The desperate ones
Her desperate eyes searched my face. I knew what she wanted and needed but didn’t dare ask of me. I began to speak but I paused as I felt the click and realized what was about to happen…if I let it. I momentarily closed my eyes, pulling His breath deep into my lungs. I opened my eyes and met her gaze as I breathed Him out. He was a scalpel in my hands, on my lips, performing public heart surgery with no anesthesia other than love.
When my lungs were finally empty, she thanked me. Her eyes were no longer desperate, but filled with light, with glimmering hope.
I was glad, but I ached inwardly. How was it that she had been so untended? How had this need gone unmet for so long?
“I need.” he said simply, glancing sideways at my tool chest as he stood quietly
I smiled. He had been a hungry child since the day I met him, and it was actually one of the things I loved best about him. I reached into my tool chest and pulled out a simple but hearty chunk of bread and a thick slice of meat. Unlike some of the others, he never asked for cookies or candy. He closed his eyes as I broke the bread and meat into small pieces and scattered them on his head, across his shoulders, down his chest and back, and into his open hands. He stood patiently still and waited as the sustenance began to sink into his skin, draining into the cavernous depths of his being. When at last the pieces were no longer visible, he opened his eyes as he smiled shyly and thanked me, and then turned and walked away.
I watched him leave, fully aware that he would be back. Few others have the patience to feed him, but he makes my heart ache with his insatiable appetite and his willingness to admit his neediness. I would want someone to feed me, and so I never think twice to feed him. All I know is that I feel the Father’s affection for him, and the only response I have is to offer him the best I have in that moment.
I see them. During my waking hours they are both before my eyes and behind my eyes. They fill my dreams when I sleep. I hear them calling, pleading, desperate for someone who will use His scalpel or the contents of His tool box.
There are so many of them, these desperate ones, and I feel the urgency of life as a solitary finite being who wears the lenses of the Eternal. Heart surgeon, freedom fighter, abolitionist, mind-bender, construction worker and deconstruction worker, broker of kingdom realities…and yet only one person with a brief period of time on this whirling ball of dirt.
I don’t know how to not be broken by this.