Last night, in one of my "I won't be able to sleep until I can stop thinking about this one inane thing" rampages, I found myself, in the darkness of midnight, snuggled under my covers, clicking link after link while my husband slumbered soundly beside me. And after satiating one curiosity, I found another and another until I was here.
And then I couldn't stop. As the night wore on and I knew I needed sleep, I could not tear myself away.
Photo after photo of real humans in the middle of real lives giving real answers to a guy on the street.
It struck me at one point, looking into the faces of these humans of New York, the vast majority of these individuals (based not on appearance, alone, but on sheer numbers and statistics) are living without hope. They will continue to live their lives - whatever those may hold - and will meet their end without ever knowing Christ.
And for the first time in my life (which is a considerable fact, knowing I, myself, have been a "Christian" for the vast majority of that span), I felt a real, actual, true burden for the lost. I felt sick to my stomach - literally nauseated.
They're dying. These real people. With real lives and real answers. Are dying. Without hope.
How could I have ignored it this long? How could I have traveled to another portion of our globe, multiple times, and not felt this? I've shared my faith - quietly, hesitantly, barely - without the real, honest desire that the listener comprehend and embrace the message of HOPE, of LIFE. I shared it because it was my task for the day - a day I hoped would end soon so it would be someone else's job.
How could that be?!
If I truly believe what I believe, how could I not be devastated at the thought of others not believing, knowing, hoping?
And, yet, it's how I have lived. Every day of my nearly 29 years.
A common thread among these images of these real people in their real lives is the desire to be noticed. Some go so far as to say it - to say they desire a presence in this bustling world, in a city so overflowing with humans you have to be almost crazy to be seen at all.
And yet they don't know.
The God who sees.
He sees them. He sees you. He sees me. And He knows us all. And He longs that we would know Him, too.
God, break my heart for what breaks yours. Burden me for these without hope - in another city, in another country, on another street, in another house. Down the block and across the sea. Burden me.