Changing my eyes.

"But to all who did receive him, who did believe in his name, he gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor the will of man, but of God." (John 1:12 ESV)


A few weeks ago I had coffee with a friend of mine. Just to catch up and chat and see how everything was going for the other person. At least, it started out that way. But by the end, it turned into her placing a huge challenge in front of me that seems insurmountable. And the funny thing is, I'm not sure she even realized it.

We were talking about me finishing up my time here. The things I'll miss, the things I'm excited for, the anxieties I have.

I shared with her my biggest fear about returning home...

That I won't be able to love on any kids in America the way that I love on my kids here in Nepal. That I'll be detached from serving them, which used to be one of my favorite ways to spend my time. I'm terrified that I'll always compare them to my kids, that I won't be able to minister to them because I'll size their problems up to the problems that my kids are faced with.

When I was finished, and I stepped down from my soap box, she looked at me and hit me with it. "You are going to have to start seeing them as GOD'S kids, not YOUR kids."

GAH.

Right in the kisser.

When she said it, I immediately stored it away in my "don't think about it" box in the back of my mind. It rang so true to me, and revealed such an ugly spot in my heart, that I didn't want to dwell on it. I wanted her to take it back, or at least to pretend like she never said it.

And I did just that. I pushed it out of my mind and continued on calling them my kids. Laying claim where I have none, and ignoring the title that I should be giving them.

Until this last week, when I broke some hard news to my class 5 students. I knew that, being a bit younger, they would need a little more time than the older students to understand what I mean when I say I'm returning to America in October. So I decided to tell them on Monday.

I drew a Hangman's Noose on the whiteboard and a series of blanks next to it to form a sentence. And one by one they guessed letters to fill in the spaces. I could almost hear the wheels in their heads turning as we played their favorite game. When it was complete, the phrase read "After two months I will return to America."

This class tends to have a flair for the dramatic, but I had no idea the emotional train that was barreling down upon me.

Angry eye daggers thrown my way. Questions of "Why?" and "How come you don't want to stay with us?" And tears. Oh, the tears.

After doing my best to explain the situation to them, I left the class quite frazzled. And on my walk home, I spent a lot of time talking with God about my hurting heart, and all of theirs. I really thought they would brush it off, thinking that two months was a really long time away. But I was a bit off on that assumption.

Their hurt made my hurt multiply. I knew it was going to be hard telling my kids that I was leaving, but I had not anticipated this level of difficulty.

As I talked with God, I could feel him speaking to my heart. Not in the I-heard-God's-voice-in-an-audible-way kind of way, but in the His-truth-rang-true-in-my-heart kind of way. And my friend's words came back to me. These children are HIS kids. Not mine.

I knew she was right all along, but I didn't want her to be. I wanted to hold on to these children with everything I have. But instead, I am choosing to lay them at His feet. Even though they were never really mine to begin with. I'm giving up the hold I had, the claim I laid.

Not to say that I don't love my kids, or want to spend every moment I can with them. Just that I am beginning to see them differently. To see them through God's eyes, not just my own earthly ones.

What an incredibly beautiful sight that is.