The Art of Mission.
The Oxford Dictionary defines an angel as “a spiritual being believed to act as an attendant, agent, or messenger of God, conventionally representing in human form with wings and a long robe”.
During my time spent in the Dominican Republic I was blessed to meet many angels. Now these angels are not exactly your Oxford definition. They did not wear wings. They did not submerge from the heavens in white robes singing the hallelujah chorus. These angels were children who possessed more joy and more love than words can even begin to describe.
Some of their stories are beyond disheartening. I’m often brought to tears and battle anger just thinking of what sadness they’ve been exposed to in their innocence. Some of these angels have been victims of rape and betrayed by their families. They’ve all been subject to the gruel realities of poverty. My brain can hardly even fathom what it would be like to walk a day in their shoes.
But how incredibly blessed I am to know these angels. Though I was once a stranger from a different culture who spoke a different language, they all chose to share their love with me. In doing this, they ultimately were sharing their trust. What I’ve learned is that there is no greater gift than a child’s trust. This action speaks louder than any word or any gift. It implies that they believe in you and that they feel safe in your presence. What a gift.
Loving these children has been the easiest thing I’ve ever done. My heart longs to just love them. Time didn’t allow me to hold them for forever. But forever they will be in my heart.
But this is my real struggle…
How can I love the people who have done wrong to these angels? How can I see them as angels too? Understanding that each human being was once an innocent child is a good start, yet it doesn’t cut my infuriation. Let’s be real, accepting that God loves each human being is so much easier said than done. How can I even consider being a mom and bringing children into this world when there’s a chance they too could be maltreated by other people’s children? How can I battle the guilt of living in the first world and converse about pointless small talk when more angels around the world are being oppressed?
Originally posted to The Art of Mission.