Compassion, grace, and judgement.

"What shall we say then? Is there injustice on God's part? By no means! For he says to Moses, "I will have mercy on whom I have mercy, and I will have compassion on whom I have compassion."" (Romans 9:14-15 ESV)


What an incredible time spent away with friends! I'm truly beyond blessed to have had the opportunity to travel and see parts of this world that I hadn't hoped to experience.

And while I had the most amazing time basking in the warmth, laughing with friends, and resting, my heart was wrestling with God over something...

Over the course of the trip, I was witness to two different older men, on two different occasions that were taking vacations with Filipino escorts they had hired. And they were by no means ashamed of this. The girls were you, around my age. And their eyes were...hollow. Their smiles half-hearted. Their actions clearly rehearsed.

My heart was crushed a little more each time I saw these two "couples." I wanted to wrap those girls up in my arms and tell them everything was going to be ok. That Jesus loved them more than they could imagine, more than anything they had ever done. And if only they would look to Him, God would no longer see their sin, but rather the righteousness of our Savior.

And I found myself growing angry. Angry at these men for paying for the services of the escorts. Mad at these girls for not seeing their true worth. And, as hard as it is for me to admit this right now, I was becoming angry with God.

I wanted to yell. At everyone. "CAN'T YOU SEE WHAT'S HAPPENING HERE? DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?" It wasn't fair. It's NOT fair. God, why is this happening to them? Why aren't you smiting these men, and rescuing these girls? Why don't I have the power to help them? Why? Why? Why?

But all I could manage was a tight smile and polite conversation.

I have never felt injustice so relevantly as I did on this vacation. And it made my blood boil.

And it seemed as though on every corner there were young children, no more than 5 or 6, begging for money. My weakness. And again, I found myself becoming angry with God.

We have had this conversation many times, God and me. And I thought I was finally at a place where I could handle it, cope with it. Apparently not.

There was one little girl in particular. Her eyes were crusted over. She was wearing a slip of a dress in the pouring rain. Begging for money. I couldn't even look her in the eye. I just kept walking.

I. Kept. Walking.

How desperately she needed to be loved. To receive a hug. To be told how beautiful she looked in her pink flowered dress. To be given a glimpse of Jesus' love for her.

God, why do these kids need to live like this? Why can't you provide for their families? Why can't you give salvation to their pimps so that they can go free? Why couldn't I find the compassion to give her a smile? To hold her hand?

I've never prayed so much. Asking...more like demanding...God to answer my questions. Like he owes me something. Like I deserve an answer. And every time I yelled at him, every time I laid blame upon the Spotless Lamb, he gave me back something that I will never deserve.

GRACE.

Grace, and Isaiah 55:8-9, "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares The Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts."

I don't understand why those girls are in the escort business...why those children are begging on the street. I will probably never understand. But I do know one thing, I need to be the best example of Jesus to them, and everyone, that I can. I might be the only "Jesus" somebody sees that day. And I need to live how Jesus did: loving each person who crossed his path, and always giving glory to God.

And I need to leave judgement in God's hands. It's not my place to cast judgment on those men. Or those girls. Or the kids. Or their pimps. My job is simply to love them. All the time. No matter what. My sins are just as grave as theirs.

My heart is devastated. Racked with pain and the feeling of injustice. But I have faith, and hope, that as I continue to talk to God about this, he will calm my heart. Give me peace. Remind me of his complete, divine sovereignty. And I pray that I never lose this sense of hurt. I want God to ALWAYS break my heart the way his breaks. To ALWAYS see his children the way he sees them. And I want to ALWAYS run to his arms when I do.