It is never much fun to confess your sins, but God tells us to. When we confess we become more transparent, we are humbled in our own weaknesses, and perhaps others can avoid making the same mistakes. Confession is the opposite of excuse-making… and how easy it is to make excuses.
The last full day we were in Namibia I woke up about 4:30 to prepare for a busy morning. We went to Community Hope School and I shared a few words at their 7:30 chapel service before our kids performed a skit about Esther. Everyone worked hard throughout the morning and as the students were released for a recess break, Suzanne and I drove into Windhoek to buy groceries for the evening meal and to visit the bank. As we were walking down the sidewalk of this very clean, German-influenced city I gave a little change to a handicapped man in a wheelchair. As our missionary friends gave a brief orientation the day we arrived in Africa, Suzanne shared that they made it a practice not to give money to people begging. “We’ve found this does not really help the situation as many really want to shirk the responsibility of work.” After I gave to the man in the wheelchair, I explained to Suzanne a lesson I had learned from a homeless friend in Atlanta who also warned against handing out money on the street. “But Dana, if a guy can’t walk or if a guy can’t see, give him something because he usually really needs it.” Suzanne agreed.
After returning to the school our young people wrapped up the day and said farewell to the children of Community Hope School. It is amazing how attached teenagers can get to children in just a few days. We all had quite a bit of clean-up to do, especially a work crew who had been assigned to paint the boys’ bathroom that week. The school rents a church building so we wanted to be sure to leave everything in tip-top condition. Finally it looked like the work was complete and all the team except me and Susan piled into a van to head back to the home base. After everyone left, Susan and I found some work that had not been completed so we had to do it ourselves. The work actually involved getting down on our knees to scrub a floor, but eventually we finished and went to the car to wait on Suzanne to give us a ride home. There were only four or five school children left on the campus and they walked with us to the car asking a million questions and hoping we would carry them on our shoulders or toss them in the air. But to tell you the truth, I was tired. We had been going hard for nine or ten hours and neither Susan or I had much energy left. We simply said good-bye under a blazing hot afternoon sun.
As Susan climbed into the back seat of the car, I turned to see if Suzanne was on her way and a man appeared directly in front of me. He must have come from off the street into the enclosed property. His head was turned at a peculiar angle and he walked with a severe limp. His arms were a bit disfigured and I supposed he had muscular dystrophy. “Sir,” he said, “Could you help me?” I saw Suzanne step out of the building. “No, we’re leaving. Go into the church; someone can help you there.” I was confident the man was going to ask for money and I had already broken Suzanne’s rule once that day. “Sir, I just need a little assistance.” I nodded my head and pointed to the church building. Then the man started knocking on the back window of the car to get Susan’s attention. “Sister, can you tell me what time it is?” I told the man we were leaving and he’d need to find someone else. Thankfully a handyman who worked at the church walked by and the poor man limped over to him and made this request: “Someone has given me a watch. My arm does not work very well and I just need someone to help me change the time.” As I got in the car, I remember thinking, “Well, I’m not too good at changing time on a watch anyway.” As we exited the parking lot, Suzanne asked, “Who was that man?” “Just someone asking for help,” I muttered as we pulled away.
As we drove down the road, I looked back and saw the man hobbling across the dirt parking lot and God spoke something I’ll never forget: “That was my Son.” For the next four or five hours I was totally crushed as I faced these horrible admissions: A poor man came to me and I sent him away. One of the ‘least of these’ asked for assistance and I refused to help. An African man with an obvious handicap appeared in front of my very eyes on a mission trip and I literally did not give him the time of day. Jesus (in disguise) asked if I would serve him a moment and I said “No” because I was really tired. What was I thinking?
When you fail miserably in life, here’s the best thing to do: go straight to the mercy seat of God, humble yourself, and pour out your heart to the Father. I asked if there was a way I could get a re-do and the answer was “No.” I asked for forgiveness and the answer was “Yes.” I asked for instruction and the answer is below. I asked that God send someone else to show a poor man his love and perhaps He did. I know the original plan was that I serve, but I failed. This familiar Scripture has taken on a deeper meaning as I am learning to expect him.
“Be dressed and ready for service and keep your lamps burning, like men waiting on their master to return from a wedding banquet, so that when he comes and knocks they can immediately open the door for him. It will be good for those servants whose master finds them watching when he comes… It will be good for those servants whose master finds them ready, even if he comes in the second or third watch of the night… You also must be ready, because the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.” Luke 12:35-40
