This is one of those posts I’ve been saving for a time when I had some flash of brilliance. Or at least when all my thoughts and feelings stopped crashing around in my head for at least 30 minutes so I could gather them all up in a cute little 500-word post.
I’ll be waiting forever at this rate.
I know that saying “I’m wrecked” is getting to be a little old hat, a smidge too cliche, but I’m not sure how else to say it.
My eyes have been opened to all the suffering going on around the globe (I always type “blog” when I mean to type “globe” and while, yes, there’s some suffering going on around this blog, it doesn’t exactly compare to what I’m talking about), and I can’t just shut it off and go back to my happy little life.
Oh I’m sure there’s a “balance” somewhere. There’s always a balance, right?
Balance schmalance, I say. Since when did Jesus talk about balance? He was always doing the “all or nothing” spiel. Give it all up, don’t look back, complete surrender, I don’t want anything from you but everything.
So, how do I DO that??
I’m itching to go, to love on these people in person, to use my hands and my feet and my words and my arms to ease their pain and restore their dignity.
I know that our trip to Cambodia is a big part of that. I am soooooo excited to go (oh my word, EXCITED). But a part of me is already sad about the three weeks flying by and us coming back here and… then what? Back to life as normal. In my comfy house in my safe neighborhood with my “tight” finances that somehow budge just enough to let me eat Chipotle and Pei Wei 3-4 times a month.
I also know myself well enough to know that I romanticize a life in a foreign land where I can make a “real” difference. I know that I have no stinking clue what it’s really like to live for 6 months, a year, 5 years in a place like Haiti or Kenya or Cambodia or Uganda or Bolivia.
For all my talk of “doing without,” I like air conditioning and coming inside when the bugs get bad and ice and a comfortable bed and my fast internet connection and a mile-long list of other luxuries.
Can I give it up? Am I supposed to?
I just know that I can’t sit here any longer while little boys and girls are being sold for sex, and 8-year-olds are raising their younger siblings because their parents have died of AIDS, and women are being ravaged and ruined by soldiers who care nothing for human life.
And on and on and on and on.
I’m nobody special, yet still, compared to them, I’m in a position of power and influence and I CAN DO SOMETHING, by God’s grace, to help them.
And yes, saving money to go to Cambodia and selling my possessions and advocating for the poor and spreading the word and watching National Geographic documentaries is a start.
But I want to keep moving forward and forward and forward.
Because there’s no way I can go back.