Wanna be your hands. Wanna be your feet.

So just this past weekend, my husband and I (and our entire Sunday school class) were invited to join an older more experienced Sunday school class for an evening in Paris (at the church, of course).  It was a lovely evening filled with yummy food, photographs, and OMGsh desserts!  We played a couple fun games, one being a get-to-know-each-other game by spending a few minutes swapping bits of information.  So I had the privilege of getting to know a man named Sam. He is a kind-hearted, hard-working man who is terrible at golf; a skill lack-of skill I can completely relate to.  He shared with me that he went, on two separate occasions, to Panama to do mission work.  He shared the work he and his team did there and in sharing about his work, I could see his heart for the people he served.  He said the little children would run up to them and want to be held by them.  He said it broke his heart that there were some who wouldn't carry these children.  There were some who wouldn't get dirty.  I saw his heart when he said, "what's wrong with these people?  We are to be like Jesus.  Pick these children up.  Play with them.  Love them."  Then he lowered his head in thought.

Him saying this made me think.  It made me think about my childhood.  You see, I was one of these "dirty" children.  I mean this metaphorically.  My mother was strict about cleanliness, so we never looked dirty but we were very poor.  We lived in homeless shelters on a few occasions.  We ate at homeless shelters when we didn't have food.  We didn't have fancy clothes or drive a fancy car (if we had a car).  We often rode the public transportation.  We often went to the church for help.  Not to attend or be converted, but just to receive help.  And the church always stepped in to help.  I can remember this one family in particular who brought us a Christmas dinner and gifts.  It made my heart swell because not only did I see grown adults helping us, I saw their children helping us.  Kids our age.  I think about this family often and I KNOW one day I will meet them again.  You see, they weren't afraid to get dirty.  They didn't care what their friends thought of them by associating with poor people as they drove into our neighborhood.  They didn't enter our apartment to point out faults and reasons behind our circumstances.  They entered our neighborhood to love us.  Period.  They loved and they left and they trusted.  They trusted that God would finish the work He began in us.  In me.

I love to see and know Christians who are not afraid to get dirty.  They are not afraid to be seen with "dirty" people.  They are not afraid to love these people.  They are not afraid to serve these people.  They are not afraid to love and leave and trust that God will finish His work in their life.  I don't ever want to forget where I come from and the grace God has shown me all my life, even before I knew Him.  I don't EVER want to think I'm too clean, or righteous, or blessed, or worthy to get dirty.