Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

The Weeping Of A Woman

I hear the weeping of a woman, a woman of many years
Her weathered skin is more than just old age, Her tears aren't of fond memories of days gone by
Each tear holds the name of a young girl she once knew,
I see each tear falling in slow motion to her tattered gown
It tells the story of a sister, a friend, a mother who lived their lives in fear
She remembers them so vividly, the hollow eyes gazing back at her
The girl afraid for her life and the lives of her children
The sister that died too young in the face of disease
The friend cowering in the corner, trembling after being raped
The mother who was burdened with no way to put food on the table
The babies left home alone  at night because there was no one there to care for them
While their mother looked for work on the streets, in the eyes of danger and regret

You see, this woman lived a full life, filled with happiness, she had what she needed
so it was easy to forget and close her eyes to the pain around her
Yet somehow she remembers vividly the pain of those, the lack, the hopelessness
The old woman looks to her lap, where a giant leather bound book lays
the pages falling out after being turned over and over throughout the years
One final tears drops to these words, and this tear, 
This tear, it holds the name of Jesus
"For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty, you gave me nothing to drink
I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you didn't clothe me
I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me."
Oh, these tears she weeps, these heavy breaths she breathes, she does with regret
She remembers each moment, looking into the very face of Jesus as he asked her
"Do you love me?" Assuredly, she answered, "Yes." And that was it.
She read. She spoke. She sang. But she never "did."

Now this woman looks ups from her lap and gazes into the eyes of Jesus, the empty eyes.
The empty eyes of her friend, her sister, her mother, her daughter... and the empty eyes
of the woman in the heart of her city or a woman on the crowded death laden streets
the other side of the world. That woman she never helped. That woman that bore the
eyes of Jesus, whom she said she loved.
And in her ears rang these words as the tears begin the brim her eyes again.
"Whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me."
This woman could be you. This woman could be me. But I do not want her story to be mine.
Her tears to be mine at the end of my life.
The tears I cry, I want to be with the heart of God, not just for the weak and the broken,
the addicted and imprisoned, but with them.

I was asking God, how do I put myself in these womens shoes. The truth is I can't. Because I have never been there. But I can put myself in the place of the woman who ignored the cries of others...
I am down to my final three days of my suburbia to the streets project.
Together, many of you have helped me raise money to help two of these precious women
off the streets and out of prostitution. I have 3 days left to help one more.
I have raised $950. I have $50 pledged. I need $200 more to help one more girl.
Will you give up your coffee today and help me, help them?
If so, click donate below...

These are the women YOU are helping...with your donations...

Friday, November 30, 2012

How I Want To Be Remembered

What do I want people to think of
when they remember me
my friends, my family, my observers and passer by-ers...
I was thinking about the things I don't want people to think of me
the other day,
things that I know people have,
assumptions or conclusions people have made about me
with very little knowledge of my story 
where I have been or where I am going
People have decided
This is who she must be
Without every really knowing who "she" is.
Those who have spent hours upon hours
talking to me,
laughing with me
crying with me
know that I have a story, 
but very few know the whole story.
But as we all do at some point,
we make a guess of what is going on in another persons life.
As much as I don't like to believe I care what others think,
to some degree we all do.
But all I can do is strive from this point on
to be the person I want people to know
The person I want people to remember
What would people say about me if I was gone?
Would they cry
While just a year ago they were talking about me behind my back?
Would they care?
Or would they think to themselves
would they say outloud to others
She was a wife to her husband,
I remember how much they laughed,
how much they cried, 
but in the end how earnestly they loved.
She was a mother who adored her children
and they were completely in love with her.
They had her wrapped around their fingers.
Life got a little crazy and chaotic for her
but she laughed in the face of tears.
Would they say
She was brave, She was strong
She finally found where she belonged
Her heart had beauty etched in it
because she shined with the beauty of the one she loved most,
 her Jesus.
She worked hard to point others to the love of Jesus
She was a worshiper without the music
She was a preacher in the non traditional form
Even though she was busy with her kids and her life,
She was a friend who didn't give up,
a friend who was there if you needed her
She cared for people.
She saw the broken and knew they needed hope.
She was a writer, an artist, a poet...
Yet so few knew
In her life, she emanated the Joy of the Lord and the Glory of God
When she laughed it made others smile,
When she cried it stirred compassion to reach out
How do I want to be remembered when I die?

I want to be remembered for the passion behind my words,
the sparkle behind my eyes
the compassion overflowing in my veins
and the lover of beauty seen through the eyes of our God.
I don't want to be remembered as a sad story,
a story of regret, a wasted life
I want to be someone people will miss,
because they will miss the passion and beauty that was placed inside me
I want to be sure people know that I love them,
not just with weak human love, as great as it may feel at times
but with a greater love than I can make sense of

I believe the person of Jesus had so much more beauty and integrity and love,
laughter, joy, faith, encouragement than we can ever really fathom.
I want to be like him.

How do you want to be remembered?

A  beautiful girl I want you to know...
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