Several years ago, I led a youth and mission trip to Mathare Valley, Kenya, Africa. I later found out that I was the first to bring a group of high schoolers to these African slums for this type of trip. We also brought along a few adult leaders and a couple of nurses. Looking back, I am grateful it went as well as it did. We worked with local schools and churches, providing renovations, education, and medical treatments. We saw great levels of poverty, sickness, death, and even murder. It was life-changing.
While visiting one of the centers we were helping, a little girl about eight years old grabbed my hand and did not let go. For the rest of the day, she went with me everywhere. It was as if she adopted me for the day, and I was honored to be chosen by her. She did not ask me for anything but to hold her hand, be close to her, and see her world.
Eventually, it was time for us to leave, and she quietly let me go. I did not really think about it until my wife and oldest son, Parker, picked me up from the airport several days later. We were almost to the car in the airport parking garage when I picked up Parker, who was about a year old at the time, and I felt his cheek touch my skin. It immediately triggered me back to the feeling of the skin of the little African girl’s cheek touching the skin of my arm as she often leaned into me while holding my hand. I began to weep.
Even as I am writing this, the memory from over fifteen years ago is still fresh. And the tears are now welling up. The best way I can explain the cluster of emotions and thoughts behind the weeping is that we were able to do a lot of good while we were there, but there is still so much work to be done. I never knew the name of that little girl, but in that moment and to this day, she represents the little girl I left behind. She embodies all that I didn’t do. I saw her world, and I could only do so much about it. I want so much more for her and children like her.
In the days after the trip, I noticed many of the adult leaders and some of the teens went through a bit of depression. We had to grieve what we saw and how little we could do about it in the moments we were there. But I also saw a compulsion to do more about it weeks and months after the trip. I watched trip participants start a shoe drive for those kids in Africa. Another person created a 5K race to raise support for the mission. Others collected donations of medical supplies to send over. I watched students decide to become ministers and missionaries. I decided to spend my energy creating a path for future trips like this for others to see and build a teen missions program that would prepare and eventually lead teens to Africa. This and more happened because when we saw the suffering, we were compelled to do something about it.
When Jesus saw and heard suffering, He was compelled to do something about it. He even broke down weeping when the people around Him were hurting. The work of Jesus did not stop two thousand years ago. God is still doing something about and with our suffering. And He often does some of His best work through people like us. Will you allow Him to compel you to make a difference?
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