Why am I here?

Why am I here?

Beauty?

No. Although it is beautiful, that's not what I came for. 

Food?

No. Not that either. Even though you've never had a Banana until you've eaten one of these...

Why am I here?

Maybe because that man has no one to tell Him about Jesus?

Or that little boy whose parent's didn't want him?

Hmm.....

Yeah. Maybe. 

Or Saw dee ay, who told me tonight: "I like to see you a lot." (...and invited me to stay in his dorm... even offered me his blanket!)

Or Beneetoo, who happily wished me "Me moo moo!" (Sleep well). 

Or all the others who said 'Hollagay!' (Good evening)

They come from broken homes. War-torn villages. Often, Parent's who don't want them. 

(Let alone the parent's who died.)

As I walked part of the 2 miles or so back to where I'm staying, (before being picked up by a friend), past villages and huts, with their heathen music blaring, (and candles burning to golden statues of Buddha), I thought of the ones who'd chosen to be Different, whom I'd heard singing praises to my Jesus, only minutes before. 

And I know. I know.

I'm here for them.

Now, I only wish for one thing:

To be so empty of self, that they only see Him.

Oh, by the way...

"In the field of Jesus, there is work for you..."