My cell phone! I’ll call 9-1-1; I’ll call Michael!
Julie, you’re here to learn to trust Me. I don’t want you to call Michael.
“Where have You been? I demand You take me back now. I didn’t know what I was agreeing to. I’m not missionary material. I can’t be dirty. I don’t want lice. I can’t—”
Julie, if I can speak through a donkey1 I can certainly use a fish out of water.
“But, it’s too different. I don’t speak the language. The whole block smells. It’s impossible.” She fanned the air as a show of disgust.
Nothing is impossible with Me, Julie. I’m the God of the impossible. Just trust Me. I have this situation under control. I’ve had it planned for a really long time.
“But, when I don’t show up Sunday night, Michael will think I’m dead. I have to call.” She opened her phone, and the battery went dead. “It can’t be dead. It was fully charged two hours ago.” It took all her willpower not to throw the phone or kick the wooden fence behind her.
Now that that’s not an issue, Julie, let’s get on with your obedience training. Before the night is out, I want you to read the first two verses in your Bible.
“But You don’t understand. I have to go home. I demand that You take me home right now!” She stamped her foot.
There was no reply. Several attempts at yelling and shaking her fists produced no more results.
The orphans watched the one-sided argument from behind the trash pile, exchanging confused looks.
Julie walked down the street to escape their prying eyes. They’re dirty and disgusting. They probably have lice, or worse. She opened the Bible and looked at the list of handwritten references. At the top was First Corinthians 2:3-5.
I came to you in weakness and fear, and with much trembling. My message and my preaching were not with wise and persuasive words, but with a demonstration of the Spirit’s power, so that your faith might not rest on men’s wisdom, but on God’s power.
She was offended and closed the Bible. “I’m educated at a master’s level, and I hold a responsible job. I’m a buyer for the most prestigious boutique in Garden Oaks, New York.” She spent the next hour walking around muttering, mumbling, and demanding that the Lord send her home—immediately, if not sooner.
As it started getting dark, an astonished Julie watched the homeless appear from nowhere to sleep on the sidewalk, under bridges, in median strips, anywhere there was horizontal space. As far as she could see, people lay on blue tarps or a worn blanket, and some just lay on the ground. There were men, women, and even whole families.
“They’re everywhere. Where did they come from? They’re all so dirty!”
Julie, over 10,000 people a day flood into Mumbai in search of jobs. Most never find them. Whole families end up living on the street. It breaks My heart because I love and have a destiny for them. I long for them to know Me as Savior and friend.
Even though she was wearing an Indian outfit, she knew she stuck out like a sore thumb. A chill went up her spine, and she was afraid if she stayed on the street she’d be robbed or worse.
Julie, turn to the left and walk until you find an ivory house with a wroughtiron gate.
Fear of the present had momentarily overtaken fear of what tomorrow would bring. She tiptoed down the street for several blocks, trying to be invisible.
“Ivory house, iron gate. Ivory house, iron gate.” On the way a 20-something-old Indian man leaning against a fence noticed Julie. “Madame, you are very beautiful. Come with me!” Julie looked at the sidewalk and picked up her pace. When she passed him he followed. “You are an angel. You are so beautiful.” He caught up to her and grabbed her shoulder. “Come with me!” She slapped his hand and ran. She couldn’t look to see if he was following because she had to step over bodies. She arrived at the house with her heart pounding. He had not followed. She wiped sweat from her brow.
The house was made of cement, two stories, painted ivory and had a brick fence around the compound. A large iron gate allowed cars out the driveway. There was a cement stairway on the outside of the house that led to the second story. She slipped quietly inside the gate and headed for the door.
Julie, I didn’t say you’d sleep inside. See the thick row of flowered bushes? Slide in between them and the side of the house. You will be safe there.
“But, Lord, I can’t sleep outside….”
Look around, Julie; thousands of others are. This is My place of refuge for you. If you sleep here, you will be safe. If not, you are on your own.
She looked toward the street, searching for the man. I can’t go back out there! With no other options, she lay down and belly crawled. “Ouch, ouch.” She felt the slight resistance as the thorns caught the lightweight fabric of her dress. Then she heard it tear.
The concrete base of the house had radiant heat left from the scorching day, and she pulled her back and legs away. I’m sweltering. This heat is oppressive. How do these people survive?
She struggled to free her purse from the thorns in the confined space, dusted it off, and then laid it in the dirt again. Maybe I’m losing my mind—some kind of temporary psychotic thing. I’m supposed to be shopping at Bloomingdales now. She hugged her torso in a failed attempt to console herself. So much worse than camping! I want my family. I want my bed. I’ll never be clean again. Tears flowed. The light from the window above shined on the row of bushes and offered her a little comfort.
Oh, my gosh! I can catch a taxi to the airport, use my credit card, and in 20 hours I can be out of this nightmare and back in my own bed.
Dragging her purse behind her in the dirt, she backed out of the bushes, stopping frequently to pull her dress free from the thorns. She moved silently across the yard. From her position crouching behind the large, brick gatepost, she saw that many more people were now on the streets. I’ll have to step over them. If I see a taxi, I can just run and be gone before anyone can get me. She waited 30 minutes, but no taxis came.
Julie, I can hold the ocean in the palm of My hand, yet you think I won’t notice if you sneak to the airport? I’ve been diverting cabs for 30 minutes.
“They’ll think I’m dead when I don’t show up. Pleeeease just fix my phone?”
This is about learning to trust Me. I promise you, if you take care of My lambs, I’ll take care of yours.
Julie kicked the brick pillar and limped back to the house cursing under her breath and beating the dust off. Look at these snags. It’s ruined. I only got to wear it once. She scooted between the house and bushes and reapplied hand sanitizer. As she lay listening to her breathing, she felt her stomach rumble. She complained to Jesus under the guise of prayer.
“I need to get back home. I’m sleeping on the dirt, and I’m starving. I haven’t eaten since the train.”
No, Julie. You aren’t starving, you’re just feeling hunger pangs. Our orphans are starving. Will you feed them? Will you feed My lambs?
Julie had heard enough about lambs for the day and was growing more agitated. She gritted her teeth and thought, The only lamb I want to see is in a gyros sandwich. The voice of the Lord left, which even in her anger, scared her.
“Wait, don’t leave. I need help….” Her voice dropped in discouragement. Tears flowed. “Jesus, I’m all alone. My family is half a world away. I need to go back. I don’t know how to help Your lambs.” She twisted her hair around her finger. “I’m filthy, and dirty people keep touching me. It’s all too much.” She sobbed, her attitude bouncing between discouragement and anger.
She opened the Bible again to First Corinthians 2:3-5. “I came to you in weakness and fear, and with much trembling.”
“The apostle Paul, intimidated or afraid?”
Julie, I call people to tasks that are far beyond what they are capable of. If you could do this, you wouldn’t need to depend on Me. You wouldn’t learn that you can trust your life to Me. You can’t learn that reading someone else’s life story. You have to have your own experience.
She tried to believe what the Lord had shared, but it was out of her grasp. If I can sleep I can escape this horrid plight for a while. She used her purse as a pillow. After crying and tossing and turning for 30 minutes, the Lord mercifully sent her sleep.
As the sun’s rays fell through the bushes, she awoke. With her eyes still closed, she thought, What bizarre dreams I’ve been having lately. First I’m homeless and then…. She stretched her arms and scraped her knuckles on the concrete wall. Her eyes popped open. “No, no, no. What did I do to deserve this?”
If I could transport Philip to the Ethiopian eunuch,2 why can’t I transport you?
“Who’s Philip, and what’s an Ethiopian-u-nick?”
Check the next Scripture, Julie. Acts 8:26-40. I moved Philip through time and space to have him tell a man about Me. I moved you to tell these children about Me.
But this is the 21st century, and that stuff doesn’t happen today, she thought.
You are very much mistaken, Julie, if you think that miracles have passed away. You are very much mistaken.
A shudder went through her body. Until now, she had always found comfort in His voice.
She was startled by footsteps coming up the sidewalk. She took a deep breath and held it. She didn’t see anything because she had both elbows over her head and was trying to become one with the dirt. Relief washed over her when she heard them enter the front door. She slowly exhaled. She did, however, resent their cheerful voices. At least someone has something to be happy about. Uch, I taste terrible. She rummaged through her purse and was rewarded with a travelsized toothbrush and toothpaste. She brushed and spit. “Lovely.”
Look at the dust. It’s settled in all the folds of this bag. She turned the purse upside down and wiped each fold with a tissue.
Then her body let her know that she needed to relieve herself. Oh great. Just what I need. I’m not going to the bathroom here, that’s for sure. Fifteen minutes later she had found no better option. I’ll never have more privacy than now. Julie crawled to the far end of the bushes, squatted, and balanced herself by leaning her back against the house. When she put her left hand down to crawl away, she felt the warm liquid.
She jerked her hand away in disgust and tried to wipe it on the house. She squirted out a large portion of the hand sanitizer, but still didn’t feel clean. “This is so gross!” Julie brushed herself off with her right hand, ran her pick through her hair, and then felt something wet against her ankle. The bottom of the dress had soaked up a big spot of urine. She clenched her fists and let out a low growl. She searched for something to hit, but the house was too solid. The last thing I need is to have a broken hand in India. I am dirty and disgusting. I need a bath, and I want to go home. I just want my home, my family, my soft bed, and a hot shower.
After complaining for another ten minutes, her immense anger was finally overtaken by her hunger. Julie focused on the bushes. They were loaded with berries. Can these things be edible? She picked a crimson berry with her right hand and squeezed it between her fingers. The juice smelled sweet. Should I?
The Lord’s voice came to her. You may eat them. She picked berries with both hands and ate as fast as she could while avoiding the thorns. She didn’t take time to enjoy the berries’ luscious flavor, but ate quickly just to make her hunger subside. In less than three minutes, she had eaten way past satiation and was feeling uncomfortably full.
It still feels better than hunger, she thought.
What are our lambs eating for breakfast?
She gritted her teeth. “I’ll take eggs, sunny side up, thanks for asking.”
Maybe today they could have berries.
“I don’t have anything to carry them in.”
Around the corner is a discarded bucket. If you go now, you won’t be seen.
She returned with the rusted bucket and let out a deep sigh. About an hour later, the pail was full, and her hands and arms were terribly scratched from having to reach deeper inside the bushes. She blew on her hands to stop the burning. Scooting the bucket ahead, she crawled on her hands and knees to the end of the bushes, ran for the gate, and slipped out, hoping that she wouldn’t be seen.
Those who had slept on the sidewalks last night had packed their meager possessions and moved on. Thank goodness! The traffic was still horrendous, as were the smells. She turned left to deliver the berries. The breeze alerted her to the dump before she could see it. How can anything smell so bad? It’s a cross between rotting and putrefied. She buried her nose in her elbow, hid the bucket behind her, and stopped about a half a block away. For the first time she looked, really looked, at the orphans. I have never seen such skinny, poorly cared for, dirty children.
Just then a rat scurried out from under the stack of garbage. One of the boys, wearing a blue shirt several sizes too small, grabbed it. He celebrated by doing a little dance while waving it above his head. Then he broke its neck and ran off to build a fire and cook his treasure, hoping no one would take it from him.
She crossed the street and walked cautiously toward the children. She paused, giving them a chance to notice her. They eyed her suspiciously. It was mutual.
Must be kind, Julie. Must be kind. She shouted in her most pleasant voice, “Breakfast. I have berries for you.” Then she put the bucket down and turned to walk back across the street, still upset about the urine stain, but feeling somehow pleased about her feeding effort.
A horrible noise startled her and she spun around. The two largest boys had the bucket in a tugging match shouting at each other. As some of the berries spilled, the other children on their hands and knees, frantically picked through the garbage for the precious food. They popped each one immediately into their mouths. The smallest children, including the girl with the missing sleeve, were at the back and received nothing.
The boy with the scar kicked his competitor’s leg, gave a big yank, ended up with the bucket, and ran down the street with his prize.
He’s bad news, thought Julie.
After the others ate all the berries they could find, the three smallest children crept forward to see if anything was left—the littlest girl with the missing sleeve, a skeletal girl with very dark skin, and a little boy walking with a limp, missing his two front teeth.
Julie was disgusted at the two boys’ behavior. They’re in desperate need of manners; I’ve never seen such a thing.
Julie, they don’t need manners; they need food. While other children are thinking about kid things, staying alive dominates all their actions and thoughts. No one gives them anything; they have to take it. Only the strongest survive.
“They could still be nice about it.”
Children from violent families often behave the same way. Those who are abandoned and abused don’t know about love, kindness, justice, or security, much less manners. Each day, each hour, the name of the game is survival. The life span of an orphan is short. Lack of appropriate hygiene leads to infections. Children often dodge in between cars to sell or beg and are hit in traffic.
In a few months, unless something changes, some of these young ones will be dead from disease or malnutrition. No one will miss their presence on Earth. No one helps My littlest lambs. What are you going to do about it?
“Me? You just saw my best effort go up in flames. You dropped me in a foreign country with no preparation. I have no idea what to do. What do You suggest?” she snapped sarcastically.
Let Me tell you the parable of the talents, Julie. It’s the next passage.
God’s Kingdom is like a man going on a long trip. He called his servants together and to one he gave $5,000, to another $2,000 to a third $1,000. Then he left. The first servant worked and doubled the money. The second did the same. But the third man dug a hole and buried the money.
After a long absence the master came back. The one given $5,000 showed him he had doubled the money. His master said, “Good work! From now on be my partner.”
The second servant had also doubled his master’s investment. “You did your job well. From now on be my partner.”
The servant given $1,000 said, “Master, I know you demand the best and make no allowances for error so I found a good hiding place. Here is your money.”
“It’s criminal to live cautiously like that! Why did you do less than the least? You could have invested with the bank so I could have interest. Take the thousand and give it to the one who risked the most. And get rid of this ‘play-it-safe’ who won’t go out on a limb. Throw him out into utter darkness.”3
“And that applies to me, how?” she snapped.
Even if you think you have no talent for the task assigned to you, you must try to do something. I’d rather you try and fail than sit and complain. But, I can promise you, Julie, that if you follow My leading, you’re doomed to success.”