We had just been talking about being in a place where we feel God's pleasure. I've always believed that meant being in the center of His will, and I believe it does. I've often equated it to that feeling a parent has when your child does something right or obeys a command.
But maybe, just maybe, it's more than that.
We drove up after an afternoon running errands and enjoying Phnom Phen, and there they were.... four little Cambodian children, three girls and a boy, playing with the Collier children in the front yard. They came with their father who was doing yard work.
For the most part, the Cambodian children I have seen have been well dressed in school uniforms, with hair brushed and shoes on their feet. Not these little ones.
Their smiles.... maybe I am a sucker for smiles. Maybe it's because we can communicate through smiles. They were unsure of us, laughing and playing but keeping their distance, unsure of our skin and clothes.
I ran inside to get Mrs. Betty's teacakes, little sugar cookies from home, and with those cookies, I made four new friends.
Smiles and cookies... bridging language barriers :)
We play tag and throw a ball. Swing them in the air, and soon, we can high five. Soon, we can hold hands.
In the back yard is a broken down swing set and slide. Rusty, barely holding itself together, but we play. I'm wearing a nice shirt and their dirt rubs off on me.... but I could care less. I feel almost desperate. I am desperate to hold them, wash their feet, kiss their cheeks. I am desperate to love them, know them, proclaim truth over them. I want them to know I think they're beautiful, worthy of love.
And I can't help but think that's what Jesus wants from me.... to take my rags away, wash the dirt from my face, heal my cuts and scrapes, love me. He is desperate for it. He craves it.
Each child has a red string tied around wrists. Buddhist symbols to keep away evil spirits. We pray over them, that the God who is greater than any evil spirit will demolish strongholds and write His name on their hearts. Pray with me.
Swinging and laughing with them, I feel His pleasure. Not just that He is pleased with me, but He is here.... laughing and delighting in this moment. This moment where one broken human being meets another. This moment when skin and language don't matter. This moment when I would give anything to take their dirt as my own. He is here.
He delights with us. His pleasure comes by rejoicing with us. He laughs with us. Emmanuel... God with us... breathing, playing, living in this moment.
Sun sets, and my new little friends leave. We blow kisses and I give them little hugs... their arms stiff, unsure how to receive it, but they giggle regardless. I am unsure of their names, but He knows them. Their faces imprinted on my heart now.... written on His long ago.
I don't know where they are, what their lives are like, if they are safe now. But he does, and I thank Him for that, grateful for just an hour, I am able to be a part of their stories.
But maybe, just maybe, it's more than that.
We drove up after an afternoon running errands and enjoying Phnom Phen, and there they were.... four little Cambodian children, three girls and a boy, playing with the Collier children in the front yard. They came with their father who was doing yard work.
For the most part, the Cambodian children I have seen have been well dressed in school uniforms, with hair brushed and shoes on their feet. Not these little ones.
Their smiles.... maybe I am a sucker for smiles. Maybe it's because we can communicate through smiles. They were unsure of us, laughing and playing but keeping their distance, unsure of our skin and clothes.
I ran inside to get Mrs. Betty's teacakes, little sugar cookies from home, and with those cookies, I made four new friends.
Smiles and cookies... bridging language barriers :)
We play tag and throw a ball. Swing them in the air, and soon, we can high five. Soon, we can hold hands.
In the back yard is a broken down swing set and slide. Rusty, barely holding itself together, but we play. I'm wearing a nice shirt and their dirt rubs off on me.... but I could care less. I feel almost desperate. I am desperate to hold them, wash their feet, kiss their cheeks. I am desperate to love them, know them, proclaim truth over them. I want them to know I think they're beautiful, worthy of love.
And I can't help but think that's what Jesus wants from me.... to take my rags away, wash the dirt from my face, heal my cuts and scrapes, love me. He is desperate for it. He craves it.
Each child has a red string tied around wrists. Buddhist symbols to keep away evil spirits. We pray over them, that the God who is greater than any evil spirit will demolish strongholds and write His name on their hearts. Pray with me.
Swinging and laughing with them, I feel His pleasure. Not just that He is pleased with me, but He is here.... laughing and delighting in this moment. This moment where one broken human being meets another. This moment when skin and language don't matter. This moment when I would give anything to take their dirt as my own. He is here.
He delights with us. His pleasure comes by rejoicing with us. He laughs with us. Emmanuel... God with us... breathing, playing, living in this moment.
Sun sets, and my new little friends leave. We blow kisses and I give them little hugs... their arms stiff, unsure how to receive it, but they giggle regardless. I am unsure of their names, but He knows them. Their faces imprinted on my heart now.... written on His long ago.
I don't know where they are, what their lives are like, if they are safe now. But he does, and I thank Him for that, grateful for just an hour, I am able to be a part of their stories.
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