On Sunday evening, we went to the riverfront. Below is a picture of the King’s palace grounds across from the river. It is so beautiful, yet incredibly, outside its gates hovers much human suffering. We did what we could passing out balloons, playing games, holding the little children whose mothers are too busy selling to pay them any attention.
I have not given anything until I have given EVERYTHING.
I have not humbled myself until I’ve sat on their filthy street in my white, floral church dress and played a game with them.
I have not learned how to negotiate until I can convince twenty love-starved, Khmer-speaking children to take turns.
I have not felt joy until my arms and neck are wreathed with three beautiful, little girls, sweaty bundles of energy all needing a piece of love.
I have not felt the heart of the Father until my fingers find the face of one of the least of these.
And to think that my Jesus came to my filthy world for thirty three years, not just a couple hours.
He washed away all sin, when He negotiated grace for all with the tormentor of souls.
He gave joy, stretching out His arms to the world.
He was the Father’s heart come to earth.