Jun 3, 2015

They ARE My Monkeys

It's easy to detach from the craziness of the world. You simply deny responsibility for the situation by holding up your hand and saying "Not my circus. Not my monkeys."

My dilemma is that they ARE my monkeys.

The ones who are hurt. The ones who are hungry. The ones who are abused. The neglected ones. The addicted ones. The imperfect ones. The broken ones. The rebellious ones. The angry ones. The sad ones.

The ones whose irreversible decisions are blasted all over social media and the cover of Vanity Fair, who do not know the God that I know.

They don't know about healing, redemption, or restoration. They don't know that God can take their pain and make something beautiful of it if they will give it to Him.

All they know is their pain. And they think that hurting themselves will make the pain of emptiness go away, because they just don't know another path to take.

Oh God, send someone to reach the hurting, the ones who don't know what to do with that hurt. Send someone who can teach them about Jesus, and His sacrifice that made us reconciled. We don't have to do anything else. Jesus paid the price, took the hurt for us.

Oh God, dear Lord, send me.

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