“The rich became poor and the poor became rich.”

 

“We visited a village where the feeding program . . . operated a one-meal-a-day program. . . .  They don’t have the money to feed anyone over age 14 except expectant mothers. . . .”

 

Thus writes Beth Moore about a trip she and her husband took to Angola, Africa, to visit villages involved in, or in need of, feeding programs.

 

There the Moores had an experience almost identical to ours (if you missed my blog post, click on “I still tear up when I think of it—it seemed so wrong, so unnecessary.” It’s a must-read!)

Beth writes that when she and her husband prepared to leave,

 

"I was ushered before the head of the community and his wife. . . . Her white teeth gleamed in the African sun as she smiled ear to ear. She then proudly thrust a bowl toward me that rocked with small eggs. Eggs they needed and that I didn’t."

 

Remember what Beth said:

Those dear folks didn’t have enough money

to feed anyone over age 14 except expectant mothers—

yet they gave to Beth and her husband.

How humbling!

 

Beth continues:

 

"I was taken aback. I wanted to shake my head and insist she keep them, but she was so exuberant in her offering that I couldn’t. With untamed joy they gave a portion of exorbitant expense out of the portion God had given them."

 

Read that again: “With untamed joy they gave a portion of exorbitant expense out of the portion God had given them.”

 

Those dear Angolans were living, breathing, smiling examples of 2 Corinthians 9:7—they didn’t give reluctantly or under pressure, and indeed “God loves a cheerful giver!”

 

Beth admits that as they drove out of the village,

 

"I felt a deep and painful sense of my own poverty. I knew I was poor in my giving. Poor in my sacrificing. Poor in my daily expression of God’s giving heart and woefully rich in all things self.

 

"That day on the edge of the world’s nowhere, God wrote His signature on the sandy ground in the shape of a circular arrow.

 

"I was stricken by the absurdity of an unexpected turnabout. . .  . There before my eyes, the rich became poor and the poor became rich" (Beth Moore, Esther: It’s Tough Being a Woman).

 

Perhaps you’ve experienced something similar.

 

“If the Lord is indeed our shepherd,” writes Frederick Buechner, “then everything goes topsy-turvy. Losing becomes finding and crying becomes laughing. The last become first and the weak become strong” (The Clown in the Belfry).

 

If we pay attention, God gives you and me opportunities to examine our hearts and minds.  Sometimes He does that by upsetting the apple cart—by turning us upside down and inside out and giving us a good shaking in the same way He did for Beth Moore.

 

When He does, how do we respond?

 

“Most of us . . . confront a need for greater self-awareness,” writes Joan Anderson. “We reach a point when . . . the dreams of earlier times seem shallow and pointless. And then we find ourselves asking the tough questions: What am I meant to do now? What really matters? Who am I?” (Joan Anderson, The Second Journey: The Road Back to Yourself)

 

The space between “Lord, please send someone else” and the willingness that smiles and says, “Here I am, send me!”

 

Not long after I published Grandma’s Letters from Africa, I was thumbing through the Bible I used during the era my husband and I were applying to Wycliffe Bible Translators.  

 

In that Bible, I found an old yellow sticky-note with questions I’d asked myself about the radical demands of discipleship Jesus spoke of in Matthew 8:22. I’d written, “Do you consider yourself a disciple? What radical demands is God making of you? Are you carrying them out? Are you willing to meet His radical demands?”

 

A few years earlier, I had started praying in a new way. Instead of asking God to help me do His will, I asked Him to make me willing to do His will.

 

There’s a difference.

 

I prayed according to Philippians 2:13, “It is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purposes” (NIV).

 

In other words, God first helps me want to please Him. Although I play a role in becoming willing, I don’t have to work it up all on my own. And then, He helps me to do it!—to carry out His “good purposes.”

 

I’m so glad that verse is in the Bible because countless times I've been unwilling. Like Moses, I’ve wailed, “Oh, Lord, please send someone else” (Exodus 4:13).

 

By the time our Boeing 747 lifted off U.S. soil, I was probably at 9.5 (on a willingness scale of 1 to 10). I was not at a perfect 10—I was scared (willingness does not eliminate fear) and I hated to leave my kids (willingness does not erase a mother’s longing to stay connected to her kids), but I was willing enough to set out.

 

How did that happen? Looking back now, I realize my heart held a tender little spot inside—sort of like a Hostess Cup Cake with a soft, sweet blob inside.

 

Or like hard candy with a gooey glob in the middle.

 

Or like one of those chocolate confections that you bite into, and everything is moving in slow motion, and soft music is playing, and behold! The rich, creamy center oozes out. (Oh, I’m certain that in heaven, chocolate will have no calories!)

 

But wait—I’m getting off the subject. That tender little spot in my heart occupied the space between (a) my unwillingness and (b) the sweet willingness that smiles and says, “Here I am, send me!” (Isaiah 6:8). That soft, gooey little place protected and nurtured my willingness to be made willing.

 

God met me there. With His gentle hands, He took hold of my heart—both the hard part and the tender, gooey part hidden in the middle—and everything started to change.

 

My heart didn’t change in an instant.

It didn’t change in a day, or even a week.

The process took time.

 

To paraphrase Donald Miller, it was as if God, the Master Storyteller, said, “Look, I wrote you into My story and I want you to enjoy your place in it.”

 

To put Beth Moore’s words in God’s mouth, it was as if He said to me, “You have a God-thing called destiny, and I’m inviting you to fulfill it with courage and perseverance.” (Esther)

 

And I’m so glad He did! He knew I’d have missed a thousand mindboggling blessings if I had not been willing to move to Africa.

 

What about you? What radical demands has God made of you in the past? Did you wrestled with God, unwilling at first to do a particular thing for Him, only to find out later that you would have missed blessings you now cherish?

 

Or, maybe today is God making radical demands of you. Are you willing to meet them? Or, maybe today God is still waiting for your answer, waiting for you to say, “Here I am. Send me.” How will you answer?