Friday night I went out with a new friend of mine. I had a latte and a strawberry daiquiri. I left the café/bar around 1 am, to go home. Going home I passed by a whole lot of intoxicated people, just dangling around the streets. Yes, I may have judged a little bit. So I decided I was gonna go home and write a long blog entry about how sad our generation is. I was going to write about the two teenage girls I saw at the metro station, they were changing out of their hoodies into something that resembled a top more than it did a dress, but they wore them as dresses. They were both showing way more skin than I would ever be comfortable with, smoking cigarettes and their eyes had kind of a glazed over stare too them; they had been drinking.
I was going to write about how sad it is, that young teenage girls feel the need to expose themselves in that way, in order to get the attention they so long for. I was going to write something about the lost generation. About my inability to understand the reasoning behind it.
Then today I helped out at church. There was this event. An outreach to the community if you will. A group of people went out on the streets to talk to people and invite them to come to dinner and worship. Myself? I was in the kitchen cooking the food with 3 other ladies (by ladies I mean young women, they are all younger than me.) I didn't really know what to expect from this evening, and as the people from the street started filling in, I didn't know what to do with myself. They were mainly alcoholics, homeless people, junkies or in other ways the lower social class.
I see this demographic all the time, and what do I do? I cast judgement on them. I automatically assume that they are bad people, that they only care about themselves. As it turns out, this wasn't the truth. Not even remotely close.
A lot of them only stayed for the food, which is totally fine, but a bunch of them stayed to worship with us too. Towards the end of the service we were having communion. Everyone made the trip up the 3 steps to receive communion, without even blinking. And as I was kneeling by the alter, one of the drunk women came up to the ushers that were handing out communion, 'Excuse me', she whispered loudly, 'My friend in the wheelchair wants communion too, but he can't come up here because of the steps, can you please go down to him?' the ushers answered politely, that of course they would, and she replied with a big smile and gratitude saturating every word 'Thank you, thank you so much.' I can't tell you why, but as I was kneeling there by the alter, I was deeply touched by her. Which brings me to my next point, we are cowards. We care way too much about our appearance and making us selves look good, that we don't look to the best interest of our neighbor.
It was such a joy to be worshipping with these people that just didn't care. They weren't too worried about how they looked to dance around, or sing their lounges out or ask for communion for a friend. I liked that.
What can I take with me from this? I need to care less about how I look and more about other people. I need to be less absorbed in myself and more absorbed in God. Constantly learning, growing and exploring my relationship with him. Desperately seeking God, with an eagerness that isn't stopped by self image, or worries about pit stains (yes, this is a real concern of mine, sometimes when I am about to raise my hands in worship.)
I want to completely and wholly give up my life, so God can take over. Yup, there you have it; Less me, more God.
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