Message in a Bottle

Sometimes, I get the feeling that I am a message in a bottle. I have no control over where I go, when I am discovered, and who opens me, but I know that God is in control and that I definitely have a message burning in my heart. I wish I could read it, I really do.

Tonight I went with some friends to give away bags of groceries. It is the end of the month and the economy these days makes it difficult for my own family near the end of the month. There are times that I cancel with people simply to make certain that I have enough gas to get through the rest of the month. The people we were seeing weren’t sure what they were going to eat –what they were going to feed their children – the rest of the month.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, to be honest. Would people, like so many I encountered, be reluctant to accept what we were offering – no strings attached? I’m thinking ‘out loud’ right now but I think that one of the most difficult things to overcome in ministry is the cynicism that shouts, “Nothing in life is free.” It’s really no wonder, too, when even we asked if we could pray for or with them. About half of the people I spoke with accepted both the groceries and the prayer but it was mostly because they were being polite. I could hear in the back of my head what they were thinking, “I knew there was a catch!”

I met a woman tonight. She said she didn’t want prayer but everything in my heart cried to pray for her. When the guys with me walked away, I whispered that I would be praying for her anyway- all week long. She started crying and I asked her name. As she sobbed her story in between apologies and my assurances, I ached. I ached because there was nothing I could do. What was a bag of groceries against an injury that stole her job? Against the untimely death of her father? Against the knowledge that, in less than a month, she and her three children would be homeless? Against the knowledge that she wasn’t, in fact, a citizen (though she grew up believing otherwise until she applied for Medicaid to fix her injured shoulder)? Nothing, that’s what. It is nothing.

I prayed. I prayed that God would heal her shoulder, restore the favor of her employer, breathe peace on her, and some joy to get her through.

“I want to die,” she said, “but it’s a sin.”

“It’s a sin I’ve struggled with, though, I understand.”

“I won’t do it. It’s a sin.”

“Hang on to that.”

“It’s all I’ve got.”

I prayed that God would help her through this dark night and into the dawn of a new morning. I prayed that God would love on her and begin to show her He has a purpose just for her, if she wanted it.

“I’m sorry. I don’t even know you.”

“I believe that God brings us the people we need. You didn’t know me yesterday. Now you do.”

“I’m sorry.”

I realized, on the drive home tonight, that I don’t like this door to door flesh meet flesh ministry. It makes me want to whither up inside when I don’t have something more to give these children that God places before me. God heals. God does miraculous things. I know this. I want to live there. I want to be the one who says, “God loves you and wants you whole. Let’s pray for Him to heal you.” And He does. I need the power of God or I need to do something else. Anything in between is too painful.

My prayer is simply this: God, go with me or don’t send me.

I don’t know exactly what this has to do with the feeling that I am a message in a bottle, but I know it is related. God’s told me to stop asking what this vision inside me looks like, what it sounds like, what it reads as but He keeps instilling this hunger in me. Sometimes I think this process will kill me before I understand what is happening. And yet, and yet.... something is happening.