Yes we need it; I love it!

I’ve thought a little lately about everything I’ve got. It’s a lot. I have everything I need (which is truly marvellous in it self) and MORE! Can you believe it? I have everything, and more.
It’s not really fair. Yet, I know that God have provided me with this aboundance of food, clothes, money, education and blessings and more, for a reason. Not so that I should keep it to myself (which of course would be my first choice). But so that I can pour it out for His kingdom. I have been provided much, to be able to give much.
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Why give it away to others when God have provided you with it, you might ask. And I agree with you, it’s also my view on the subject. The three year old girl I’m “au pairing” over here said it well:
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We were at Tesco’s, a large groceries store. She found on a shelf a toothpaste tube with a picture of Shrek on it. She grabbed it at once, saying:
–I want this!
Her older brother tried to be realistic.
–We don’t need it.
Which upon the three year old answered. –Yes, we do; I love it!
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She loved the toothpaste, as you and I love out posessions, our money, the things we can buy for them, our clothes, books and especially the fact that they’re ours. We love it, and it’s hard letting it go. But we didn’t get it for ourselves. We got our share and the poor people’s share. As Christian our lives don’t even belong to ourselves. Far less our time or things. They’re God’s. And even though I do believe that God wants us to be thankful and appreciate that we have so much, I don’t believe He wants us to keep it for ourselves.
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I visited Dublin today. A beautiful city with many wealthy people, but away from the large shopping streets, in the smaller, shabby streets excisted another reality than mine.
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I met a girl today. Her name is Mary. She’s sixteen years old. She has a baby girl, Chloe, with a kidney disease. Mary is standing all day on the street, in rain, sunshine and wind, begging money in a paper cup. Her mother left her after they moved to Dublin, since she's been living alone with her sisters.
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She, her thirteen year old sister and her older sister, who also have a baby, six weeks old, is forced to beg on the street. They are forced to beg money for nappies, baby food, bus tickets to visit the baby in the hospital, money to pay their host, money to go to their house. When I talked to her, she and her sister hadn’t been eating in two days, neither had she been able to visit her baby girl in these two days. I met her sister as well. They told me of a reality far different from mine as a sixteen year old...
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Mary had been begging since nine o’ clock in the morning when I met her, she had got a few cents, maybe an euro or two (ca: 16 nok) in all. She told me that they had to stay in a parking house overnight when they had no money for the bus. Her sister had been beaten up, the same had she. They had been awaken by men who told them they couldn’t stay there, and they’d been beaten up. They had bruises.
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I gave her some money and followed her and her sister to a groceries store, to buy some food and baby stuff. All the time my mind was in chaos, everything I’ve heard of hired beggars, foolish, compassionate people who wrench their pockets and support this business. How I’ve always heard that one should avoid eye contact with beggars. Well, I didn’t:
Mary have pretty green eyes with a little brown in them, her skin is pale with millions of light brown freckles. Both she and her sister have long dark hair, fastened on top of their head. They wore jeans and old track suit jackets.
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My mind made it quite clear that I was being foolish and that none of my friends would see this as other than stupidity. My heart, had other arguments and questions. My heart saw the desperation, the trembling of her lips, the crack in her voice as she explained her baby’s kidney disease to me once more, due to my poor English understanding. Her hands around the white paper cup, were so small. Her whole being so humbly, so polite, yet, desperate from her heart. While my brain was trying to find out whether she was a superb actress or actually telling the truth, my heart were struggling with different questions.
If Jesus was walking here, what would He have responded? Would He have turned her down, afraid that she was a liar?
Wasn’t I supposed to be His hands and feet?
What if she had been Jesus, would I have walked away from Him, telling Him to be a liar?
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And His words echoed in my heart:
“For I was hungry and you gave Me food; I was thirsty and you gave Me drink; I was a stranger and you took Me in; I was naked and you clothed Me; I was sick and you visited Me; I was in prison and you came to Me.’ “Then the righteous will answer Him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry and feed You, or thirsty and give You drink? When did we see You a stranger and take You in, or naked and clothe You? Or when did we see You sick, or in prison, and come to You?’ And the King will answer and say to them, ‘Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these My brethren, you did it to Me.’ “ Matthew 25:35-40
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I couldn’t refuse these girls. For what if it was true? What if what they told me of their life on the streets, with rape, beating, hunger and fear was true? What if she really was sixteen years old had a baby with a kidney disease, unable to provide her child nappies and food? What if she told the truth, and I turned her down? She had cried to the Lord. I am His hands and feet. When He would have lovingly responded to their cry, this is a task given to us, through Him.
As Jackie Pollunder says; It’s a task the angels would love to do, but He has given it to us. We are His body on earth. We are His answer to the cries of the hopeless.
How could I know I wasn’t the only one taking time to listen to their pleads and answer?
What if I didn’t respond?
Would anyone else?
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I might hear from people that do not follow Christ that I wasted my money today. And I wasted a lot of them. That’s okay. They don’t share my view on this. It wasn’t my money in the first place. It was God’s. Provided to me so that I might use them for Him.
Today He fed His daughters in the streets of Dublin. With His money.
Whatever I did was for Him, on His behalf. It wasn't done in my strength. Not even in my will.
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I was the first person who had stopped and talked to Mary at lunchtime. Maybe I was the only one today.
Why?
Because we’ve raised to believe that we deserve our money (what a stupid thought). Because we love them, we think we need them.
We don’t.
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Yes, I could have used “my money” differently today. But a nail shining kit, a new book on Christian Living, more clothes and twenty Fox-mints for my personal use wouldn’t have fed Mary and her sisters.
I did so little, I still had a hundred euros when I left them.
I love these euros. But their not really mine.
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I could have chosen to spend my time differently today. I could have experienced more of Dublin, bought more clothes, visited the library, had my lunch at a cozy little cafè. But I didn’t. Instead, I spent some hours with two precious girls. I went to the shop with them, I saw the thankfulness in their eyes, their pleading against my own hard heart. I prayed with them. I was scared. I hugged them, held their hands. I reached out to them, a thousand times out of my comfort zone, and I received Jesus.
I received Jesus.
And whatever I did to two of the least of His sisters, I did to Him.
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He provided me with more than I’ll ever need, so that I could pour out more, as I have been given more, to showcase His love. He loved these two girls today, I was merely the tool.
Yes, I definitely love my money and everything I own, but I do not need it.
I need Jesus. I will not let the thought of what I could by for a mere weeks wage keep me from serving Him. He is my light and my guidance.
I love Him; I need Him.
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