Who are the Poor?

For the last week I have been dog-sitting in a very nice neighborhood.  Day after day, I walk the dog down the freshy-swept street looking at the fancy homes, the manicured lawns, and expensive cars.  Part of me wonders if I could ever afford to live here.

Financially, it's a lofty goal for this unemployed recent grad. That's not what I meant.

I mean, could I afford to live here

when some live here?

Can I live here

having been here?

The Bible doesn't say "Don't live in a nice house"... but it does say "give everything you have to the poor."

But who are the poor?

Are the poor the children in a hogar in Guatemala who play with one-armed Barbies but have the joy of the Lord in their hearts and it shows on their faces?

Are the poor the people paying taxes on their 4,000 square-foot homes who are on the brink of divorce, have disrespectful children, and hire someone else to pick up their dog poop?

Part of me says, no way, I will never live in a classy neighborhood. (Especially based on those stereotypes). I've seen too much poverty to be comfortable in a large, neat home.

Perhaps that is true. For just me and the dog, this four-bedroom, three-bath home is way too big. But what if I had a husband and children?

Through trial and error, I have learned some aspects of third-world ministry. I have been to places where hand sanitizer and toilet paper are luxuries. The girls in the photo above aren't just children worlds away with stories that would break your heart. We know each others' names, they are my sisters, and they almost knocked me fifteen feet off that ledge ten seconds after that photo was taken when they tried to all see it simultaneously.

Yet, as I walk through this nice neighborhood and wonder about the people inside of the homes, I wonder about them and their lives. Do they know their neighbors? Do they realize there's more to life than fnancial success? Most importantly, do they know that God loves them?

How can I walk my dog down this street

knowing stray dogs roam down this street?

Easy. On both streets there are people that have never heard the name of Jesus.

How can I limit ministry to the without-money poor without including the without-Jesus poor?

Third world ministry may be teaching people how to brush their teeth, handing out bracelets, and fitting them with eye glasses. It can be loving them, making a fool of yourself, and living the gospel.

Is that not also what is the first world also needs? Love, humor, and (most importantly) Jesus.

First world ministry is greeting neighbors as you pass them on the street, hand-delivering a warm breakfast to the neighbor's housesitter and inviting her over for dinner, or cutting someone else's grass because they're having a busy week. It can be releasing a child from poverty through child sponsorship and telling others about your Fridge Kid. It's loving the way Christ commands us and living the gospel.

He is the God of this city

just as He is of this one.

Can I afford it?

How can I NOT?

The Great Commission commands us to GO and make disciples of ALL nations (Matthew 28:19, emphasis mine). I like to GO to another nation; it has become comfortable to me. But GO can also mean GO to the other side of the shurbery.

No matter where you live, GO and be the missionary you were called to be (Acts 1:8).

It starts with me.

<>< Katie

Hockey, hockey, hockey

Even though I love and miss my family I don't get homesick a lot. I'm too busy keeping up with schoolwork to realize it's been two months since I've seen my parents. That is, until this afternoon when I was watching the US-Canada gold metal hockey game when reality hit like load of bricks.

I could picture the scene in my mind. My sisters and my parents all gathered in the family room wearing their matching Nashville Predators hockey jerseys. Mine's at home, abandoned in my closet. While I watched the game alone, their Fang Fingers flew in unison and laughter ever-flowing as they repeated our classic hockey jokes. I can even hear my dad taunting my mom.

"I know who wins," he says every time she watching a game.

"No, you don't. It's live!" She teases back, meaning this is not a recorded game from earlier in the week.

True, maybe Dad doesn't know who wins because the game is live. God knows who wins, though. Except the game He knows about isn't just live but life. He knew the US was going to score in the last 24 seconds taking the game in to over time. He knows the grade you'll make on this paper you're stressing about. He knows when Becca's baby will be born (we're hoping for Tuesday because 3-2-10 would be an excellent birthday!). He knows where my missing thumb drive is. You get the picture, right? He knows.

At home, when the game isn't live and Dad really does know who wins, Mom begs him not to tell. She really doesn't want to know; she wants to enjoy the game. Likewise, God isn't telling. In our game of life, we really want to know. Or do we want to enjoy the game?

Even though He isn't telling, God has come along side of us like someone excited to show a friend a hilarious video for the first time. Can't you hear Him? "You have to see this. The funny part is coming. Here it is! Look, look, look! Did you see that? Wasn't that cool!"

He's watching right along side you. He can't wait for you to see what He sees! Trust Him; it's cool!

Oh, and just in case there was question on my loyalties yesterday afternoon... Both teams were at equal strength. Despite being "practically from Canada," I did cheer for the Americans. Although, it did mean I had to cheer against Shea Weber, but Ryan Suter is an American so it evened out. Congratulations on your gold, Canada.

<>< Katie