It was a beautiful place. The warm waters of the Indian Ocean lapped the silver sand and well-padded sun-beds invited us to stretch out under the shade of the tamarisk trees. Smiling waiters constantly came by with iced drinks, and no request was too much trouble. 'It is my job to make your holiday happy' said the pool attendant as I thanked him for bringing me a towel. It was a little piece of paradise, exclusive and gift-wrapped, protected by security men and high fences.
Early one morning we left the beach and the dining tables with their crisp white cloths, which clustered around the swimming pool, and went out into the African village beyond the gates. Here we found a very different world. Chickens scratched at the side of the road, and a little girl walked to school from her one-roomed home with its corrugated iron roof, picking her way carefully down a deeply rutted unmade-up road. Local people squeezed 15 deep into small vans or 'matatus', if they were lucky enough to have a job to travel to, while many others simply sat under the trees, hoping that someone would come along and offer them a days' casual labour. It was a million miles from the comparative luxury that lay just beyond the hotel gates.
As we returned for our breakfast from the 'all that you could eat buffet' I felt as if I was slipping back into a gold fish tank, insulated and sheltered from the real world. 'Hakuna Matata' - no worries - for the guests at Turtle Bay, even though poverty, disease and need of every kind waited beyond its gates. 'Father' I whispered 'is this how we are as Christians?' Staying within our protected environment, hugging your lavish provision to ourselves? Caring little for those who are in such need, and failing to tell the spiritually starving where to find bread?'
Of course it isn't just in the two-thirds world that we find poverty, sickness and spiritual need. In the pleasant market town where I live in Britain, approximately 40 men and a few women sleep rough at night, whatever the weather. Week after week, in the court where I serve as a magistrate, people of every age stand in the dock, accused of shoplifting or other petty crime, because they have a drug habit that demands constant feeding. Old people spend days without a single visitor and failed asylum seekers, live behind barbed wire fences, waiting to be deported to an uncertain future.
All this need just tears my heart out. But the sheer size of the problem threatens to overwhelm me. Like Andrew, when faced with 5,000 hungry men and the scanty supply of 5 loaves and two fishes with which to feed them I'm tempted to shrug helplessly and say 'Jesus, what is the little that I can offer, among so many? Where do I start Lord? I'm afraid of getting out of my depth. And on the bad days, I want to withdraw into the sanitised safety of my Christian world, and let others get their hands dirty.
Then I remember the story about the little boy who was throwing stranded star-fish back into the sea. His big brother pointed out that the beach was covered with star-fish. What difference could throwing a few back into the water make in the grand scheme of things? The little boy smiled as he hurled yet another of the creatures back into the waves. 'I'm making a difference to that one.' he retorted cheerfully.
Jesus cares about the ones and twos. And a cup of cold water offered in his name is noticed and brings him joy. So today I'll remind myself although as one person I can't change the world, I can reach out my hand and change the world, just a little, for one person. And inasmuch as I do it for the least, the lost and the little people, I do it for Him.
Marion Stroud lives in Bedford, England. She is a wife, mother of five adult children and grandmother to eleven grandchildren. She is an established, popular author and sought-after speaker whose books have been translated into 14 languages. In her spare time she enjoys walking, supporting and encouraging missionaries and traveling. - 20611
Early one morning we left the beach and the dining tables with their crisp white cloths, which clustered around the swimming pool, and went out into the African village beyond the gates. Here we found a very different world. Chickens scratched at the side of the road, and a little girl walked to school from her one-roomed home with its corrugated iron roof, picking her way carefully down a deeply rutted unmade-up road. Local people squeezed 15 deep into small vans or 'matatus', if they were lucky enough to have a job to travel to, while many others simply sat under the trees, hoping that someone would come along and offer them a days' casual labour. It was a million miles from the comparative luxury that lay just beyond the hotel gates.
As we returned for our breakfast from the 'all that you could eat buffet' I felt as if I was slipping back into a gold fish tank, insulated and sheltered from the real world. 'Hakuna Matata' - no worries - for the guests at Turtle Bay, even though poverty, disease and need of every kind waited beyond its gates. 'Father' I whispered 'is this how we are as Christians?' Staying within our protected environment, hugging your lavish provision to ourselves? Caring little for those who are in such need, and failing to tell the spiritually starving where to find bread?'
Of course it isn't just in the two-thirds world that we find poverty, sickness and spiritual need. In the pleasant market town where I live in Britain, approximately 40 men and a few women sleep rough at night, whatever the weather. Week after week, in the court where I serve as a magistrate, people of every age stand in the dock, accused of shoplifting or other petty crime, because they have a drug habit that demands constant feeding. Old people spend days without a single visitor and failed asylum seekers, live behind barbed wire fences, waiting to be deported to an uncertain future.
All this need just tears my heart out. But the sheer size of the problem threatens to overwhelm me. Like Andrew, when faced with 5,000 hungry men and the scanty supply of 5 loaves and two fishes with which to feed them I'm tempted to shrug helplessly and say 'Jesus, what is the little that I can offer, among so many? Where do I start Lord? I'm afraid of getting out of my depth. And on the bad days, I want to withdraw into the sanitised safety of my Christian world, and let others get their hands dirty.
Then I remember the story about the little boy who was throwing stranded star-fish back into the sea. His big brother pointed out that the beach was covered with star-fish. What difference could throwing a few back into the water make in the grand scheme of things? The little boy smiled as he hurled yet another of the creatures back into the waves. 'I'm making a difference to that one.' he retorted cheerfully.
Jesus cares about the ones and twos. And a cup of cold water offered in his name is noticed and brings him joy. So today I'll remind myself although as one person I can't change the world, I can reach out my hand and change the world, just a little, for one person. And inasmuch as I do it for the least, the lost and the little people, I do it for Him.
Marion Stroud lives in Bedford, England. She is a wife, mother of five adult children and grandmother to eleven grandchildren. She is an established, popular author and sought-after speaker whose books have been translated into 14 languages. In her spare time she enjoys walking, supporting and encouraging missionaries and traveling. - 20611
About the Author:
There's more information regarding Marion's latest release at Marion Stroud's Website
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