Five Minute Friday – Broken
(Disclaimer to my readers – Today I link up with fellow writers. This is a challenge. A group to join. A prompting by another woman I like to just.sit.down. every Friday and write for only five minutes. That’s it.
Which is roughly how long it takes for me to write my normal first sentence. Ahem. So, lest some of you start dancing joyfully with glee that my post is shorter – it is advised that thy shouldn’t get thyself used to it. In Jesus’ Name.) READ MORE HERE.
Five Minute Friday – BROKEN.
I have to be honest with you –
I live in a rich, white bubble.
It’s true. And, I don’t mean to sound racist or prejudice or anything else ugly. I’m just saying…it is what it is. If you were to stand on the street corner two miles from my house, at the major intersection of two roads – you would see more luxury cars than five-year-old cars. You would see more educated people than uneducated people. Most of them would be white. ALL of them would be upper class, or at least upper-middle class. Some of them are even in the super dooper upper class.
There is not ‘bad’ area of town. There is no crime. There is no real glimpse into the outside world.
So, unless I am purposeful and drive thirty minutes in any direction – I live my daily commute (aka. to the carpool line, Wal-Mart, preschool and church) then I would never ever see the poor.
But, oh, my friend, how that doesn’t mean I don’t see the broken.
The broken are rich, too.
The broken are white, too.
The broken are everywhere.
But once my head leveled off, I found myself. My true self. I found the place God wanted me. Not selling everything I own and moving to the ghetto (my initial response) and also not sluffing it off and calling too radical.
I found the place He would have me be.
And this place is acknowledging the broken everywhere I go. To the salon. To the homeless church. To the elite boutique
to use the bathroom, clearly. To the person next to me at church. To the man sweeping the floors at my kid’s overprivleged public school.
Brokenness is everywhere.
This was proven to me today in a large way.
Months ago – amidst my beloved tailspin, I wrote a blog about a man I met named Mr. John Tucker. I hadn’t thought about him in months, so I count today a blessing for the sheer reminder to pray for him. But, today, a man commented on my blog post from last October — and I’ll admit, he was a hata.
He judged me, criticized me, and bashed me for my act of kindness to Mr. John Tucker. Why?
Because Mr. John Tucker is homeless.
Oh ya, did I not mention that?
He was probably on drugs. He smelled of feces. He perhaps conned us out of that $20 that day. And, he may even be into all types of illegal things. But, maybe not. I don’t know. You know Who does? The One who made him.
The same Jesus who broke His body for me. For Mr. John Tucker. AND for the hata on my blog.
The rage he spoke about this homeless man he’d never met – reminded this rich, white girl of one thing.
Brokenness is everywhere.
You can choose to serve the broken wealthy. You can choose to serve the broken poor. But, choose something.
So, I ask you…
Who is more broken? Who is more poor?
The man with nothing to his name, and no worth to so many people?
Or the man who judges him and casts him aside?
I think I know that answer.