you probably believe that physical body is not the part that lives on.  It is not the most important part of you.  Is it important?  Sure.  Are all the facets of who you are (physical, spiritual, emotional, mental – just to name the big ones) somehow intertwined with your physical body?  Yes.  If a man rapes a girl, is he somehow also harming her emotionally, spiritually, and mentally (despite the fact he’s only touching her physical body)?  More than likely – yes.
We put so much emphasis, so much importance, on the physical world.  On our bodies, on our possessions, what we can see, hear, taste, touch and smell.  We call this physical world Reality.  But the thing is, this Reality, this physical world, it’s not going to last.  Look around, decay is everywhere.  Western Culture’s Reality is crumbling, and crumbling quicker by the day.  And yet we cling to what our physical bodies can experience, ignoring the fact that God created us with other, more long-lasting parts.
Why is that?
We get so trapped up in this immediate world, that we forget to prep for the next.  We forget to protect the spiritual and emotional parts of us and of others.  We forget (or get too lazy) to stretch the mental parts of us.  The parts of ourselves that we can’t see, we forget matter.  And so they sit, curled up in the fetal position, in the corner of our existence, starving to death with skeleton-like faces and twig arms, too emaciated to even cry out.
Something needs to change.  Our priorities need to change.  The way we see the world, the way we experience the world, the way we view ourselves, needs to change.
Only God can change our perspective.  Only He can help us remember that the world we live in is more than a physical one, that who we are is more than a body and a mind.  But the change of perspective, the realization that this physical world is not the only layer of our existence, is vital.  It needs to happen.  Has to happen.  So pray.  Pray that God will change how you see yourself and others, and that you can be an influence in changing what others think is most important.

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Dear Jesus, Can I have a pretty pony?

I read an article the other day about Christian persecution in the Middle East.  The stories presented were rather horrific.  I’m not going to describe the stomach-wrenching horror I read, just know that if I didn’t know better, and the language was slightly less-modern, I would have guessed that what was being described was in pre-Constantine Rome, when Christians were fed to lions or crucified, or used as human lanterns in gardens.  Now, I don’t know how trustworthy the site was, and it could be that everything was greatly exaggerated.  Or it could be absolutely, God’s-honest truth.  Human cruelty never fails to surprise me; I would rather believe that people are really good at heart, or that only the incredibly sick and twisted do awful things.  But that’s not really true. We’re all capable of atrocities; we just don’t want to recognize that fact (and we don’t have to face it in our comfy Western world, because it’s easy to keep the awfulness in our souls hidden here ).  But whether nor not this particular article was telling the whole, unbiased, untainted truth about the persecution of Christians is not really the point.

The point is not even that it could be. But the point is somewhere along the lines of if it IS true, and if Christians in places throughout the world are being brutalized (which we know they are), than where does that leave me?  I have a pretty comfy, not-at-all-physically-persecuted life.  In fact, I would call my life cushy.

So what if?  What if our places were reversed, and suddenly I lived in a place that mocked and despised my faith?  What if someone held a gun to my head and asked me to renounce my faith in Jesus, or die, would I do it?   I like to think that I would stick to my faith, that I would have that kind of courage.  And, honestly, I’d take a gun to my head any day over most of the brutality I read about.  A bullet to the head is usually pretty short and quick.  But some of what I read left Christians suffering for a long, long time.  So, what about then?   Would I be tortured for my faith?  I hope so.  I hope I wouldn’t rationalize myself out of it.  But I don’t know.  I’m not sure I ever will know, until faced with it.  It is a good reason to know why I believe what I believe…and to realize that in a moment like that, rational, scientific arguments aren’t going to do anything to convince me.  It’ll be my life experiences and the stories I’ve heard that might help me look my persecutor in the eyes and say, “I can’t.  My God has done too much for me.  I believe in Him, you can’t change that.  Do what you want with this body.”

And so, the point – I think really, the biggest question for me, right now, in my cushy life, is when was the last time I prayed for my Christian brothers and sisters who are being tortured for their faith?  Or for the girls who were recently kidnapped?  Or for any of the sex trafficking victims?  When was the last time I prayed for something that wasn’t related to myself, my friends, or even someone I knew?  When was the last time I took the time to even allow the knowledge of the suffering of others to soak into my understanding a little bit?  When was the last time I let that knowledge impact my self-focused, first-world-problemed life?  To my shame, I can’t remember.
I have been so wrapped up in my cushy-comfy life, that I forget about the world of pain and discomfort and want out there.  And I forget to pray for my brothers and sisters whose trials are far worse than anything I can imagine.  I forgot to pray for my fellow humans who need Jesus, who survive on less than a bowl of rice a day, or who don’t have water to drink.

I am so comfortable I forget.  And really, it’s not really a subject I like to think about, you know?  It’s uncomfortable.  Very uncomfortable.  But it is something I should be doing.   It is a place of discomfort and pain that I NEED to enter into.  It is the very least I can do for my brothers and sisters, for my fellow humans.  I might never be given the privilege to share in their suffering, but I can pray for them in theirs.

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