Day 1
“We are His portion and He is our prize
Drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes
If His grace is an ocean we’re all sinking.
Heaven meets Earth like an unforeseen kiss
And my Heart turns violently inside of my chest.
I don’t have time to maintain these regrets
When I think about the way
He loves us, oh how He loves us.”
We arrived in the city yesterday a little late, and by the
time we checked into the hotel and got situated it was almost 8 o’clock. We’re
staying at the Edison Hotel, which is a three minute walk from the TKTS Booth
in the center of Times Square. On my block, Idina Menzel, Matthew Morrison, and
Tyne Daily perform daily and I can get an eight dollar Jamba Juice down the
street.
God is teaching me right now to keep my eyes open for the
possibility of doing His work at every moment. As I’m studying the Bible, I’m
realizing that we are not sent on mission trips but on mission. So many times
we in America pretend like God “calls us to stay at home” rather than become a
foreign missionary, but we forget that when He calls us He equips us to do every good work. I think that we get so
wrapped up in our day to day lives that sometimes we forget to do even one good work. What we are really saying
is that God, for some reason, called us to be comfortable. But He never did.
Yesterday I saw no one to talk to, but I have no doubt I
would have if I had been looking. We were all hungry and exhausted and just
made a beeline for the restaurant. I stuffed my face last night with salad,
mozzarella wedges, and pizza. We sat with noticeably affluent people and I felt
completely comfortable.
This morning I practically begged God to not make me hand
out these coats and gloves. I mean it. I begged Him. I am an introvert in the
most sincere way and striking up conversations and sustaining them is not my
strong suit. I am just an awkward person around people I don’t know. I’m not
proud, it’s just facts. So when one of my students informed me that it looked
like it will be nearly 50 degrees today, I thanked the Lord that I was not going to have to reach out this
morning. Which is such an odd thing to thank the God of compassion for, because
I’m positive that He did not do this for me, but as a way of smiling down on
the downtrodden. I don’t want to give them a coat to keep warm, so He will warm
up bitterly cold New York City to 50 degrees.
I left the hotel to grab something to eat around nine, and
almost as soon as I walked out of my hotel, I saw a woman, probably around 50,
digging in the trash. You guys, she was
digging in the trash. Can we all just let that sink in? A being that is
created in the very image of God was rifling through garbage. For what?
Something to wear? Sell? Eat? Where
are we, Christians?
I knew that God wanted me to stop. So, I mustered up my
courage, walked over to her, and said, “Ma’am? Have you eaten this morning?” At
this point, I am sure that God is going to have me take this woman to a diner
and eat with her. I am dreading conversation. Dreading. The woman looks at me and responds:
“No English.”
Instead of the relief at not having to talk to a person, my
heart absolutely breaks. This woman who is digging
in the trash (have you noticed that I am just now grasping the absolute
desperation of this act?) can’t understand the words of someone who is trying
to help her. She can’t even accept help when it is offered.
So, in vain, I tried some version of sign language, lifting
my hand to my mouth and saying, “eat?” over and over, like a lunatic (At this
point, if you are reading this and know Spanish, now would be a great time to
head to the comments and tell me how to ask people if they are hungry or need
warm clothing). She just smiled sweetly at me, so I pressed three dollars into
her hand and said “Buy something to eat,” which, you know, I’m sure she did not
understand, but she looked very happy and said, “Thank you,” and we parted
ways.
I went into a hole in the wall diner to grab some food and
coffee. I’ve been trying to eat a bit healthier lately, so on a whim I grabbed
a fruit salad and some coffee. I got it to go and went back to the hotel lobby
to eat it. Readers, I am allergic to
almost every fruit in the world. So I ate the bananas, grapes, and oranges,
leaving a lot of apples, melon, and pineapple. Like... an entire meal. At the
time, I was trying to fathom my stupidity and almost threw the rest of it away.
I just saw a woman digging through the trash and I almost threw away, not only
a meal, but a really really nutritious meal. Jesus knows that I’m hard to
teach. God stopped me and reminded me what I am actually here for- not just in
New York, but on this Earth- and I went back outside, sure that I would
immediately find exactly the person I needed to give the rest of the fruit to
and that I would find them immediately.
I walked for twenty minutes. I saw not a single homeless
person. In New York City, I saw not a
single homeless person.
I thought I was running out of time (turns out I am just
reeling from the time change still- Springing forward and changing time zones
is messing with me), so I turned around to head back. I was approaching the
corner where I would turn to get to my hotel, and there she was. Sitting on the
corner with a sign that said “Every Little Bit Helps.” She had mocha skin,
shoulder length hair, and a sweet, sweet face. Probably in her 30s. I knew. I
knew she was it.
I took a deep breath, and dove in. Awkwardly.
“Um, do you like fruit?”
Oh my gosh. I am such
a weirdo.
She looks up at me, smiling. Bright, straight, white teeth.
Teeth that have probably had braces. Braces paid for by a mom or dad or
grandparent who loved her and thought she was worth it.
“Sure!”
“Awesome! Here!”
I did it! I can walk
away!
As I walked to the corner, I hear another person say, “Aw!
We almost could have made it across!” Which means that the signal just turned.
So I have a good minute to wait on this corner before I can cross.
God nudges.
I shakily walk back to her.
“Hey! What is your name?”
“Christina.”
“Hi, Christina, my name is Kasey.” I shake her hand. “Do you
come here every day?”
“I try to. Sometimes I’m down in the square.”
She is articulate and obviously kind. She looks me squarely
in the eyes and smiles kindly at me. As if I am the one in need of kindness.
“Um... if I come here tomorrow about nine will you be here?”
“Yeah! I can try to be!”
“Ok. Well, I will see you tomorrow then.”
And with that, I walk away with tears in my eyes. And I know
that she is the one God wanted me to meet in New York. He has ordained all of
my steps and He knew when we were both being knit together in the womb that one
day we would meet. When I prayed that God would send someone to me that I could
really connect with and form a relationship with, He knew it was her. When I
prayed that that person’s heart would be ready for a friendship with me, He
softened her heart. He has kept her safe until this moment. He loves her, and
so I love her. She is made in His image.
And He placed her on the corner of 47th and 8th.
My hotel is on 47th between 7th and 8th.
God, please let her be there tomorrow. Keep her safe until
then and make us both prompt for our divine meeting.
“I know the number of the hairs on your head.
I’m Jehovah Jireh. I am God your Provider
I’m Jehovah Jireh
Are not two sparrows sold for a penny and not one of them
falls to the ground
Without your Father knowing?
And even the hairs of your head are all numbered
Fear not
You are more valued than many sparrows.”
- “Provider” from cover:
a play about trafficking (adapted from Luke 12)
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