The searchers, and the God who sees.

I saw his name come up on facebook and clicked the profile out of curiosity.

Yes, it was him. Someone I knew from an old job - barely an acquaintance, but I had sat across from him at a hamburger place with a co-worker, listening to him spill out a story much too private and heartbreaking for our short lunch break meeting. He was barely out of his teens, climbing out of a childhood laced with abuse and pain and abandonment, but somehow optimistic - confident in his newly found identity, pursuing a life-style that my co-worker was quick to affirm. I was silent, unsure of what to say, eating my fries and watching his face as he spoke. But his eyes gave something away.

Now, several years later, I recognized the same look in his pictures. A confident, care-free pose, but emptiness and pain behind the gaze. No doubt, what he had been chasing did not satisfy.

Still, he was stumbling down the same path, perhaps hoping that it might eventually bring him the fulfillment of his heart's most ardent craving: love.

We were made to know this love, to be completely known by Another. And yet, so many run in every direction but the right one - scrambling, falling, searching, hurting.

Look around. Sometimes it's obvious and sometimes it's not, but look - the hunger, the search, is there.

It's in young girls, dressed for eyes that shouldn't be looking, searching for acceptance. It's in the drunk man shuffling by on a Friday night, in the homeless guy at the corner shaking a cup for change, in the quiet woman waiting for her bus, in the business man with the expensive looking suit.
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It's in every soul that's bent on drawing from this world what only God can ultimately give - healing, forgiveness of sin, mercy beyond what we could ever dare hope for, love vaster than we can imagine, real joy. What we were created for - to know and be known by our Creator.

Taking one last look at my old acquaintance's face, I closed facebook, closed my eyes, and prayed for this lost soul.

Pursue him, Lord, wherever he is. Use Your children to be salt and light, to share the good news that,

"...when the kindness of God our Savior and His love for mankind appeared, He saved us, not on the basis of deeds which we have done in righteousness, but according to His mercy..." Titus 3:4,5

You are still offering salvation, Father, may we be eager to tell about it...

simple provision

God is at work, constantly.

I love to see traces of His grace, evidence of His presence in our lives. Little things that halt us in our tracks and pull our gaze outward and upward.

Why are we surprised when we see God at work? At least, I often am. I think it's my unbelief. I should be expectant, lingering on the edge of each day's seat to see what my Lord will do next.

Expectant, so that I will notice His hand in the events I see around me, and in the workings of my heart, (the good) rather than blindly letting them pass by insignificantly, as if chance is their author.

This weekend, I saw the Lord demonstrate His compassion in such a simple way. You probably will not be astounded with this story, but it might cause you, like it did me, to look in appreciation to our Lord, to praise Him for caring enough to show His love in the most practical, ordinary ways...

On Friday nights, I go with my brother and sister to join a group in the downtown area of a city for street ministry. We hand out gospel tracts, initiate conversations, and seek to communicate God's love through the Gospel to seeking hearts. As usual, we met at a mission house for a short Bible study and prayer before heading out to the streets. Well, this last Friday we had the blessing of having a youth group from Florida join us for ministry. On the way outside I noticed that one of the group leaders was off in the corner, coughing pretty hard. I asked if she was okay, and she explained, through coughing, but with an apologetic smile, that she was struggling with a bad cold and her throat was extremely sore.

Well. What did I have with me in my purse? Let me back up to earlier in the evening, when I was at home getting ready, packing my purse with compact Bibles and tracts. I noticed a pack of extra-strength lozenges on my desk shelf that I had bought a while back when I had Strep Throat. I did not have a sore throat, and I certainly didn't feel one coming on. But I felt a nudge - bring the lozenges.

So I did. And I was able to give them to this sister-in-Christ, who's eyes welled up with tears when I told her about that earlier prompting. She squeezed my arm and laughed, and we both realized that these lozenges were just a little gift from Christ so that she could minister with us this evening with a comforted throat.

God doesn't always work in the same way. He is wisdom, and knows when to provide and when to withhold. Friday, He knew that this woman needed a simple gift that demonstrated His care for her.

God is at work - are you watching?

Riding the train home from a weekend spent with a friend, I put on my headphones and settled back, looking forward to a few hours of solitude.

The train slowed a half hour later and a single passenger boarded, a man who looked to be in his forties. Was he homeless? I couldn't help but notice his dirty, well-worn clothing and unshaven face as he lumbered up the aisle, looking for a seat. There – an empty one, but a lady hurriedly placed her purse on it and turned away. He paused, scanning the rest of the aisle. The car was nearly full, but he noticed the empty seat beside me and gratefully collapsed into it. I acknowledge him politely and turned back to the window.

“Where you headed?”

I took off my headphones and told him I was on my way home from visiting a friend. He nodded but didn't turn away.

He smelt like he hadn't bathed in a month. Ashamed of my reluctant attitude to talk to this stranger, I remembered the gospel tracts I had slipped into my purse as I packed for my trip, praying that God would provide an opportunity to give them away. The man was still looking at me. Okay God, so much for solitude – use me if you can.

“What about you? Where are you going?”

The next half hour we talked, and the stranger told me all about his broken life. He was an alcoholic. His wife couldn't take it any more and had left him. His two sons thought he was a bum and hated him. He had been fired from his job and couldn't find work. He was tired of trying to fix things, tired of being without hope. He had no money and was going to try and stay with his sister for a while.

The next station was announced. I hadn't said much throughout the whole conversation, and now his stop was next up. I fingered my purse nervously, aware of the silent passengers that sat around us, dozing or maybe listening. Help me, Father.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled out the gospel tract from my purse and gave it to him. I was surprised that my fear seemed to melt away as I launched into a condensed version of the gospel. When I finished, he leaned forward and put his head in his hands and when he sat up again and looked at me his eyes were red. Had he heard? Did he understand? He was crying – he didn't care that people were obviously all ears now. “I’m nothing!” he said simply. The train slowed as we approached his stop and he seemed at a loss for words. Cramming the tract into his jacket pocket, he stood up and then turned back. “I won’t forget this."

I couldn't see his heart or the decision that he might have made, but God knows. He arranges circumstances for a reason, and graciously allows us to be used to spread the good news of salvation, insignificant as we are…sometimes when we least expect it.