Last week I took time away.  It takes so much faith to step away from the blog, Twitter and Facebook. I am so tempted to make my voice heard for fear it will go unheard, but in the quiet week it’s God who is faithful to speak. I believe nothing is lost that which is offered to God. There is a heart-full to share from my full-heart, and it seems like so little space in a few hundred words. My prayer is and always will be, “God, may You speak Your heart to Your people, through the words I offer here.”

I am on my knees again, and worship is playing in the background, but I am not in a humble stance. I am wiping up crumbs and dust that the vacuum cannot reach from underneath furniture and hidden behind accessories that beautify the room. Holding in my hand the once white rag that is now covered gray and black, I see this cleaning the hidden dark places is revealing the hidden dark places in my own heart—where light and cleansing have not reached.

I am on my knees again, with each swipe of the floor my heart is filling with frustration. What fills the heart in abundance pours out of the mouth in words. (Luke 6:45) I just cleaned. I just cleaned this. How does it get so dirty so fast? Why am I wasting my time doing this, again?

And in between my grumbles and slipping in through my complaints, when there is a momentary quiet while I catch my breath, He breathes again. In the small hush He steals a moment to hush my heart.

And it’s never guilt He lays heavy when He comes. His voice never condemns. I’ve heard Him urgent, but never angry. He never turns me away with His call. He always beckons, gentle. And He asks, “How do you clean dirt floors?”

I stare down at my polished hard wood, and I remember again.

It is a privilege to have these floors I clean. This is my place of service to the greatest gifts God has given me to hold on this earth—the very lives He has entrusted me.

The crumbs on the floor from the food my children get to eat, without fear of there being enough, are a gift.

The sheets I get to wash from the beds my family, and I get to sleep in, are a gift.

The mounds of laundry with clothes worn, but not worn, which these healthy bodies bore, now bearing the scents of their life, and they have life, and these are gifts.

And I am working up a slight sweat. I can turn up the air conditioning to create comfort in my home that doesn’t leak water, but with one turn, in an instant pours clean water. I have electricity to power the vacuum and washing machine and dryer. On demand with a click heat the eye on the stove to cook the meals, and a switch to light the lights that light the gifts, and I need the Light to see these are gifts.

I forget too easily as my world crowds me in pressing in on all sides, and I get lost in it, that there is a world much bigger—outside my own—in need.

It’s a lost and hurting world living and dying on dirt floors. It’s filled with children who have no comfortable, clean, safe place to sleep. It’s filled with mamas whose hearts are breaking for they cannot provide for their sick babies dying. There is no food. There is no help and for countless, they don’t know hope, and Hope Himself, I know.And here I am complaining and forgetting how rich I am. And it’s not guilt.

It’s an awakening.

There is something greater than the dust of this earth that can be stood on. A Rock that anchors and holds strong no matter where you find your feet touching or knees pressing. That is what I must remind myself. It’s what I must tell the world—give the world.

But how do you speak theology to save lost souls, when bellies are empty and bodies are ill? How do you look into desperate eyes and declare that He is the Bread of life, when they have no bread? How do we convince them that He is the Living Water, and if they drink they will never thirst again, when there is no clean water to relieve their present thirst, and thirst is all they’ve known? First we must fill their bellies, ease their aching pains, and quench their thirsts. 

“And if you give even a cup of cold water to one of the least of My followers, you will surely be rewarded.” (Matthew 10:42 NLT)

I’ve often asked, from this place I sit, home, where my first call is, “How can I make a difference in this world? How do I reach far from this place even while I am still raising world-reachers and changers?”

Never in a million years would I have imagined a “blog” would’ve been His answer for that question. Yet, here I write, and writing has been the open door to reach far—to help provide food for the hungry, shelter for the bare, water for the thirsty and Jesus for the lost.

Though I’ve made no money writing, sharing is always free. If I can use this place to lift Jesus up so that all will be drawn unto Him, I will. If I can use this place to share about missions going into desolate places successfully doing the hard work, the work that is in rhythm with the heartbeat of God, I will. If I can use this place to help the least of these and when we do unto the least of these that we do it unto Him—then I will, and it is the least that I can do.

I have an opportunity to visit a place, where my feet will touch their dust, my hands will hold their need, my eyes behold their poverty, my heart may bleed open wide to their pain, and I am not sure it’s large enough to contain it all. I will write from that place, in Guatemala where, “one in two children, under the age of 5, suffers from malnutrition.” Where World Help for Operation Baby Rescue is working to provide life-saving treatment to children battling for their lives.

I will be there October 1-6th. Will you join me?

Husband and I are giving, too. I’ve set up a page with a commitment, and you can see it here, and give, too, if you are able. But sharing is always free. Will you share?

Counting gifts and  just a few of 802-857…

Safe home—more than adequate shelter.

Machines that wash and dry clothes.

Clothes to wash and dry.

Bodies to fill those clothes.

Water that fills the machines.

Vacuums that clean floors.

Floors to clean.

Electricity that powers.

Refrigerators.

Full refrigerators and pantries.

Cool air as relief to the scorching Florida heat.

Cars—4 of them.

Gas for them.

And insurance too.

Assurance. The blessed One.

Books for school at home.

Funds and resources that make us rich—maybe not by America’s rich standards, but by most of the beyond rich.

Attendance to a conference where I heard the Word of God and His Word holds me secure.

Healthy bodies and medicine and doctors for when sniffles, coughs and aches do come.

Grace for my grumbles.