The Dream that Changes Everything

This summer, as my team and I served in the some of the darkest corners of Southeast Asia, we met daily to read over biographies of missionaries and of the ways God used them to bring light into the darkest places, proclaiming freedom to the captives and healing to the broken. Each servant of God seemingly gave up so much, sacrificing their own comforts and desires. The stories changed me. They encouraged me. They challenged me. And one in particular, haunted me. 

Because I could never encapsulate the desperation and need in my own words, I ask you to read the dream of one missionary in India, who served for 55 years without furlough, rescuing children from temple prostitution and bringing the hope of Christ to a desperate people. Her name was Amy Carmichael.

"The tom-toms thumped straight on all night and the darkness shuddered round me like a living, feeling thing. I could not go to sleep, so I lay awake and looked; and I saw, as it seemed, this:

That I stood on a grassy sward, and at my feet a precipice broke sheer down into infinite space. I looked, but saw no bottom; only cloud shapes, black and furiously coiled, and great shadow-shrouded hollows, and unfathomable depths. Back I drew, dizzy at the depth.

Then I saw forms of people moving single file along the grass. They were making for the edge. There was a woman with a baby in her arms and another little child holding on to her dress. She was on the very verge. Then I saw that she was blind. She lifted her foot for the next step . . . it trod air. She was over, and the children over with her. Oh, the cry as they went over!

Then I saw more streams of people flowing from all quarters. All were blind, stone blind; all made straight for the precipice edge. There were shrieks, as they suddenly knew themselves falling, and a tossing up of helpless arms, catching, clutching at empty air. But some went over quietly, and fell without a sound.

Then I wondered, with a wonder that was simply agony, why no one stopped them at the edge. I could not. I was glued to the ground, and I could only call; though I strained and tried, only whisper would come.

Then I saw that along the edge there were sentries set at intervals. But the intervals were too great; there were wide, unguarded gaps between. And over these gaps the people fell in their blindness, quite unwarned; and the green grass seemed blood-red to me, and the gulf yawned like the mouth of hell.

Then I saw, like a little picture of peace, a group of people under some trees with their backs turned toward the gulf. They were making daisy chains. Sometimes when a piercing shriek cut the quiet air and reached them, it disturbed them and they thought it a rather vulgar noise. And if one of their number started up and wanted to go and do something to help, then all the others would pull that one down. "Why should you get so excited about it? You must wait for a definite call to go! You haven't finished your daisy chain yet. It would be really selfish," they said, "to leave us to finish the work alone."

There was another group. It was made up of people whose great desire was to get more sentries out; but they found that very few wanted to go, and sometimes there were no sentries set for miles and miles of the edge.

Once a girl stood alone in her place, waving the people back; but her mother and other relations called and reminded her that her furlough was due; she must not break the rules. And being tired and needing a change, she had to go and rest for awhile; but no one was sent to guard her gap, and over and over the people fell, like a waterfall of souls.

Once a child caught at a tuft of grass that grew at the very brink of the gulf; it clung convulsively, and it called-but nobody seemed to hear. Then the roots of the grass gave way, and with a cry the child went over, its two little hands still holding tight to the torn-off bunch of grass. And the girl who longed to be back in her gap thought she heard the little one cry, and she sprang up and wanted to go; at which they reproved her, reminding her that no one is necessary anywhere; the gap would be well taken care of, they knew. And then they sang a hymn.

Then through the hymn came another sound like the pain of a million broken hearts wrung out in one full drop, one sob. And a horror of great darkness was upon me, for I knew what it was-the Cry of the Blood.

Then thundered a voice, the voice of the Lord. "And He said, 'What hast thou done, The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground.'"

The tom-toms still beat heavily, the darkness still shuddered and shivered about me; I heard the yells of the devil-dancers and weird, wild shriek of the devil-possessed just outside the gate.

What does it matter, after all? It has gone on for years; it will go on for years. Why make such a fuss about it?

God forgive us! God arouse us! Shame us out of our callousness! Shame us out of our sin!"

So, what's your daisy chain?

The Victory

As we walked down the street filled with karaoke clubs and bars, I struggled to smile as I followed three precious young girls to a vacant parking lot.

Because as we were walking from their homes to go play badminton, the club owners were turning on their lights. The bar tenders were setting out alcohol. The pimps were outside waiting for customers. The girls that work the clubs were putting on their makeup.

As we walked I felt the darkness: the depth of the sin sickness, penetrating even into these girl’s childhoods.

And I see what the enemy has stolen. Children’s innocence. Women's dignity.

Little girl's dreams of one day wearing white and walking down the aisle to marry their prince charming, become dreams of the foreign man that just bought them for the night coming back and being their boyfriend and caring for their children. Their customers become their only hope of redemption from this lifestyle.

And its so obvious.

We pass by with these young girls, going to just spend time with them. Giving them attention and love that they rarely, if ever, receive from home. The same parking lot that we play in will soon become the same lot that the van loads of foreign men will park in. They won't stay long, only long enough for a drink and to pick a girl, then they load up the vans with them and return to their hotels.

This sight is the norm for these young girls. Though they are so young, they know. How can they not? The backyard they should be able to play in without a care is instead the enemy's playground. He's stolen it, corrupting everything good.

But He didn't stop there. He's stealing their childhood friends. Girls their same age. Other little girls who should be out there with us, playing and giggling, instead are putting on their makeup and high heels- being dressed to pass as much older than their age, though they are only 13.

As we hit the birdie back and forth, this is the reality.

This is their reality.


But God isn't done yet. He hasn't forgotten them. He hasn't turned His face.

He knows. He sees. He is El Roi. 

And He is pursuing them.


Meet Angkhana.

Four years ago, Christ pursued this beautiful lady and wrecked her life for Him. Her testimony is incredible. She grew up Buddhist, like the majority of Thai people. After losing her business, her husband and her parents all within a year- she had hit her lowest. But Jesus changed her heart and gave her a new life. Her hope is now in Him, not in the circumstances of life. Since then, she has started her own ministry out of her home. She lives right in the middle of the red light district, with an open door for girls to come and seek refuge. She cooks with them, plays with them, mentors them, and is a listening ear. Though she lives on very little, she is the most generous person I have ever met. She spends all her extra money to buy baking supplies in order to cook with the kids. She also has an incredible passion for ministering to Burmese refugees. She often makes long journeys to take cookies and cupcakes to them and to share about Christ's amazing love. Her light shines all the more brightly in this darkness.

My team and I have had the privilege of getting to know this incredible woman and teaching a class twice a week with the kids in this area. We have been able to teach English and bible stories to these children. I have loved every minute of it.

Though we only have 9 days left here in Thailand- we are expecting God to do big things. We are desperate for God to save the people we have invested in. We are begging the Lord to break the chains and to set these girl's free from bondage, not only physically but spiritually. I have faith that He can and will do far more abundantly than we could ever ask or imagine.


 This morning my team listened to a song that perfect culminates what this summer has been for us.

You can listen here: Take Back, United Pursuit


"I know God has not forgotten
All that's lost and broken
So, come and see the turning of the times
Come and see His sons and daughters rise
For how could He who did not spare His own son
Not freely give us victory 
Against the darkest of nights

We're gonna take back
All the enemy has stolen

We're gonna plunder the pits of hell"


That's exactly what we're doing- plundering the pits of hell. Going into the darkest of nights and trusting that He has already won the victory. 

For His glory, 
Lindy 

Wrecked by Grace

Its funny how the Lord can teach us things twice. Sometimes even just more than in a single instance, like in the day to day. The same truths that wrecked my heart and changed my life last summer are wrecking me in a totally new way.

That's how awesome our God is; how He can take a piece of scripture that we've read countless times or a reminder of His unchanging character to captivate our hearts again and again. 

Last summer I taught English in universities and hung out with high school and college students: playing sports, shopping, and doing a lot of eating. It was such a fun summer. Most days, although exhausting, were overall pretty easy. Friendships came naturally and many were very open to the gospel. 

The Lord used last summer to teach me so much about His grace. Not just the grace that He has shown me in granting me salvation, but His daily grace. So I starting counting: writing down all the gifts that God graced me with as I went through my day to day life. Gifts like a good cup of coffee, an encouraging conversation, a smile from a stranger, getting to try a new food, or an afternoon rain shower. 

Simple things that God gives us daily to remind us of how great a Father He is. Gifts to show us of His unchanging and never failing love. 

I counted and the Lord amazed me. My eyes became so opened to His goodness and His tender love for His children. I realized how much I took His blessings for granted. I saw the selfishness in my own heart, how I thought that I deserved the things that He has graced me with. 

Counting changed me. It changed my attitude. It changed my outlook on life. It changed my view of God. 

And one greek word from Luke 22:19 has become a lifestyle: 

“And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them…” 

"To give thanks" in the greek reads: Eucharisteo.
The root of eucharisteo is charis, which means grace. Because of God's grace, we can be thankful. But eucharisteo also holds the derivative of chara, meaning joy. 

Charis. Grace. Eucharisteo. Thanksgiving. Chara. Joy.

Because of God's grace, we can be thankful, and when we have an attitude of thanks, this brings joy. 

True, life giving, eye-opening chara joy. 

And last summer it was easy to believe this truth. It was easy to count. It was easy to be thankful. It was easy to see His abundant grace while hanging out with friends and laughing and eating. Counting came naturally and God's grace was evident everywhere.

This summer, however, has been different. Because its been hard to find the joy in the midst of so much pain. Its hard to find encouragement while being surrounded by so much evil. Its hard to smile, as you walk down the streets, passing beautiful girls waiting to be bought. Its hard to be happy when you see girls that you have built relationships with, being led to hotels by Western men. Its hard to act unfazed when you pass ladyboys being treated like objects. Its tough to watch old married men shoot pool with our young girls, not even ashamed enough to take off their wedding ring. 

Its even easier, in these situations, to ask God "why?" It would be easy to see the pain and the hurt and assume that God has forgotten them. It would be easy to think that His grace just "skipped" over these girls. It would be easy to become hardened and numb. It would be understandable to become discouraged and even depressed. 

And honestly, without the Lord sustaining me and re-teaching me about His grace- thats exactly where I'd be.

So I'm thankful. And I'm overwhelmed, not only by immenseness of the darkness, but by His light, which shines brighter. As my team and I took a two day vacation for some much needed rest, the Lord totally blew my mind with His goodness and faithfulness. 

And I counted again and he amazed me moment by moment with His grace. 

510. The feeling of sand between your toes

529. Picture-perfect boats at sea

528. Swimming in a pool of glass

522. Majestic sunrises- declaring God's glory

552. New mercies each morning

515. Sound of waves crashing against the shore

604. The feeling of victory after hiking up a mountain of stairs

507. Getting to chill with some monkeys

670. Being in places that people dream about on Pintrest

And as I counted and remembered God's goodness and His faithfulness and His love, the burden of our ministry became lighter. If God is good and His blessings are great just in my two days being away, than He is still good even as I walk through the red light districts. His character and His grace don't change depending on where I am and what I do each day. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever. And I am reminded of a sweet psalm of David:

"You have kept count of my tossings, put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?" Ps. 56:8

God cares enough for us to keep a record of every care of our hearts and every tear we have shed. So how much more should I, his daughter, keep count of His blessings? 

He hears their cries. He sees their pain and their hurt. And He feels the heaviness of my heart. 

He knows.

And His grace is greater still. Greater than the weight of the sin. It is deep enough and wide enough to engulf the sorrows of this world. 

So I rest in this truth. And I'm ready to see how He is going to move in these last 3 weeks I have here. I'm in anticipation- eyes wide open- to see Him do marvelous wonders. Whether thats causing the sun to rise once again, beginning a new day with new mercies- or adopting lost souls that we have pleaded to God for on their behalf. Both are miracles. Both are gifts. Both can lead me to worship Him and recognize His sovereignty. 

Either way, I'm counting His gifts and witnessing His faithfulness and I'm in amazement of His steadfast love. 

And in this posture of thankfulness I'm okay with being wrecked by the darkness and the pain. I'm okay with the hurt and the burden, as long as He continues to daily wreck me even greater with His incomprehensible grace. 

Salvation Isn't for You

Week 4 here in Thailand, and the Lord has already done so much just in my own heart.

I can feel Him pruning me, stripping away the pieces of myself, in order to make me more like Him. And its definitely not easy. Its painful and its hard. Conviction isn't fun. But how necessary it is for us to constantly be emptied of ourselves, in order to be filled with Him. 

I've realized how blinded my eyes have been towards people. I walk down the streets and pass them without a thought or a care to who they are or what they've been through. They're just another busy person. The clerk at the grocery store. The man selling tea on the side of the road. The frustrated couple walking through the mall. The girl sitting and eating alone at a restaurant. 

Each one of these people have stories. They have hurts and hang-ups. They have a past and a future. But most importantly, they have a soul. 

But for so long I have been treating people as just people. Walking past them unconcerned. Because I've been so caught up in my own world, with my plans and my to-do lists. I've been busy with my own areas of "ministry," picking and choosing who I think that needs Jesus the most. Often, I've just been too busy to stop and care.

Caring takes energy. It takes time. It means being intentional. And sometimes, it means welcoming interruptions. 

This week we walked down the same street that we have been frequenting almost every day, prayerfully ready to share Christ's love with girls in the bars and build new friendships. Almost every night we had passed a homeless man with only one leg sitting and begging. 

"This isn't why I'm here" I thought. I came to reach out to prostitutes and girls in this area. Ministering to the homeless wasn't what I signed up for. 

But the Lord convicted me of my blindness. How could I be so focused on what I thought my mission was, and not stop and care for those in need? 

So we did. Two girls on my team brought him food. We sat and listened. His name is Keezo. And he shared his heart with us. He spoke honestly about his struggles and his need. He lost his leg by stepping on a mine in Myanmar. He has been to church and read his bible. But the only picture of Christianity that he has seen is works-based. Giving your time and your money to the church. Doing. He was so bitter towards God because of this false gospel that he had been shown. 

And what he said next keeps ringing in my ears,

"I have met many Christians, and they talk, talk, talk. 

But where is the love?"

And I couldn't help but agree with this humble man that sits and begs day after day.

And as I read statistics like: There are over 6,000 unreached people groups in the world, over 2.1 billion people are without access to the gospel, for each unreached people group there are 600 churches, and there are 151,600 people are dying every day.

I can't help but to agree with Keezo.

Where is the love?

If we truly loved God and people like we say we do, why are so many christians still sitting in the church? Why aren't we out there telling our neighbors and everyone we meet about Christ's love? Why aren't we being Jesus' hands and feet? Why isn't true discipleship happening in our own backyard?

But most of all, why are only a select few "going"?
When did Jesus ever say that it is a special calling to "go" and make disciples? It's a command.

Often I think the church is quick to claim God's comforting promises of scripture, like "Cast all your burdens on Him, because He cares for you" but slow to obey God's commands:

“Go into all the world and proclaim the gospel to the whole creation." Mark 16:15

"Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit," Matthew 28:19

"For so the Lord has commanded us, saying, “I have made you a light for the Gentiles, that you may bring salvation to the ends of the earth.” Acts 13:47

Why do we think that we can claim the comforts and benefits of being God's children, yet completely ignore God's clear commands to "go" and to make disciples? Why is it okay for us, as followers of Christ, to not be making every effort to share the truth of the gospel with the lost? Why is it okay for American churches to be building bigger buildings with fancy flat screens, when thousands are dying each day that have never heard the name of Jesus?

Its not okay.

I truly believe that God didn't save me just for me.
Yes, He does personally love me and He completely changed my dead heart and brought it to life.
But He didn't stop there. Because if His only purpose for my life was for the salvation of my soul, why am I even still here?

Why not just let me die and go straight into His presence, where I could enjoy a full and perfect relationship with Him, without all the struggles and temptations of living in this world?

I am here today and I have been saved in order to proclaim Him and His glory. 

Salvation isn't only for us. Its not only about us. Its for others. 
Its for the nations. Its ultimately for God's glory.

I heard recently that God's gospel found me on its way to someone else.

After being here this summer, I truly believe that statement.

God has placed us here, for such a time as this. So, will our lives obediently reflect His calling to all believers to go and make disciples? Or will we rest content in our comfortable American christianity, too fearful to let go of the blessings and comforts that God has graced us with? 

Getting Uncomfortable

This summer is so different than I what pictured. 

I don't know why I ever thought that it would be simple to start a conversation with a prostitute. Or that bar-hopping would be easy. Or why I thought that seeing the depth of this darkness wouldn't have an impact on me personally- as if my emotions have an "on" and "off" button. 

Let me tell you: they don't.

Its hard seeing these things. And I don't understand why.

Why God, are these girls put in these awful situations?

Why do these men think that what they're doing is okay?

Why does the government let this go on?

Why are there not more Christians here shining a light in this darkness? 

These are the questions that plague me as we walk down the streets, passing innumerable bars filled with beautiful girls, barely dressed, waiting to be bought for the night. 

And I'm so uncomfortable.

This is not what I'm used to doing. Ministry here is a whole new ball field for this girl from Tennessee. I'm not you're typical college girl that hangs in clubs and is the life of the party in bars. I'm not even good at playing pool. Seriously, I just embarrass myself. And its honestly a struggle for me to just sit and make small talk with girls that I seem to have nothing in common with. Different language. Different culture. Different beliefs. Different style. Seemingly, different everything. 

But I'm also so thankful. Because I know without a shadow of a doubt that this is where Jesus' heart is, in the midst of this darkness and sin. These are his daughters that He deeply loves. This is where he has me during this season. This is where He is moving. This is where He is going to do great things- and it will all be because of Him. 

Because I realize my weakness. I feel so unequipped. In and of myself- with my own power, I can accomplish nothing.

But His voice sweetly reminds me,

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." 2 Cor. 12:9 

And I'm thankful for my weaknesses, because when hearts are changed and eyes are opened I'll have no doubt that it was only Him, through His power alone. 

So I'm content in my own weakness. Content in His power.

Content in being uncomfortable. 

Isn't that where we're supposed to be? Living uncomfortably? 

Because I know that Jesus wasn't comfortable as He hung on the cross and paid for our sins.

And I know that the disciples weren't comfortable as they, all but one, were martyred for His sake.

If they, how much more should I? 

And in light of their sufferings, I welcome this light momentary season of being uncomfortable. 

For His namesake,
Lindy

"For what we proclaim is not ourselves, but Jesus Christ as LORD, with ourselves as your servants for Jesus' sake. For God, who said, 'Let light shine out of darkness,' has shown in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ." 
2 Corinthians 4:5-6

The Truth Behind the Smiles

Week one in Thailand.

My heart is so happy to be back in Asia. It feels like home.

Its funny how things that most foreigners would find annoying is strangely comforting to me:

crazy busy streets- zooming with motorcycles

shower heads that only reach my chin

rice offered for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert

The same warm smiles that stole my heart last summer are melting my heart again. I remember why they call Thailand the "Land of Smiles." Everywhere you turn people are smiling and greeting you with soft "Sawasdee kha"

But this summer feels very different, and its not just because I'm in a new city or with a new team.

Its because I've quickly seen the underbelly of the Thai society. The depravity of the culture is impossible to miss as you walk down the streets of this tourist city.

Never before have I witnessed such a darkness. Down one street in the red light district, there are hundreds of bars and massage parlors- too many to even count. Girls, barely dressed sit waiting for men to come and buy them out for the night.

Van loads, full of Western men pull up and then quickly leave with young Thai girls. Old, decrepit men sit and flirt with girls at the bar while they get them drunk.

Dozens of girls sit on barstools at Karaoke clubs and wait for parties of men to come and buy them. Some stand by the street and wave down cars and tuk-tuks.

Yet, the saddest sight of all is their smiles. 

The only defense that many of these girls have is their smile. Because pretending keeps them safe. Not complying could easily get them beaten or killed.

So they smile.

But you can see the pain in their eyes. You can hear it in their voice. You can see it in their tears, as they tell their stories of how their mom forced them into this, or their family sold them, or they came to learn massage or serve drinks- and now they're trapped.

And whether they were forced into this or not . . . they're all deeply hurting. 

But they have to keep smiling. 

They have to wear the mask.

Even though my heart burns with anger towards the men that are victimizing these precious girls, I know that they are just as lost and are seeking to fill that God-sized whole in their hearts.

Yet, there has been hope in the midst of this darkness. God is clearly already at work through the women who have started this ministry. Seeds have been planted and the Lord is faithful to send the rain. 

Last night we were able to share the gospel with a sweet girl named O. She intently listened as we shared the good news of Jesus. Tears welled up in her eyes and it was obvious that the Lord was working in her heart. She shared that she met a girl from Texas who has been talking to her about Jesus. She said that she believes that the gospel is the truth, but that she is not ready to give up her Buddhist beliefs. 

Please pray for O and the many other girls that we will be in contact with. Pray that these girls would not only be freed from this lifestyle, but also that they would experience the true freedom that only comes from Jesus.

Thank you all for your love, support, and prayers. I deeply cherish them.

Grace and peace,

Lindy 

Why Church Stinks

I know what you're thinking.
You clicked on this link to read this for one of two reasons:

1. You know me personally and know that I dearly love the church- and am passionate about the gospel and missions. So- you wonder why I would say that the church stinks.

2. You have been hurt by the church in some way and were hoping to find another frustrated human being that has been wounded by the church. 

I would like to say both is true- I love the church. I believe that Christ died for the church. The church is a blessing and is so necessary to walking together in this dark world. I'm thankful for the church! But I've also been hurt by the American church. Let me explain why.

Last week I went with 11 friends from the Baptist Collegiate Ministry on my campus and served in Tegucigalpa, Honduras. We were so excited to go pour our hearts out and love on "the least of these." Beforehand, I asked that the Lord would give me such a heart for this people and that He would use me in mighty ways among the orphaned and widowed. Little did I know that He had way bigger plans.

Each day we visited the poorest neighborhoods in the city- witnessing poverty far worse than I have ever seen. The first day we drove into the neighborhoods, we passed piles of trash in the streets- with many people scavenging through them, hoping to find food. Yet, at each of these centers where we led VBS for over 400 children, was such a love that I have never experienced. Though these children had so little materially, they had so much love to give. They poured out their hearts and lavished us with affection. These children- so hungry for more than just food. Hungry for attention. Hungry to be held. Hungry to be known. 

These children taught me more than I was able to teach them. They loved more than I could love them. They served me more than I was able to serve them.

Each day was a beautiful picture of Christ's love. Of His glorious gospel. Of His redeeming of that which was lost and broken. 

And on Saturday we visited a place so different than any place I've ever been. It was like a different planet...

One where men, women and children lived, worked, and slept in the trash of the city. These people dig through mountains of trash in hopes of collecting 50 lbs of plastic- enough to exchange for $1.

And the world I live in now doesn't make sense. Knowing that as I go to and from church, coffee dates, babysitting, and school- that constantly, there are people around the world just trying to survive, forced to dig through rubbish. 

And I'll never be able to recover. I'll never be able to erase the images from my mind. I'll never be able to shake the overwhelming cry of desperation and hopelessness. And I saw it in there eyes.

And as we fed them food and gave them water my heart broke and my knowledge of the brokenness of this world was shattered. 

Yet there was grace.

Because a bus went to the dump and brought whoever wanted to come to church that night. And they came and people filled the church sanctuary. A beautiful mix of people. Americans and Hondurans. Rich and poor. Clean and dirty. 

Yet, the smell was unbearable. It was so much worse because it wasn't just trash anymore. The smell wasn't just the mountains of rubbish that we had walked through earlier that day.

It was the people. 

One man named Marco Anthony sat next to me and poured out his heart to us as I held my breath and tried not to breath through my nose. He embarrassingly looked into our eyes and told us how we were so clean... but he was so dirty. 

And in that moment I just wanted to cry out in my broken spanish, "No, no. Estoy sucio. Estoy sucio tambien." No, no. I am dirty. I am dirty too. 

My dirt might not be a physical filth. I might not smell like garbage. My skin might not be black with dirt.

But I stink too. My sin smells and looks different. But it still stinks.  

And the whole church stinks. Because we're truly all broken, messed up, filthy sinners and the only clean part of me is Jesus. Its only Him. I'm not clean because I get to shower everyday. I'm not clean because I go to church. I'm not clean because I have gone on mission trips. I'm not clean because I read my bible. I'm not clean because I pray. I'm not clean.

But Jesus is.

The only hope I have in being clean is in the scandalous grace that Christ poured out. The grace that covered my sin. The grace took my wretched stink from me. The grace that washed me clean. 

And I realized that night that me and this Honduran man who lives and works in a dump have much more in common than I thought. Both just wretched filthy sinners, desperately in need of a Savior. 

That night Marco Anthony came forward and proclaimed that he needed a Savior. He proclaimed that he needed to be clean. And I believe he realized that he couldn't clean himself up. That it would have to be living water. No matter how much soap and water, his stink would never leave, without the redeeming blood of Jesus Christ. 

Isn't this the smell we have too? Don't we see it? Don't we smell it? 

For the American church, our sin stinks too. It might look very different. It might covered up by many of our self-righteous works. It might be hiding beneath our facades of perfection. It might be disguised as a "I'm doing good" during the greeting time each Sunday. It might be masked by our church memberships, countless bible study groups, and mission trips. 

To be honest, I think that the stench of the American church is much worse than the awful smell of the dump. Because at the dump, the people knew of their filthiness. They realized their need. They smelt their filth. Yet, in the American church I think we forget that we stink too. We forget that this salvation and the countless blessings that the Lord has graced us with are not because we worked hard. Its not because we grew up in church. Its not because we try our best to not drink, cuss, or have sex outside of marriage. 

Its because of Jesus. Its all Him. 

Not one stinking thing we have done has earned us any of this.

I needed this reminder. I needed this picture. I needed to smell the stink and realize that it wasn't the people from the dump- rather it was me.

I pray that God would reveal this same truth to those in the American church. Once we finally smell our stink and surrender to Christ our self-righteousness, that's when His name is made great. Thats when hearts are changed and Jesus is glorified and true, life-giving water rushes in and cleanses us, the most filthiest of sinners. 




Photo Credit: Point of Impact, poihn.org