Over my life, often in singular moments, individuals have profoundly touched my life. The ripples of their words or actions continue to drive change in my soul. Candidly, the initial experience was not always positive, yet the way God used it is evidence of a miracle.
As I mull a new day, with the fresh soft warmth of a new sun flooding the apartment, I find myself remember, thanking, and crying over faces where I have longed forgotten their name. I am angry with myself for forgetting how others addressed them, especially because I can finally see God’s hand in their life and mine. It is odd how I remember them.
To the angels of God providing service, especially in the hotels of South India, I reflect and see the sparkle in their eyes, smiles that never end, and laughter from the heart. In many cases, I did not focus on their presence. I do not think I took them for granted. More accurately, I was consumed by the chaos and demands of the day. It was a careless act on my part, one that I often fail to rectify or change.
To the sages of God, imparting wisdom when least expected it, in moments when is was desperately needed, I find myself remembering them by the dirty lens in their glasses, the rumbled shirts, or the hard pressed starched creased yet profoundly stained clothing. In each case, I was listening to their conversation yet I was never fully engaged. The power that came from the truth of their words caught my attention and arrested my drifting mind. Even in that moment, I knew their words would always be with me.
I find my mind realizing how often I do not see, fail to hear God. I’m not the first. An old observation is as true now as it was then; “He was looked down on and passed over, a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand. One look at him and people turned away. We looked down on him, thought he was scum.” (Isaiah 53.3)
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