Isn’t that the question? I’ve told you the stories of three boys I met in Lira. But there are hundreds of boys in Lira. And there are hundreds of towns like Lira in Uganda. And there are hundreds of countries like Uganda in the world.
It can be a little overwhelming, can’t it? I’ve just been talking about street kids. But did you hear about Hurricane Isaac ripping apart all sorts of make-shift homes and tents in Haiti before hitting New Orleans (again)? Did you hear about the churches being bombed in South Sudan, while the congregation hides in caves in the mountains just to survive? Did you hear about the refugee camps in Kenya and Rwanda and Tanzania and the Congo where the homeless are dying of very preventable diseases every day? Did you hear about the child prostitutes in India? Or the child soldiers in Columbia?
And that’s only a drop in the bucket compared to the rest of the list that I’m not telling you.
There’s so much need. What do we do now?
I’d like to share with you part of a conversation I had with God the other day about that subject. I don’t know if you feel personally connected with the street kids in Lira in any way, but I know I certainly do. So, I asked God, “What do You think about these street kids?”
I was outside on a gravel road surrounded by cornfields somewhere around midnight when I asked this question. The stars were brilliant. And as I looked up, my eye would catch one particular star, and it was like all the other stars in the sky - no matter how bright or near they were - would fade out into the corners. And for as long as I looked at that one star, just that one star, it became the most important star in the sky.
And God said, “They are the apple of My eye.”
The apple of His eye. The most important star. Held in the palm of His hand. His sheep. His kids. His beloved.
How do we treat the beloved of the Lord?
I’m reminded of a verse in I John. A very simple verse that says in a plain, simple way: “If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?”
And my train of thought goes like this:
Q: Do I have material possessions?
A: Yes.
Q: Have I seen my brother (and sister) in need?
A: Yes.
Q: Do I have pity on them?
And if the answer to that last one is no - if my actions as well as my words do not show my “yes” - then “how can the love of God be in me?”
It’s so easy to get so overwhelmed by so much need. It’s so easy to stand there, frozen, like the deer in the headlights my dad and my sister hit every once in awhile driving down our gravel roads. It’s so easy to say, “Well, I can’t do what Billy Graham did. And I can’t be like Mother Teresa. And I can’t sell my house and move to Africa. And I can’t . . . And I can’t . . .”
But I John doesn’t tell us to move to Africa. First John doesn’t say we need to measure up to Billy Graham or Mother Teresa. First John just says to look at that one - just one - and do something.
“And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones who is My disciple, truly I tell you, that person will certainly not lose their reward.” (Matt. 10:42)
Or, if you read it from The Message:
“This is a large work I’ve called you into, but don’t be overwhelmed by it. It’s best to start small. Give a cool cup of water to someone who is thirsty, for instance. The smallest act of giving or receiving makes you a true apprentice. You won’t lose out on a thing.”
What does your cup of water look like? Or is it time for you to switch from a cup to a bucket?
I don’t know what it looks like for you. For me, it seems to change almost every day. But I'd like to share with you one small way I have found, a small way for me to share a cold cup of water. If you'll look up on the blue header at the top of this blog, click on the words "Lion Paw." You'll find it there.
