Relieving herself at the end of the bushes started the day on a sour note. Even though no one sees me, this is so humiliating. What would my co-workers think?
Julie crawled back to the center of the bushes again, crossed her legs, and tried to get comfortable. “Lord, why are the orphans there? Why don’t they just leave? There’s nothing there for them.”
They have no home, Julie, and they receive no help. Not from family, school, or society. None of these children want to live on the street, but they are incapable of escaping. They aren’t much different from children anywhere else.
If you asked them what their goals are, they would tell you: eat dinner, school, learn to read and write, have clothes and shoes, a father and mother, a real home. These children never know peace. Their lives are in constant turmoil.
Julie frowned. “But how did they even get there?”
There are many reasons, none of them good: poverty, physical or sexual abuse, parental exploitation, famine, kidnapping.
In the past people lived close to their extended families or neighbors who would help care for the children during tough times. But no more.
Parents who are under stress often end up in arguments. Their anger is frequently vented toward the children, along with emotional or physical abuse. Men turn to alcohol for comfort. Wives and children pay the price.
Home was a place of fear, insecurity, abuse, and misery instead of comfort, nurturing, and provision. Many endured filthy, cramped living spaces and poor hygiene. Some children decide life on the street is better than constant lack, neglect, and abuse.
“But can’t they go to the government? Someone has to be able to help.”
These precious children are thought of as disposable nuisances, good-for-nothings, troublemakers, thieves, criminals, or a blight on society. But they are of tremendous value, and I cherish and have a dream for each one. See their possibilities, Julie, not their lack.
“Why don’t You just feed everyone?” she asked with an accusing edge to her voice.
Julie, I provide enough food to feed everyone in the world, but I didn’t distribute it evenly. About half the world’s population, over three billion people, lives on less than $2.50 a day.1 If I give you six loaves of bread and your neighbor no loaves of bread, what does that mean you need to do?
Julie swallowed hard as her face flushed. She shifted her weight, trying to find a comfortable position. She skipped that answer and went on to her next question.
“Well, can’t they get a job or something?”
They work hard. All their time goes into surviving. They dig through trash to find something to sell or barter. Any money they make they have to spend on food—no money for a video game or a new shirt. Many work a full day just to buy one meal, but it is not nutritious enough, and they end up chronically tired, malnourished, and sick.
When there is no work, the children turn to begging or stealing. When smaller children beg, the older children frequently beat them and steal their money.
“Why’d they decide to live at this dump?”
Everyone needs to belong somewhere. This group is a surrogate family; it provides a degree of physical and emotional security, identity, self-worth, some protection, friends, and a sense of belonging. Each day My orphans endure challenges that many adults could not endure. They are survivors.
Julie, remember when Logan said he could rescue himself from pirates?
“Yes.”
What if Logan was moved to this dump?
She caught her breath and blurted, “No, Lord, he’d get a disease; he wouldn’t have enough to eat. He’d be malnourished and possibly die. He’d get molested.”
What else?
“He’d have no future. No one would love him or take care of him.”
Exactly. Now it’s personal for you. But do you realize that I love these children much more than you are capable of loving Logan? Each one of them is My child, just like Logan is yours. It’s very personal for Me. Will you help My children?
“But, Lord. I have to get back home to my own child. I can’t stay here,” she whined while slapping her open palm against her thigh.
Will you feed My lambs? I have plans for each one of them, but step one is to get them out of this dump. They are each a bundle of potential, and they don’t even know it. Will you help them reach their God-ordained possibility?
“It is a sad situation, but I can’t help them. I know I said I would, but I didn’t know what I was getting into. I’m not a doctor or social worker.”
You don’t need to be; you just need to be obedient. I’ll do the rest. I want to help them through you. As you take care of My lambs, I’ll take care of yours.
“Jesus, I wish I could help, but I can’t do India. It’s just too primitive. Please put me on the train now.” Tears left rivulets down her dusty cheeks. “I haven’t bathed. I haven’t changed clothes. I smell bad. I have to go to the bathroom outside. I’m hungry and I don’t know where my next meal is coming from—”
Just like My precious orphans.
“That’s how they’ve always lived. I’m not used to it; it’s different.”
You don’t like the inconvenience of not being able to immediately eat something at the first pre-hunger pang or choose from a huge wardrobe or take a hot bath in your Jacuzzi® with aroma therapy oils, scented candles, and your favorite CD.
Her shoulders sagged.
But you are much more equipped than you think. I chose for you to be born in America. You had plenty of food so your body and brain developed normally. You are educated at a master’s level. You have a loving husband and a beautiful son picked just for you. Compared to My lambs, you have lived like royalty.
I’ve asked others to do this task, and they’ve said no to what they consider a lowly calling. They were greatly deceived. On Judgment Day, they will regret their decision.
The intensity in His words felt like knives stabbing at her. “Why did this happen to me? What did I do to deserve any of this?”
Are you so self-absorbed that you’d turn your back on these precious children? If you want to go home now, tell Me, and I’ll find someone who believes my Word—“religion that God the Father accepts…is this: caring for orphans or widows….”2
The longing for her family raged against doing the right thing.
“I miss tucking Logan into bed. I miss reading to him and his wonderful hugs and funny knock-knock jokes and having dinner as a family. I miss Michael’s phone calls and having his arms around me each night.” She also craved the comforts of home: abundant food, temperature control, indoor plumbing, a bed, the routine of her job.
“I want to help, but it’s just too hard. I’m not used to any of this, being dirty, the heat, hunger, or the smells!”
Julie, I know it seems overwhelming to you, but I’m here to help. It’s not the least bit intimidating to Me. I strongly recommend you see this task to the end, for your benefit as much as the orphans’.
She struggled between doing what she wanted and doing what was right. She bit her lip, afraid if she opened her mouth the words, “send me back now,” would automatically spill out.
Remember the story of David and Goliath?
“That’s exactly how I feel. I’m up against something that’s just too big for me!”
Do you know the difference between David’s perspective and the rest of the soldiers’? They looked at Goliath and thought, “He’s too big to take.” Young David looked at Goliath and thought, “He’s too big for me to miss!”
A wrestling match pummeled her mind. She almost felt dizzy. She hung her head and ran her fingers through her hair. It was still all she could do not to beg to be sent back immediately.
“Help me,” she squeaked between sobs. “Can You help me to care more?”
Yes, Julie. I just need your willingness.
She wept with her head resting upon her arms and tried to drum up some more resolution. “I don’t want to, but I’ll try.”
You’ve chosen well, Julie. Fear has you compare the size of the giants to yourself. Faith had David compare the size of the giant to the size of his God.3 These challenges are bigger than you, but they are not bigger than I am. You don’t have to fight them in your own strength.
“But I don’t know what to do.”
Feed My lambs—
“Lord, I don’t have any money. Remember, my purse was stolen?”
Remember, I said I’d see it was returned? Every day is a good day to believe for the impossible. Don’t be swayed by what you see.
“But how will I possibly get it back?” She rubbed her red eyes with her saturated tissue.
My part is the how; your part is the obedience. I am totally confident in My abilities. Just go tell the orphans, the girls and the boys, that you’ll feed them today.
“But how?”
Agree with Me, not your perceived situation. She heard a rumble of thunder. Go now, Julie.
She wanted to trust, but it all seemed so risky. What if I tell them I’ll feed them and don’t get my purse back? This might be the first time I’ve really had to trust God. At home our paychecks cover all our bills and most of our wants. If Logan gets sick, we go to a doctor for advice, medicine, or surgery. I always thought I trusted God, but have I ever really had to? Lord, help me. I choose by an act of my will to trust You. Please bring back my purse. Amen.