I have this thought running through my head: this is an emergency.
And I can’t stop thinking about tiny faces framed by malnutritioned, brittle white hair and bloated bellies and feet covered in sores and filled with larvae. I just can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t stop thinking about the dying, starving, aching, loveless children. And I want to be there. I want to hold them and heal them and pray over them and laugh with them. I want them to know that they matter. I want to devote my lifes work to them, the least of the little children in the world. Not to posters for the “The Spirited Stuffy Boston Woman” conference, or the annual art gallery or the church bicentennial dinner that the catering alone cost enough to feed 2,334 children for an entire month in Africa (yes, I did the exact math). This is not the church. This is not what Jesus called us to do. Yesterday I placed the order for the trivia cards meant to commemorate 200 years of faithfulness to the Lord. It cost $2000, sans labor. That’s 67 children who could have eaten for a month. Or maybe recieved medical treatment. Or maybe just gone to a family towards adoption fees or the ten thousand other ways I could think to spend that money that would seemingly be more inline with the gospel.
We are stewards. And disciples. What in the world are we doing?
I have to quit my job. My integrity demands it. I cannot work for a church that uses their money this way. I feel sick to my stomach and I can’t do it any more. Please pray that God will provide something new. That will a work of love for Him & His beloveds. Pray for the little ones, and use your money wisely.
So I have spent the day weeping. The depths of my soul cries out: This is an emergency.