Move

Your standing on the slant of rock that slips into the waves. The waves lap against the edge of the limestone. Green algae has begun to make its way up the surface of the rock trying to escape the dark water that laps at it hungrily. You peer into the dark water trying to see something, trying to see anything. And then your slipping. Your sliding and there is no grip on your shoes. You hit the rock hard and in a split second you’ve become engulfed in the hungry waves. They wash over your head and your arms and legs flail in panic reaching for something solid. Anything solid. They find nothing. You struggle to keep your head above water, but it’s a losing battle. The waves keep pushing you under with invisible hands on a clear mission to claim you as their own. Your head dips below the surface. The strength of the ocean is astounding. The will to keep you under, to engulf you, to swallow you whole is stronger than yours. Your lungs are on fire. Your brain screaming for air. You kick harder. It will not end this way. Your not finished yet. The darkness has engulfed you, you reach upwards towards the sun, a blurry image under the murky water. Your head breaks the surface again. You gasp for air only to inhale a salty wave. And then you see someone. Standing on the rock, watching you. You scream for help. You plead. You try your best to make your way towards him, but its futile. He realizes you can’t save yourself. So he extends his hand. But your arms don’t move towards him. Your too busy keeping yourself afloat. Please. You beg. Save me. And his hand remains, extended. And untouched. Your head dips again. This time there’s no fight. You turn your eyes one last time to the blurry sun. As you sink. Lower and lower. Into the depths. Down and down. Where the darkness consumes you, and claims you as it’s own. And His hand remains, untouched.

Last Monday, we went base walking as usual. One of the missionaries that walks with us every week is Larry Conway. He has worked with Made in the Streets for about 7 years. He has been seeing the same people, on the same streets for years. Every week, we see those same men. The same men, week after week after week. And they are the same. Week after week. They are still in their same mess. They are still high. They are still crawling with flies. They are still shaking. And it’s discouraging. And I’ve only been here 4 months. I can’t imagine being here for 30 years, and seeing the same men. With no change. Every week, we go and tell them about God. Every week we go tell them to change their lives, to give up the drugs and take care of their families. Every week we tell them it doesn’t have to be this way. And every week, they are the same way. The other day, I realized that we can tell them until we are blue in the face. But they would never change. Unless they choose to. Unless they move. Unless they decide that there are more important things that drugs.

“From one man he made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and he determined the times set for them and the exact places where they should live. God did this so that men would seek him and perhaps reach out for him and find him, though he is not far from each one of us. For in him we live and move and have our being.” Acts 17:26-28

Please pray, that these men find the strength to move. To reach out to Him. And to be saved by Him.