The Hills Run Red

"The Hills Run Red". No, this isn't a movie review. No, I haven't seen this movie. But if you're like me, you've roamed the isles of your local movie rental store so many times over the years, covers like this barely catch your eye. We glance past the half-naked National Lampoon College Break cover positioned right next to Madagascar 2 and then move on down the row until we find a movie fit to take home.

The other night, I decided it would be fun to take Morgan with me to the movie store. Morgan is my 2 1/2 year old daughter, and some times a little road trip is my way of getting a little quality alone time with her. Sometimes it's the book store. Sometimes it's the animal store. And sometimes it's the movie store. I thought I'd let her pick out a movie from the kids section before I picked out something for her mom and I to watch later that night. She picked out her movie in like 5 seconds flat, "The Little Mermaid: Ariel's Beginning", or something like that.

I walked through most of the new release section. Morgan was holding my hand. Then she said the line that gets me every time, "Daddy, hold you." I hope she never stops saying that. Kids grow up so fast. I picked her up and continued walking through the new release section. I stopped in a corner and proceeded to pick up a cover that looked like a real possibility. I stood there for a few minutes reading the back of the box and trying to ask all the good questions husbands should ask when renting a movie without their wives present. Is this something she will like? When is the last time I threw in the towel and rented a chick flick? That's usually something I do once or twice a year! She's always very appreciative.

As I stood reading the cover, holding my daughter and debating my rental I noticed Morgan was zoned out, head turned almost 180 degrees. As I turned to look at what had grabbed her attention I found myself face to face with Babyface. Not a cute baby face, but that Babyface. The one on the cover of that atrocious-looking movie.

I quickly turned around, telling her not to look, but to my surprise, the faster I turned and tried to shield her eyes the faster she turned the opposite way keeping her gaze fixed on that scary cover. She was frozen. She couldn't turn away. Maybe she thought if she turned away Babyface would jump off the shelf and bite her. I don't know. I kind of thought that myself to be honest. I walked around the corner, this time glancing in every direction possible to make sure my daughter was protected from the terrible covers plaguing the entire store (never really noticed them before).

I knelt down to have a daddy talk but before I could say anything she said, "Daddy, is that guy scary? Is that guy scary daddy?" I told her that that guy wasn't real and couldn't scare her and that daddy doesn't like to see her scared. I asked her what I always ask her when she shows a little fear, "Has daddy ever let you fall? Has daddy ever hurt you?" "No", I say. "And daddy won't ever let you fall or get hurt, okay?"

We walked out of the store and for the next few days she's asked about the scary man. When I was taking her from Red Robin to the book store she asked me if the scary man was going to be there. She's mentioned him a few times and usually every time she mentions him she says, "But he's not real daddy, he's fake." I can tell though, that she's still a little worried about the scary guy on the cover showing up somewhere while she's playing or taking a nap.

I saw the loss of innocence that day. I saw evil present itself to my precious little girl. I saw fear sting her through her eyes. And I've watched the effect of that one small, seemingly insignificant moment over and over as her mind continues to hit rewind and those images continue to surface. And I can't do anything to stop it.

Then I had to wonder, is that what Jesus feels?
It must be.

Jesus was there in the beginning when evil presented itself to his perfect and innocent creation. He watched his spotless creation become tainted and dirty, shameful and painfully aware of their nakedness.

The love He must feel for us, and yet the horror.

Jesus is there every time the thought of lust rises up within me. It must pain him so deeply. Jesus is there when we are led down the dark paths temptation often takes us. Paths of addiction, paths of selling ourselves short in order to feel accepted, paths of risky behavior, paths of binging to quench our feelings of insignificance, paths so shameful we could never utter the words, paths so lonely nobody must understand.

But like a father, Jesus doesn't stop loving us. If anything, He loves us more. Like a father thrust into protection mode to shield a little girl from the things he knows will hurt her, Jesus must be moved to do the same.

Ultimately, we sin because we choose to sin. But truly, we were born into this mess. Truly, we were made innocent and sinless. Truly, our Creator has a perfect and painless plan for us. And though we choose to sin, and though we often make it harder on ourselves than we have to, rather than feeling condemnation and judgment, rather than feeling unworthy of God's love and mercy and forgiveness, we need to find a way to trust that God's love is beyond our ability to fully understand.

If we could just picture Him like a father in a movie store trying to shield the eyes of his child; if we could just picture Him as a father who, rather than moved to anger is moved to a deeper and more passionate love for his children; if we could just picture Him as a father who hurts so deeply because of the pain He watches His children endure and inflict upon themselves...

I imagine that when Morgan is a mommy with children of her own, I'm not going to see an independent and imperfect 30-something year old. I'm going to forever see that 2 1/2 year old beautiful and perfect little girl saying with innocent eyes, "Daddy, hold you."

I imagine that's how Jesus sees us.

I'm not loved because of my perfection. I'm loved, because in my imperfection, I find freedom and wholeness, forgiveness and safety in a Savior who never stops loving me but whose love continues to grow deeper and deeper, until I am fully rescued and forever free from the evil and sin and imperfection of where I now stand.

Bald Little Black Girl

Her name is Anabell Nayelly Palma Mera.

She's a 6 year old little girl who lives with her mom in a small costal fishing village on the northeastern part of Ecuador. We've never met.

The information on the card is minimal. She likes dolls, going to church and is considered an average student in her kindergarden class.

But then what? What else? What else is there to know about the little girl in this picture?

This card was just one of many cards buried beneath thousands of others in a worn out cardboard box at the Catalyst Conference I attended a few months ago in Atlanta. There were no hecklers. There were no extravagant pleas for sponsorship. There was just a small table where all of the other tables were, all of the other tables that gave away free t-shirts and materials to get gullible people like me to buy their product. After all, that's why we go to conferences right? To hear speakers talk about interesting topics and then leave with a bunch of products that we don't need and that we'll never use.

At this table though, there was no product. There were no free samples to take home. Just card after card after card after card. Story after story. Picture after picture.

I have to admit, Compassion International is no stranger to me. I've been to at least a dozen conferences, concerts and events where Compassion set up the same small table. I even hosted a Worship Together Seminar at a church once. And guess who was there, with that same table covered in cards? Compassion International.

I remember spending a lot of time at their table talking to the representative. After all, he was setting up in my church, at my conference. He was nice. He had full sleeves (tattoos covering both arms for those who need to know the definition of sleeves) and gigantic spacers (earrings that stretch out the earlobes to near catastrophic extremes) and a fohawk that put mine to shame (think Ryan Seacrest). Not to mention he could definitely pull off the skinnies a lot better than I could (super tight jeans), which is much of the reason I've shelved the skinnies, at least for the winter until I can manage to shed a few pounds.

But back to the table, with the Compassion guy. He talked about how much he loved his job, traveling and supporting the cause of Compassion's kids. And what else, he didn't try to sell me or guilt me into sponsorship. Maybe he figured the pictures spoke for themselves. I mean, how anyone can stand by a Compassion table and stare at the faces of those precious children living in the most unfortunate and godless conditions and not feel the urge, the urgency, the overwhelming conviction and compassion to open up their wallet and bring one of these beautiful children into their lives is, I dunno, dead?

But who am I to judge right? I mean, dozens of opportunities passed me by. Maybe I wasn't compelled because I didn't take the time to really look, to listen, to obey. Interestingly enough, as I passed the booth at Catalyst, having just signed up for an annual subscription to the mighty Catalyst Filter, a resource for church leaders that includes being shipped the Aqua Box 4 times a year, I felt the urge, a conviction really. Here I was, spending a hundred dollars on an Aqua box that will ship me books and CD's I probably either already have or don't really need anyway, and there are pictures of children covering this table, desperate children, each with a story, a need, waiting for me to respond. So I stopped.

I asked the representative to find me a little girl, knowing that my 2 1/2 year old daughter would relate best to sponsoring a little girl closest to her own age. They began searching through a vast pile of cards and handed me two, both of which had big red letters stamped across the front, "Urgent Care Needed". That meant, I was told, that these two little girls had been to many conferences and concerts and events where many Christians had walked past the table and failed to stop.

Compassion is unique in that their cards aren't mass produced. Quite literally, each card is only produced one time, with one photo of one real child in need. What you see if what you get. If someone takes a card home, or worse yet, takes a card and tosses it in the trash, that one, real, special child in desperate need doesn't get sponsored. It can take months, even years for a child to reenter the system; time that many of these children just don't have.

So there I stood with two cards.

On one card, a bald little black girl from Africa; where exactly in Africa? I didn't look.

On the other card, a 6 year old hispanic girl from Ecuador, who looked a lot more like my own little daughter, with hair and all. So with little thought, I handed the other card back and signed up to sponsor Anabell. I wrote out my credit card information and checked the box for automatic withdraw so as to keep myself from not following through or keeping my pledge.

With my $35 dollars a month this little girl is going to be able to go to a Christian school and spend her entire childhood learning about Jesus. With my $35 dollars a month she's going to have access to medical treatment and other Christian-based programs for her and her family. And, she's going to be apart of our family. As I write this, we've begun preparing our special Christmas gift package that we're going to send her in just a few weeks. And, we'll correspond with each other. Her picture is posted on our refrigeration. I told my daughter Morgan that Anabell is her new big sister. Hopefully, in a few years I'll even be able to afford to take my family to Ecuador to meet Anabell and spend time with her and her family.

But there's something else. Something that's haunted me.

Something I haven't been able to get out of my mind.

It's that bald little black girl from somewhere in Africa.

I didn't even bother to read her card. I made a split-second judgment and chose Anabell, because she had hair. I passed on the bald little black girl because I thought my daughter would connect more with a little girl that looked more like her.

Before, having never sponsored a child, I felt okay about my life, like a good little Christian. After all, I've devoted my entire life to ministry, to helping people. The tricky thing about doing the right thing is that sometimes you suddenly realize how much of the wrong things you do. It's like, I had participated in something so pure, so honest, so heavenly that a light was illuminated inside of my heart.

It was as Isaiah 58 says, "Feed the hungry and help those in trouble. Then your light will shine out from the darkness, and the darkness around you will be as bright as noon."

The motivation, the judgment, the inadequacy, the complacency; I could see it all.

And the little bald black girl from Africa; I couldn't get her out of my mind. Then I thought, what if Jesus had treated us the way I treated those two little girls?

What if, while on the cross, he looked down at me and said, "I don't relate with that guy - PASS". "That girl's gonna have an abortion - PASS". "He's going to abuse his wife and children and end up in prison for rape - PASS". "She's going to live her entire life and never realize the plans I have for her - PASS". "He's going to be selfish and ignore me - PASS".

Truth is, thank God he didn't. Jesus willingly gave his life for me, for you, for each insignificant one of us. He gave without judgement, without condition, without blinking an eye and without an ounce of second guessing. And Jesus' message for us, for Christians, for Christ-followers is not that we seek out life, but that we give out life; not that we seek out blessing but that we become the blessing; not that we demand sacrifice but that we become willing living sacrifices for the sake of his Kingdom and the good of others.

There's something illuminating, something pure, something heavenly about taking care of the needy. Jesus told the rich young ruler who had everything and had apparently kept all of the commandments since his youth that there was just one thing he was still missing, to sell his possessions and give to the poor.

A few weeks ago I received a gift from a friend. It was book and inside the front cover read, "For the guy who has everything". It's true. I have everything. And most of you do too.

I'll never know the name of that bald little black girl from Africa.

I'll never know if she was sponsored or not.

I'll never know if she grows up to know Jesus or if she dies of starvation or disease before she becomes a teenager.

But I'm only one person.

And Jesus' message to love the poor and lay down our lives wasn't just for me. It was for you too.

Jesus said in Matthew, "If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor and you will have treasure in heaven."

It's more than hundred million dollar churches.

It's about loving the way Jesus loves.

It's about sacrifice and giving.

It's about meeting the needs of people.

It's about changing lives.

Maybe you're beginning to feel the urge, the conviction, the compassion to reach out this Christmas. There are children waiting. Perhaps, even the bald little black girl I passed by. I'm no representative for Compassion International, just a guy who feels the urgency to do what's right and ask others to do the same. There's always an excuse. There's always more time.

Try telling that to the 8-year-old Pakistani girl who was quoted in Newsweek as saying, "I want to have an easy job. A job where nobody hits us or hurts us."

I bet she could really use a friend. I bet she could really fall in love with a God who's sons and daughters opened their arms and wallets to her in a tangible expression of His love. And there are millions. What are you waiting for? Do something.

http://www.compassion.com