The Cave People

By Max Lucado

LONG AGO, or maybe not so long ago, there was a tribe in a dark, cold cavern. The cave dwellers would huddle together and cry against the chill. Loud and long they wailed. It was all they did. It was all they knew to do. The sounds in the cave were mournful, but the people didn’t know it, for had never known life.

But then, one day, they heard a different voice. "I have heard your cries," it announced. "I have felt your chill and seen your darkness. I have come to help."

The cave people grew quiet. They had never heard this voice. Hope sounded strange to their ears. "How can we know you have come to help?"

"Trust me," he answered. "I have what you need."

The cave people peered through the darkness at the figure of the stranger. He was stacking something, then stooping and stacking more.

"What are you doing?" one cried, nervous.

The stranger didn’t answer.

"What are you making?" one shouted even louder.

Still no response.

"Tell us!" demanded a third.

The visitor stood and spoke in the direction of the voices. "I have what you need." With that he turned to the pile at his feet and lit it. Wood ignited, flames erupted, and light filled the cavern.

The cave people turned away in fear. "Put it out!" they cried. "It hurts to see it."

"Light always hurts before it helps," he answered. "Step closer. The pain will soon pass."

"Not I," declared a voice.

"Nor I," agreed a second.

"Only a fool would risk exposing his eyes to such light."

The stranger stood next to the fire. "Would you prefer the darkness? Would you prefer the cold? Don’t consult your fears. Take a step of faith."

For a long time no one spoke. The people hovered in groups covering their eyes. The fire builder stood next to the fire. "It’s warm here," he invited.

"He’s right," one from behind him announced. "It’s warmer." The stranger turned and saw a figure slowly stepping toward the fire. "I can open my eyes now," she proclaimed. "I can see."

"Come closer," invited the fire builder.

She did. She stepped into the ring of light. "It’s so warm!" She extended her hands and sighed as her chill began to pass.

"Come, everyone! Feel the warmth," she invited.

"Silence, woman!" cried one of the cave dwellers. "Dare you lead us into your folly? Leave us and take your light with you."

She turned to the stranger. "Why won’t they come?"

"They choose the chill, for though it’s cold, it’s what they know. They’d rather be cold than change."

"And live in the dark?"

"And live in the dark."

The now-warm woman stood silent. Looking first at the dark, then at the man.

"Will you leave the fire?" he asked.

She paused, then answered, "I cannot. I cannot bear the cold." Then she spoke again. "But nor can I bear the thought of my people in darkness."

"You don’t have to," he responded, reaching into the fire and removing a stick. "Carry this to your people. Tell them the light is here, and the light is warm. Tell them the light is for all who desire it."

And so she took the small flame and stepped into the shadows.

A Love Story

"Years pass and you run into that boy from high school who liked you too much. But things are different now, and you see that what you took for weakness was compassion; and what you took for sternness was strength. And you see that he's been there all along-he's never once left you-and that he loves you dearly, down to your very soul. What does he want? To give you the desires of your heart.

"Because as it turns out the Christian story is unabashedly and unashamedly a love story.

"It's the story of Someone being head over heels in love with us, and the story of us falling in love with him. And the question I hear at Mass every morning is simple in that love: Will you be mine? he asks. By receiving him I answer Yes, and when I look into the window of my soul, God and I are dancing." - Bo Caldwell, A Change of Heart

The Narrow Road

"Strive to enter by the narrow door; for many, I tell you, will seek to enter and will not be able.” Luke 13:24

Nobody said it was going to be easy; I never expected it to be. Only through the grace of God am I sustained and strengthened, especially when the door starts to narrow uncomfortably.

The particular mission we have been called to is not just about feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, healing the sick, or turning tears to laughter. As I reflect more and more about it, that’s probably the easy part. For indeed, seeing God every day in the face of the poorest of the poor is reward in itself.

And yet only recently have I realized the truth that choosing to follow Christ means not only doing what He instructed, but actually sharing in His suffering.

In this one week, three children whose lives were touched by the foundation died. We did not know any one of them well enough to say that we came to love them, but each of them was sent to us to be cared for. And despite that, all suffered ends that the rest of the world would call “senseless.”

A newborn infant, whose mother lived on the streets and plied her sampaguitas right up to the point of labor, chain-smoking the entire time. He lived 11 days, and died from pneumonia complicated by the hole in his heart. Anthony Alcaraz, 10 years old, who used to come to the center for feeding and whose last conversation with Kuya Joe Dean was while Anthony was caught trying to steal metal railings on the highway in the middle of the night. He was found in the creek, strangled to death with a nylon cord. And a young man named JR, found by Kuya and Vince ragged, filthy, starving and suffering from epileptic seizures, on the floor of the empty He Cares unit in Montalban. He was a criminal and an addict, or so the people at the Health Center and the police outpost right beside the unit said. Not even his family bothered to take care of him, so why should they? A few nights later, we found that JR had indeed found his way home…after his family finally claimed his dead body – a body containing a soul that at least was given some amount of dignity by Kuya and Vince during its last moments on earth.

Our French volunteer was distraught; I suspect he didn’t quite expect to sign up for this kind of emotional bungee jump. Three deaths in one week on a mission involving children – who, in the normal scheme of the universe, should outlive their elders. He quoted Victor Hugo in his grief over the loss of a child, I quoted Mother Teresa in her love that made sense of the “senseless” grief surrounding her.

And the narrow door looms; the narrow road continues to wend into the distance. Just yesterday, one of my biggest fears became reality: that in the course of your mission you are maliciously suspected of something sinister. White missionary + streetchildren = screaming paranoid bystander and a truckload of goons just waiting for any opportunity to beat anyone up. If not for the grace of God and the protection of His Most Holy Blood…I would rather not think of what could have happened and instead fall at His feet in gratitude.

Difficulties like this are designed to make you want to stop, take stock, assess the risks, and turn back. Yet when we think about how the Pathmaker Himself carved out that lonely, solitary path that led to unspeakable suffering, we pick ourselves up from where we left off. And when we think about how His suffering led to our eternal salvation, we continue to walk, ever mindful of where His footprints lead, through that narrow door, down that narrow road.

Spoken To, Spoken For

Three hours of sleep on the busiest day of my week, and not enough time to properly talk to God. I was late enough as things went, especially since the Center was unusually shorthanded - even some of our regular volunteers couldn't make it - last Saturday, and so I apologetically rushed through my prayers, asking Him instead to speak to me as I went through the day.

And He did. Amidst all the activity, His quiet voice spoke volumes, stilling the chaos the way it once calmed the seas during a treacherous storm.

He spoke through Kuya Joe Dean: after lunch, he began telling Vince the true essence of his mission. People go everywhere trying to encounter Jesus - on retreat, on pilgrimages, to the ends of the earth. But He is always right there in front of us, waiting to be acknowledged, embraced, and loved. The face of the hungry, the naked, the imprisoned, the dying, is the face of the suffering Christ...and He said that whatsoever we do to the least of these most wretched brothers of ours, we do unto Him. It was a truth I discovered for myself from the very beginning of my own call to mission, and the reason why I returned week after week, then day after day. And it was exactly what I needed to hear just then, especially after going through a short period of the "in-betweens" (that dreary place between the mountaintop and the valley).

He spoke so beautifully during the impromptu intercession with the Center's teenagers that brought about the powerful descent of the Holy Spirit, as He anointed His newfound laborers for the harvest through Kuya. Carry My light into the world, He said. Another reminder of something He once said, and reassurance of why I am where I am and why I try to do what I want to do for Him.

And even later He spoke so profoundly in my heart, on the way home from Montalban after a chilly night with the children He sent us to love. His voice - His way of lovingly reminding me where He has taken me on this little journey together, His confirmation that indeed only He could work the transformation that I still find difficult to comprehend - resonated so powerfully that it brought about His favorite gift to me: tears that flowed like a healing river all the way back to the city. Would have been very normal, the way I weep freely in His presence, except that this time "we" had company, through whom He likewise spoke, and who was very kind about the copious amount of involuntary tearduct activity.

Finally, He gave me a little bonus to cap off so very wonderful a day survived on three hours' sleep: "one minute" (that extended to almost three hours) with some of the dearest friends He's given me, who know exactly how I get and what I am willing to do whenever He "talks" to me, and who love me still - or, as I'd like to believe, even all the more - despite?, nay, because of it.

May He grant me the grace to always listen whenever He speaks.

I have made you a light to the nations,
so that my salvation may reach the
remotest parts of the earth. (Acts 13:47, Is 49:6)

Take Me Back

The one great fear I have in my relationship with the Lord is that I somehow stray from His sight - or, rather, to stray so far that I fail to see Him clearly (if at all). I am so afraid of this very real possibility that I have prayed, begged - I think for as long as I've had a regular prayer time - that I be given the grace to always sit at His feet and look upon His face; to be so close to Him that I can almost hear His heart beat. I have no doubt now that He has heard and always heeded this constant, desperate plea - how else to explain the surprising immediacy of those gentle and not-so-gentle reminders every time I start to veer course? His response to my transgressions is lightning-fast; I give praise to Him who has never allowed me to wallow too long in the muck of iniquity! And when I say "never too long," I mean He douses me with His heavenly hose and sets me on the right path again in a matter of days, sometimes even hours. And then He takes my hand firmly in His, and walks with me until I unfortunately get distracted again; even then, all it takes is a stern - but loving - tug from Him and my attention (oftentimes!) is focused back on Him.

The last couple of days had been a little blah on the Relationship (with God) Richter scale; I've been a little self-indulgent, self-centered, and selfish. But once again, before I went off distractedly wandering into miseries of my own creation, He called me back very quickly, sat me at His feet, and so very tenderly reminded me to keep my gaze focused on my Lord and my All. I detest the ugliness of my humanity, I said. I made you, and you are one of my most beautiful creations, He replied. For you are made in My own image, and I see nothing ugly in what I myself have made. You may be a little dirty, perhaps, but I'll take care of that.

He always takes care of that, Praise Him. :-) Tonight, after a good Father-daughter bonding session, I read an article by one of my favorite Catholic authors, Peter Kreeft. This is a wonderful read, and, if you follow it up with this song by Anointed, you're likely to be back on track, looking into His eyes as He lovingly looks into yours, and begging Him to take you back to the time you fell in love. :-)

TAKE ME BACK
Anointed

I don't love you like I used to
when nothing came between my God and me
And somehow it seems
I've lessened my dependence.
I wonder why it's not the way
it used to be.

But I'm ready to learn
how to faithfully love you
with my heart, my soul, my mind.
Take me back,
take me back to
the time I fell in love.

I don't serve you like I used to
'cause I'm too busy serving me
and I don't spend the time with you
I need to
and wonder why my soul
can not find peace.

But I'm ready to learn
how to faithfully serve you
with my hand, my life, my time.
Take me back,
take me back to
the time I fell in love.

Only In Our Weakness...

Last Friday, I was asked to lead worship. Was slightly apprehensive about it, not only because I hadn't done it for more than four months since leaving my former ministry and community, but also because I cannot speak straight Filipino without sounding like a declamation contestant, much less pray purely in Tagalog. Earlier that day, I also was asked to do the Bible "feeding" before lunch, but because of my inarticulate-ness, I begged to say just a short prayer in (very mangled) Tagalog instead. Worse, I had to prepare a little exhortation prior to musical worship, also in the vernacular. To top it all off, a fellow volunteer slash instrumentalist received the last-minute commission to accompany me on the keyboards and he was unfamiliar with some of the songs I wanted to use. And if that wasn't enough of a challenge, I had to very quickly prepare cardboard idiot boards (no such thing as LCDs or overhead projectors at our little shelter!) to guide the evening's worshippers. All this while dealing with dinner, ringing phones, a couple of hungry streetkids, and the promise to attend a community prayer meeting elsewhere. But amidst all this stress, I of course was blessed.

One of the most important things I have learned on this walk is to give God room to do His work. How else would He be glorified if we did all the work and made perfect all our efforts? Once upon a time, someone attempted to convince me that long, detailed, well-thought out preparation was required to do God's will "perfectly." Unfortunately, we rarely have that luxury, and if we indeed rely entirely on our human efforts and talents to produce a flawless endeavor, then any success would be attributable entirely to ourselves, without giving God any credit or the opportunity to take center stage. Indeed, "not to us O Lord, not to us, but to Your name give the glory!" (Psalm 115:1)

And thus "do your best, and God will do the rest." No need for absolute perfection on our part, as that would be simply impossible to accomplish, for God does not call the qualified - He qualifies the called. More importantly, in our weakness does His power and strength make itself fully perfect(cf. 2 Corinthians 12:9).

That evening, I'd never praised so fluently in Filipino, switching back and forth to straight English as I allowed the Spirit to lead. I'd never had as much confidence in a shaky instrumentalist or risen above the sharps and flats of the accompaniment without so much as the slightest cringe. In all this, all the glory was His, as we allowed our weaknesses to be augmented by His great power. And that evening, He was not only worshipped as He ought to be, but He was also glorified tremendously as He Himself shone forth over and beyond mortal weakness with His magnificent beauty and saving strength.

So many more things to be said about His unbelievably immeasurable Grace, but I'll save them for later. God is great, and He is so very, very good!