We’ve left our pieces of our hearts in every corner of the globe. They’re in the hands of sweet-faced orphans in India and roughnecks in Honduras. They linger in airports, unwilling to hop on the plane to the U.S., or in train stations, one foot on and one foot off the boarding platform. The dirt of the countries is stained across our palms; the smells linger in our noses; the noises are still in our ears.
And in our dreams, we see the faces of the ones we can’t stand to forget.
We’re a house full of refugees, running from the American dream, the prosperity gospel and the lie that one person can’t change the world.
Because our worlds got wrecked by the one they call the Christ.
We’re unsatisfied with “life as we knew it.” We have kingdom minded dreams. We’re pressing in and seeking out and hungry all the time. And the King has taken our little dreams and stretched them out across the sky.
We are learning dependence and vulnerability and community like our lives depended on it.
And they do.
And we are learning to say with Paul, “Oh the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!” (Rom. 11) To worship with our talents and not only our mouths. That tithing is an all-encompassing affair, reaching beyond our wallets and onto our calendars.
For where our treasure is, you will find our hearts.
And our hearts are in pieces across the world, in the hands of precious abandoned daughters in Malaysia and prostitutes in Little Mexico and roommates with aching bones.
Our passports are not the only thing permanently marked. Also, our memories. Also, our stories. Also, our verbs. Also, our souls. Also, our God, who draws us into awe and reverent, fearful, abandoned love and doesn’t let us go.
Who is this King of Glory? The LORD, strong and mighty. -Psalm 24:8