This past week, I read Crazy Love by Francis Chan. Excellent book. Probably one of the best I’ve read in a couple of years. But the coincidence that I would turn the last page AND be smack in the center of one of the largest cities in France just couldn’t be ignored.
That realization — and the responsibility that came along with it — tore my day apart. It’d been a long time I felt so convicted.
Chan basically ends the book by challenging Christians to lay down their lives for others. If that means downsizing to a smaller house, using public transportation instead of owning a car, tithing 50% on faith, buying someone a simple meal when you may not have enough for your own, or moving to another continent, so be it: regardless of your situation, God will provide.
So, as I finished the book, I was sitting alone at the top of a hill, in a grassy park. Earlier, I’d watched a screaming couple break up with each other with drama and hysterics. They walked away separately without looking back. Later, parents wandered by, pushing children in prams, balloons trailing behind. Students rushed past with backpacks and books, always late. Around lunchtime, groups of people began to arrive with wrapped baguette sandwiches and boxed salads: forming circles in the grass and kicking off their shoes. In the distance, football games broke out with shouts and laughter.
I sat and watched everyone. Listened. Only heard one conversation in English and it was brief. It’s amazing how those stand out to me, though, in the midst of all the words I don’t understand.
So many people. So much bustle. So many needs. So little Jesus.
I closed the book, filled with inspiration. I was going to go out and find needs — needs don’t have a language barrier — and I was going to meet those needs if I died trying.
I wrote in my journal: God guide me. I’m filled with conviction, but no wisdom. Show me what is wise. What do you want me to do for these people today? Keep me from foolishness; give me discernment. Speak through my words; use my actions for Your glory and my sanctification. I’m going out on faith — please let it be for something of eternal value. Show me the needs.
I got up, gathered my things, and hurried out of the park to find the nearest bus stop that would take me back into the Center. There were two people waiting for the same bus. I watched them nervously. Were they the ones Jesus wanted me to help? But….I don’t speak French!
Satan really started to dig his heels in as I stood there. Somehow, in the shade of the downtown streets, the conviction didn’t burn as deeply as it did on the hillside at the park. I could feel the passion shrinking as I shifted my backpack from shoulder to shoulder and strained my eyes into the distance, watching for my bus. I didn’t talk to them.
I got on the bus. Swiped my card. Avoided eye contact with people. Suddenly felt embarrassed by my blind enthusiasm. Who was I fooling? I listened to conversations in French, watched people talking from behind designer sunglasses, wondered what I had to offer that they didn’t have.
Well, besides Jesus.
Wait. What?
What do any of us TRULY need….besides Him?
Yep.
I got off the bus near one of my favorite bakeries. In halting French, I ordered a bag filled to the brim with croissants and pain au chocolat — my favorite guilty indulgence on school days. When I left, I had exactly 27 cents left in my wallet.
I hit the streets.
A word about the streets: this is Aix-en-Provence. The south of France. The streets are beautiful. Narrow and cobbled: occasioned by a whimsical, pooled fountain. Old, charming: lined with Romanesque buildings and Cistercian architecture. This city was founded in 123 B.C. Yes, B.C. Even aimless walks through the city have the potential to be awe-inspiring.
But for all their beauty, the streets have low places. In shadowed alleys, sheltered store-fronts, and on dirty front stoops: beggars sit. Every city has them. But that doesn’t make them all the same. They’re all people: so different. Individuals with individual stories and needs and hurts and desires.
I set out to find them. The bag was heavy in my hand and my racing thoughts gave me a sort of breathless energy. I knew Jesus was going to use me to change lives today.
I walked.
And walked.
For almost two hours.
Finally, I ducked into a tiny cafe, threw my backpack and the bakery bag onto a table and wearily climbed a stool. Got out my journal. Wrote: So much for helping anyone. I bought a huge bag of pain au chocolat and croissants. I ate some. Walked. Walked. Walked. And walked. Now I’m here to buy a drink. Who put all of the hungry people away? If this is a joke, it’s not funny. What am I missing? Did I forget something? Is this the wrong thing to do? Is this God’s way of keeping me safe? I don’t want to be safe if it means I can’t help people. Jesus, I told you I was willing: don’t You need me today?
I finished my drink. Gathered my bags. Checked my watch. Started the sun-streamed trek back to the Gare Routière (the main bus station here in Aix): my heart: heavy as heavy could be.
Then I saw her. She was sitting against a tree, along the Avenue des Belges. Her clothes were ragged and most of her teeth were gone. Her feet were bare and she sat on a pile of dirty cloths. In one hand, she held a sign, but I couldn’t read it. I almost walked past because I suddenly realized what I would look like to everyone else: A pushover. Naive. Foolish. People like this woman are often specifically ignored because their motives are second-guessed: i.e., maybe someone else sent them here to help them make a little extra money on the side. Maybe they’re drug addicts. Maybe they’re really not that poor….
But my question is: does the back-story really matter? At the end of the day, when you’re in your warm house, with comfy clothes and a table in front of you, full of food, does it really matter if you gave a little out of your plenty? Even here. I don’t have a salary: just pocket money, but I am never in need. I am rich. And when I stand before Jesus, I’m pretty sure He won’t care whether or not I thought the need wasn’t real or that someone else would eventually meet it. I’m pretty sure I’d like to tell Him I did exactly what He would do in that situation.
I took one last look around at the people hurrying past, decided not to care what they thought, and got down on my knees in front of the woman. She looked surprised. I looked straight into her eyes. They were blue and amazingly clear. I put down my bag and picked up both her hands and held them in mine. I said (in super-poor French), “I don’t speak French very well. But you are loved. This is for you. It’s small, I’m sorry. I want to do more. God loves you. Bless you.” I tucked the bakery bag into the blankets beside her, next to some dried-up orange peels, then rose to my feet. Her eyes were filling with tears. She pointed at the sky, then crossed her hands over her heart, saying over and over, “Merci, merci, merci beaucoup, ma belle fille. Merci. Dieu vous bénisse. (God bless you.)”
I had to catch the bus. I took a few steps backwards, maintaining eye contact until I had to force myself to turn. I don’t know what her sign said. I don’t know what her name is. I don’t even know if she really needed that bag of food. But I think Jesus led me to her on purpose. If not for her, then maybe for me. Maybe to realize my own selfishness and insufficiency: the tight-fisted way I’ve been living: meeting only my own needs, counting every euro, and only giving when I’ve been guilted or asked.
I need to give more. Care more. Notice more. Do more than give out of my comparative plenty a couple days a week. Give, give, sacrifice, give. Give until it comes naturally. Give until keeping anything extra for myself makes me stay awake at night. Give until I truly am His hands and feet.
This week, I challenge you to ask Jesus to show you the excess in your life — and how you can use it to bless someone who has less. And then, ask Him to show you the areas where you’re not as sure you have enough: give there too. Give recklessly. Give with abandon. Give like you’re going to get it all back, but doubled instead. There is no need, no want in Him. “Thy Jesus can repay….”
He may not do it in the way you expect Him to, but be assured that He will do it. He is so faithful.
Much love to you all, friends. Thanks for reading.
