The Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi

"Lord, make me an instrument of Your peace.


Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon; where there is doubt, faith; where there is despair, hope; where there is darkness, light; and where there is sadness, joy.


O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console; to be understood as to understand; to be loved as to love.


For it is in giving that we receive; it is in pardoning that we are pardoned; and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.


Amen."

Heaven's Eyes

Choked up by reading Leif Hetland's book...


One or two put their heads in His bosom.  
 In His bosom, they feel honored.  
 On His lap, they feel safe.
 In His hands, they feel blessed.
 In His eyes, they feel loved.
 In His smile, they feel delighted in.


 And there on His lap, with that squirmy brood of children--so young, so innocent, so trusting--Jesus shows us a picture of the Kingdom of God with its King on His throne.  He places the least of these in the position of most honor, gathering them to His bosom and blessing them.


 Jesus knew exactly how they felt, and He fought back a nostalgic treat for the bosom of His Father that He had left so many years ago when He climbed down from the lap so we could climb up onto His."


Then they brought little children to Him, that He might touch them; but the disciples rebuked those who brought them.  But when Jesus saw it, He was greatly displease and said to them, "Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of God.  Assuredly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will by no means enter it."  And He took them up in His arms, laid His hands on them, and blessed them.


Before Jesus left this earth to return to the bosom of the Father. He cried out to the Father.  The time was late at night; the place, the Garden of Gethsemane.  Once there, Jesus walked a little way beyond where He had left Peter, James, and John, then fell to the ground and praying.  The writer to the Hebrews describes the scene one of anguish, tears, and loud crying (Heb. 5:7).  What Jesus cried out was "Abba! Father! All things are possible for You; remove this cup from Me yet not what I will, but what You will (Mark 14:36).


What exactly is going on in that Garden?  Jesus is afraid.  He is crying, loudly, and for a time, uncontrollably.   Suddenly He is a little boy again, climbing onto His Papa's lap, trembling, reaching up, and desperately clinging to His neck.  Asking Him--no, begging Him--for a reprieve.  In essence He pleads, "Papa, please.  The cup is too heavy; it's contents, too bitter.  Do I have to take it?  Must I drink it?  Is there no other way?"


Though the answer is hard, the lap is soft, and the Father's arms bundle His Son against the chill of night--warming Him, assuring Him, calming Him.  What began in tears, ended in trust.  What began as a request, ended as a relinquishment.  What began as a way out for the Son, ended as the way of salvation for the world. 


All because of the Father's lap.


And because of the Son who sat there, wept there, surrendered there.

My prayer is that I can lean into the bosom of Jesus.
To lean into all of my brokenness and lean into the heart of this very Man, Jesus.
To come as the child He sees me as.
To sit upon the lap of Abba and be loved as I am, a child.

I hear the Lord saying... "Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them.  For the Kingdom of Heaven belongs to these little ones."

The Reality of it All

 I prayed a simple prayer "God, open my eyes to see what You see today, open my ears to hear what You hear today, and open my heart to feel what You feel today."

I then went about my day, went down stairs to Starbucks, picked the girls up for work, drove to school, taught my second grade class, discussed random things in the lunch staff room, worked w/my student teacher, complained about the air conditioning not working in our school (seriously was 104 degrees today), drove home from work, went for a run in the gym, and went to the grocery store.  As I was shopping for groceries something happened.

THE CAR WASHER
As I parked my car in the parking garage of LuLu's Supermarket/Grocery Store.  I was approached by a car washer.  For those who are not familiar w/things in the UAE, here's some information.  In every mall or shopping center that you go to, there are car washers.  They are there simply for the convenience of car washing.  It's fairly cheap, done while you shop, and you have a clean car with no hassle of waiting in line.  This sounds great but there may be a catch or price to pay.  Are we the one's paying the price or might it be the worker.  These workers are known as one of the many jobs classified as "labor workers."  I was approached by this kid, I say kid because he looked to be about 16-18 years old.  He was from Pakistan.

Car Washer:  "excuse me, car wash?"

Me: Thought not spoken~(I honestly prefer to get my car cleaned at the petrol station because they clean the inside of your car as well.)

Me:  "No thank you."

Car Washer: "Please Mam. Please Mam. Can I wash your car.  It won't take long."

Me: Thought not spoken~ (He must really be low on car washes.  What if he doesn't make that much? How much does he make?  How did he get here? What is his story?)

Me: Okay.  Yes you can wash my car.  How much?

Car Washer: 20 dirham

Me: Thank you. Please keep the change. God bless u.

Car Washer: Thank you

The reality shown to me was that he is a young man, who came to the UAE upon hearing of a better job, with high expectations, sending money home for his family, overworked and underpaid.

I then proceeded to walk towards the entrance of Lulu's thinking of the Car Washer.

THE LABOR WORKER
Upon entering the grocery store, I grabbed a cart and began my shopping.  I was walking in the freezer section and this Pakistani man was walking in front of me.  He was wearing a wrinkled white cotton dress shirt, short khaki colored trousers, and black plastic sandals.  His hair was combed back (damp still from a washing) and his skin was dark from the sun.  The word "modest" popped into my mind.  He was pulling his empty grocery basket behind him.  He was headed for the frozen vegetable section but hesitated.  Looking at the bags of frozen vegetables he hesitated again.  Then looking the opposite direction towards the fresh baked bread isle,  he transitioned to the bread section.  He grabbed a bag of the freshly baked arabic bread, stared at it for a minute, and placed it into the empty blue grocery basket.

As I stood behind this man watching his shopping, I couldn't help but notice his gentleness.  It was like I was being allowed to feel his character, if this is at all possible.  I could sense and feel his gentle spirit and softness.  I was wondering why he was hesitating but deep down inside I knew the answer to this question.  Looking back at the man, he placed the bread in his basket and chose not to go down the frozen vegetable section.  As I looked at this man, tears began to well up in my eyes.  My heart began to hurt.  God was allowing me for a minute to feel this man's reality.  He is a hardworking man, shopping for food, with a modest appearance, a man with a good character and a good heart.  He is a man far from home, far from his family, trying to make ends meet by sending money home to his loved ones, a man underpaid and over-worked.

As I thought these things, I looked down in my grocery cart and began to feel an onset of embarrassment.  I had things in my cart, that some might not be able to afford.  What a contrast it is to live in one of the most richest cities in the world but to have some of the most underpaid and overworked laborers.  I though to myself "here I am buying the necessities of the week (or so I think they are necessities) and here this man might only be able to buy the bare minimals."  At this moment, I immediately lost my appetite for grocery shopping.  Maybe this is one of the reasons why I hate grocery shopping in the UAE so much.  I wanted to immediately push my grocery cart to the side and just walk out of the grocery store.  Why I didn't, I'm unsure of.  I assume that it would leave more work for some of the workers at the store.

THE GROCERY CLERK
As I pushed my cart to the check-out isle.  I began to place my items on the counter.  My items consisted of: cereal, granola bars, yoghurt, bananas, apples, arabic bread, flour tortillas, chicken, coffee creamer, milk, and pop-corn.  It's not as if I was buying a lot of food but I still couldn't shake the man from my mind.  As the clerk began to check out my items, I noticed her white collared shirt.  On her shirt was embroidered in big forest green stitching "Ministry of Labor."  I began to think of the term "Labor Workers" that is so well known in the UAE.  I always thought that the grocery stores were the ones who had hired out the clerks, bag boys, shelf stockers, and fruit and vegetable stockers.  I then began to notice all of the employees embroidery on their shirts.  The Ministry of Labor is the same organization that brings in the "labor workers" from the surrounding countries.  These include Pakistan, Indian, Bangladesh, Nepal, and the Philippines (these are just the main countries... there are a few more).  My heart began to swell up again.  Tears began to form in my eyes as the woman handed me my change from my purchase.  She smiled at me and said... "have a good evening." I blessed her and thanked the bag man twice.

THE CLEANER
As I was pushing my cart out the main door of the market.  I looked to my left and saw a man who was cleaning the floors.  He was sweeping up some of the trash.  He looked up and was gazing at a family walking by.  He was from India and I would say that he was about 20 years old.  He was just a kid.  My attention went towards the family, which were also from India.  It's quite funny but this young man actually looked so much like the family, that if it had not been for his "cleaning labor uniform" and their traditional indian wear,  I would have thought he was with them.  The family consisted of a grandmother, mother, father, and baby.  The  young man was staring at the father pushing the grocery cart.  The father was holding a baby bottle and feeding the baby who was sitting in the front seat of the grocery cart.   The mother was helping the elderly grandmother walk towards the exit.  The father's laugh echoed through the corridor of Lulu's market while he was trying to get his son to feed off of the bottle.  The young man's gaze had turned to a look of sorrow, his shoulders began to sulk, as he continued to work.  It looked as if a sense of home-sickness had hit him.  He walked away from the family with his back towards them and continued to sweep trash (that was not really there.)  He walked slowly towards the railing of the wall, memories coming to him, and homesickness over-flooding him.  I don't know how it is that I knew all of this with just one glance of the scene but I did.  As I looked upon this scene, tears began to fill my eyes again.   God was allowing me again to feel this young man's reality.  He is young man-boy who is far away from home, who came to the UAE with hopes of a better future, trying to send money home to his family but desperately homesick while doing this, not allowed to leave until his contract is fulfilled/completed (probably couldn't leave if he tried).  As I walked out the doors and into the parking garage my heart began to swell up again.  I began praying to God. "It hurts. It hurts."

THE PARKING LOT ATTENDANT 
As I made my way to my car.  I noticed a man standing by a Mercedes SUV.  It was as if he was standing there watching it but he seemed lost all the while.  He saw me walking towards him and he looked at me with an emotionless expression.  He stood there watching, waiting, for what?... maybe time to pass by.  I noticed his belly sticking out probably due to eating so much indian food, for as many indian restaurants as there are.  He continued to stand in the same spot watching/waiting.  He was on duty watching the parking garage.  As I pushed the cart to my car, which was parked right next to the Mercedes; I looked back at the parking lot attendant and then again to the Mercedes.   I couldn't help but to think of the contrast again of this city.  People who are so rich but then people who are so poor. I then focused on him, he was standing in the same place, with the same look, facing the same direction, still seeming lost.  I put my 5 bags into my backseat and pushed the cart to the spot where all the other carts had been pushed.  I got into my car, rolled my windows down, and turned my car on.  As I pulled out of my spot and drove off, I glanced at the attendant again.  He looked saddened and helpless. Or was this hopelessness?  What was his story? How did he get here? I slightly smiled at him as tears welled up in my eyes again.  Once again, God was allowing me to feel the reality.

As I drove home, I couldn't shake the feelings from the car washer, the labor worker, the grocery clerk, the cleaning man, and the parking lot attendant.  I can only explain it as if it felt like an ache or arrow in my heart.  Tears welled up and I began praying for each one.  As I walked into my apartment and placed my groceries on my floor, I continued to pray.