The bright pink dress caught my eye as she peeked around the shambled hut. I’m not sure what it was, an outhouse, an old shed maybe, either way it doesn’t really matter. What caught my attention was this shy girl staring dead straight at me with those dark brown, almond eyes. I waved a friendly hand and smiled. Usually this simple gesture draws many kids right to me. Fascinated by my light skin and brown hair they grab my hand and shake it, or reach up to pinch my cheek, always bombarding me with questions, “What is your name? Where country are you from? Do you like India?” As we drew closer, I waited for her similar eager response. Nothing. And then to my surprise, she recoiled.
Puzzled by this reaction, and feeling a small tinge of rejection, I ventured forward, following my group. Squinting my eyes in the bright sun, I looked down at the path, uneven with stones, my flip flops kicking up dust. Then it occurred to me.
How was it for Jesus, walking this earth, coming face to face with his very creations, yet having them reject him. Recoil from him. I cannot even begin to fathom the compassion he felt towards them and still feels towards us. These were his children, the very work of his hands. The very life he breathed into existence. The beautifully intricate designs he sculpted, painted, and primed for his love. Rejecting him. Spitting upon him. Mocking him. "Then Pilate had Jesus flogged with a lead-tipped whip. The soldiers wove a crown of thorns and put it on his head, and they put a purple robe on him. 'Hail, King of the Jews!' they mocked and slapped him across the face..." (John 19:1)
How many times do we still do this?
The hungry guy along the side of the road. The neighbor we know having marriage problems. The friend needing a listening ear. Do we even see them? Or do we continue to slap him across the face because we need to rush to our next meeting. Hurry through the drive-thru. Ignore the call because there’s far more “important” things to do. I’ve heard it said that the opposite of love is not hate, but selfishness. Whether you're from America, India, wearing a bright pink dress or a turban, we are all marked by his fingerprints.
I’m not trying to simplify a solution. I don’t have this all worked out, nor am I even close to getting this love like Jesus thing down, but that girl along the village road made me wonder. Do I realize who I am coming face to face with each day?
Oh, Lord, let me not pass you by.
"Then a despised Samaritan came along and when he saw the man, he felt compassion for him. Going over to him, the Samaritan soothed his wounds..." Luke 11:33-34
that's deep. thanks, lish coco...
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