Not long ago I carried an armload of fresh laundry into my room and separated the shirts from the pants; placing them all in their correct drawers. Folded, tidy. The trouble occurred when I tried to close the drawers. I pushed harder on the thick padding of shirts and pants. No movement. It was full - really, really full. I tossed the remaining pieces of clothing from the neatly folded laundry pile back onto my bed.
Now I must interject, it's not that this dresser drawer is the epitome of disorganization, but rather it was simply so full of clothing that not one more t-shirt was going to fit. And this dresser is not small - it's a decent size dresser. And that's when it hit me.
I suddenly recognized the amazing blessing that was sitting before my eyes - I had completely overlooked it. What I saw at the moment was a brief inconvenience that was causing me trauma. Just think about how many millions would love to have my problem. So many parents who would do anything to give their child the gift of having to struggle to fit all of their clothing in a massive dresser. In that moment, I bent over my dresser and prayed for forgiveness and thanked God for the many blessings I have in my life.
I remembered Jesus' words to those souls who believed that they had the right to enter heaven:
"Depart from Me, you cursed, into the everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels: for I was hungry and you have Me no food; I was thirsty and you have Me no drink; I was a stranger and you did not take Me in, naked and you did not clothe Me, sick and in prison and you did not visit Me."
Oh, but "Lord, when did we see You hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to You?"
The reply is chilling, "Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me."
I need to stop complaining and worrying about what I possess and how I dress. God hit me hard on my issue of pride once again. I was proud of what I look like or what I wore and what I possessed. My humility was false because I was taking pride in my humility! I realized that I need to stop worrying about money for college. God will provide. If the birds and flowers were are taken care of, I'll be fine. As the Caedmon's Call song says, "You know the plans you have for me / and You can't plan the ends and not plan the means." I rest assured in the sovereignty of God.
Moreover, I realized that I must see the needs of others, both physically and spiritually. I understand that life is not about me - it's about God and Him glorified through the salvation of souls and the cross. He cares about humanity, and I must care about humanity as well. I must share not only clothing, but also the gospel. That must be the ultimate goal, yet I must not neglect the act of sharing food, or giving money, of clothing the naked, or nursing the sick. I have been commanded to share these blessings. Does that mean giving away clothing? It certainly points to that.
All my life I have been burdened for the unsaved and suffering in our world. But when they have so little, and I have so much, it feels hypocritical to talk about how much I care for them but I could obviously be doing so much more. Nelson Mandela once said that it is not what you are born with that makes one great, but what you do with it. I quote him not because I desire to be great, but because I think it's right for those of use who were born into privilege to use our wealth to bless and take care of those who were not in the name of Christ, not live as though our brothers and sisters in Africa, Asia, etc did not exist.
Stephen Lewis (the former Canadian ambassador to the UN, current UN Secretary-General's special envoy for HIV/AIDS in Africa, director of the Stephen Lewis foundation, and personal idol of mine) said in his book Race Against Time, "I have to say that the ongoing plight of Africa forces me to perpetual rage. It's all so unnecessary, so crazy that hundreds of millions of people should be thus abandoned."
We read things like that, and like the newly released statistics out of Malawi that for their population of twelve millions, there are only three hundred doctors. That means every doctor should be taking care of 40,000 patients each - an impossible goal (Canada has a ratio of 1/470, much better odds). And what do we feel in reaction to these things? Sadness. A sense of injustice. A motivation to help in some way. Guilt. Anger perhaps. But what comes of those feelings? They last for a moment. And then we go out for dinner with our friends and families and laugh and chat and forget. We let ourselves forget because acting on those emotions would lead to sacrifice, and no one likes sacrifice.
Sure, some of us give donations from time to time. Some of us send canned goods around Christmas time. But that's not enough. How long have the western, so-call Christian, countries known about the suffering in Africa and beyond? So why is it still going on while we by ourselves plasma TVs and new cars for Christmas, then attend church the next evening?
Maybe I'm missing something here. Maybe I'm making a bigger deal out of this than I should. But for me, this all doesn't make sense. It just doesn't. I don't get it. And don't get me wrong, I was right in there with the rest of you this holiday season with the gifts and the ever-growing materialism. I'm equally as guilty. But I want to change. I've been commanded to care for the suffering and I don't think Jesus was talking about scribbling a cheque for a charity once a year, or donating clothes that you yourself wouldn't wear anymore to homeless shelters (not that you should stop!). This is a challenge to put others before yourself. Like, really and truly.
The sad thing is that I know this post won't make a difference. Some people may read it and feel momentarily convicted and challenged. But then they will forget, as we always do. Jesus said that the poor will always be among us, and I can see why that is. But I still think it's worth a shot to TRY and do something... or at least give a little more than I already do.
