Infidel
I'm reading this book about a woman born Muslim and her journey from that life to freedom...
*sort of: There is no true freedom except in Christ and she has not found Him, to my knowledge.*
Her story is brutal. I cannot imagine living for a second the life that was born into. Here I am in America, safe with my children and husband, in a good job, a safe place to live, walking through Wal-Mart. For the first time in my life I look at the walls and walls of toys at our disposal. We could've purchased anything we wanted yesterday. Anything. And I tried to imagine coming from a hut, essentially, where women are property, and children are legally beaten at home and at school and rarely shown affection. There is war and famine and descrimination and violence in the streets. The government is hostile toward the people and they live in fear. Now back to Wal-Mart, where children are bawling because they can't have a green ball because in the rack of balls to the ceiling, the green ones are all gone.
I feel a little guilty. I've tried not to indulge in $4 coffees. And I decided that I'd rather spend 20 minutes tending to my feet at home than $25 in a salon. And instead of going to a department store after bedding that matches the curtains, I'll shop the thrift stores for vintage fabric and tailor something pretty to cover our bed. But I still feel a little guilty about the way I live in America.
It's not even about the money; it's more about the way that I think and evade people sufferings. We love to watch documentaries and a lot of times we'll watch shows about prison life, crime investigations, and the like. The things I can't stomach, I also can't look away from; things like human trafficking and other crimes toward children. I lay in bed and cry for the suffering of others and ache because there's nothing I can do but pray. And if I can't fix it, I'd rather not know. It's so incredibly selfish.
Knowing our lives will not be in vain as we live in blind obedience, not knowing the next destination, gives me some peace. God has planted dreams in our hearts that I am certain He will fulfill: tending to orphans and widows. And if I don't know their sufferings, if I've never read about them or cried myself to sleep on their behalf, how can I ever hug them tight enough when they come into my life? How can I emphathize at all if I have never prayed for God to lift the agony of their burden that I can somehow feel? Make me a vessel of the love of Christ to everyone around me, God. It's all I've got.
*sort of: There is no true freedom except in Christ and she has not found Him, to my knowledge.*
Her story is brutal. I cannot imagine living for a second the life that was born into. Here I am in America, safe with my children and husband, in a good job, a safe place to live, walking through Wal-Mart. For the first time in my life I look at the walls and walls of toys at our disposal. We could've purchased anything we wanted yesterday. Anything. And I tried to imagine coming from a hut, essentially, where women are property, and children are legally beaten at home and at school and rarely shown affection. There is war and famine and descrimination and violence in the streets. The government is hostile toward the people and they live in fear. Now back to Wal-Mart, where children are bawling because they can't have a green ball because in the rack of balls to the ceiling, the green ones are all gone.
I feel a little guilty. I've tried not to indulge in $4 coffees. And I decided that I'd rather spend 20 minutes tending to my feet at home than $25 in a salon. And instead of going to a department store after bedding that matches the curtains, I'll shop the thrift stores for vintage fabric and tailor something pretty to cover our bed. But I still feel a little guilty about the way I live in America.
It's not even about the money; it's more about the way that I think and evade people sufferings. We love to watch documentaries and a lot of times we'll watch shows about prison life, crime investigations, and the like. The things I can't stomach, I also can't look away from; things like human trafficking and other crimes toward children. I lay in bed and cry for the suffering of others and ache because there's nothing I can do but pray. And if I can't fix it, I'd rather not know. It's so incredibly selfish.
Knowing our lives will not be in vain as we live in blind obedience, not knowing the next destination, gives me some peace. God has planted dreams in our hearts that I am certain He will fulfill: tending to orphans and widows. And if I don't know their sufferings, if I've never read about them or cried myself to sleep on their behalf, how can I ever hug them tight enough when they come into my life? How can I emphathize at all if I have never prayed for God to lift the agony of their burden that I can somehow feel? Make me a vessel of the love of Christ to everyone around me, God. It's all I've got.
And what is the name of this book? I would love to know ...:o)
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