where.is.JESUS.here?

i don’t want to blog about this. it hurts. i hate this story. i don’t want to tell you. because i don’t want it to be real.

i have experienced poverty. i have seen the desperate.

but i have never seen anything like this…

 

right before we arrived in Manila there was a big flood. it made international news. maybe you heard about it.

every wednesday and friday some of my team goes to the place where several hundred people who lost their homes live. we give them food.

but this particular day we brought clothes that had been donated to give out to these people. and somehow i ended up being in charge of distribution.

my job was simple. the driver would hand me an item of clothing. i would turn around and give it to someone who it looked like it could fit. one item each.

when the first item of clothing came out of the door, i knew i was in over my head.

out of nowhere a mob of people surrounded the door grabbing at me. yelling something in tagalog. yelling at me in broken english. an older women was shoved to the ground. children were being pushed aside. two women started throwing punches at each other over a blue polo. after receiving a shirt, one woman grabbed two more from small children and ran away.

but in the midst of the chaos, one voice stood out. a young girl tapped my back.

“tita, shirt. tita, shirt.”

her big brown eyes, plagued with the rejection and confusion of down syndrome, looked up at me with a small trace of hope. i saw her. i nodded at her and smiled.

“yes” i answered her plead.

i turned back around and the chaos continued. i would grab a shirt from the van and before i could turn around to hand it to the spot she was standing, greed and self-preservation would wrestle it out of my hands.

“i know, i know” i told her, “i see you.” as she continued to plead with me.

but before i knew it. the boxes were empty. there were no.more.clothes.

 

i turned around slowly. ‘im sorry. im so sorry. no more.”

tears and rejection filled those brown-eyes. she walked away from the van and fell to the ground sobbing.

tears and pain filled my eyes.

where is the justice here. where is the mercy here. where is the love here.

in all my good intentions. she was left crying on the ground

Where.Is.JESUS.here?

 

i looked around and couldn’t find Him.. my teammate squatted to the ground to hold this crying child..  and He wasn’t there.

i watched the whole situation and stepped back. i couldn’t physically handle the emotional chaos i had seen.

Greed in its utter green color had shown through every face i saw that day. they did no care if they hurt someone on the way to that shirt. they didn’t care if someone else needed it more.

i watched my teammate love this child, but nothing seemed to calm her.

suddenly, i hated every article of clothing i had sitting in boxes at home.

i hated the clothes i had back at our apartment.

“i would give her the clothes off my back if i could.” i whispered under my breath to someone standing by me.

i looked down at my black t-shirt and maxi-skirt. i looked back up at her.

i went behind the van. made my long skirt a dress. took off my t-shirt. handed it to her. gave her a hug. and then it was time to go. i climbed into the van. and that was it.

Where.Is.JESUS.here?

 

nearly 2 weeks later, i finally opened my mouth to tell my teammates i was still angry. why couldn’t i see Jesus? were all my good intentions in vain if they caused that much pain? how is all that pain okay? but most of all.. where.is.jesus.here?

one of the girls on my team then told me…

“maybe, for the first time, you actually looked so far beyond yourself, that you couldn’t see that you were Jesus there.”

 

i asked him to be his hands and feet in the Philippines.

i didn’t know what it would look like.

but suddenly missions made sense in a whole new way. being the hands and feet meant that i had to be Jesus when i can’t find him

knowing he sent me to humble myself so much that He could show up through me…