Today was hard. Exceptionally hard. Heart-shattering, mind-numbing. Indescribably hard.
It’s not that I haven’t visited LDC slums before–the bruises that the slums of Kampala, Uganda left on my heart are still healing. But walking through the slums of La Carpio in Costa Rica today was different. Not because the conditions were any better or worse in comparison to Africa, but because the condition of my heart was different. For better and for worse, the condition of my heart had changed.
I think it’s easy to find ourselves in positions of complacency in our lives. We are freed of our bondage or delivered from our suffering or blessed with success and progress, and we stand proudly in our renewed strength. We face the temptations we once struggled with or the triggers that once set us off or the people who once tore us down, and we don’t allow them to phase us. In that victory, we stand even prouder. We develop discipline, win the small battles, and remain encouraged in our progress.
Then somewhere along the way we unknowingly creep into a state of self-righteousness and develop the subtle presumption that those struggles will never phase us again. That we are capable of handling everything on our own. That we are beyond that temptation and will certainly never allow it to rule our lives again.
So quickly, we begin to make the biggest mistake an individual can subconsciously make–we begin to let our guard down.
I’m guilty of this. I’m so overwhelmingly guilty of this, time after time. And it took a prostitute in the slums of Central America to reveal to me just how far I’ve fallen, when I was convinced I never lost my footing in the first place.
After navigating through the streets of La Carpia–a slum community comprised of 44,000 people, 30,00 of which are children, that literally sits in the center of the city’s landfill–we found our way to the Methodist Church we were partnering with for the day. The familiar experience of stepping over streams of human waste, reading gang insignia painted across shanty huts, and watching hungry children litter the streets alongside hungry cats and dogs, served as a heavy blow to my still-aching heart. But I worked to keep my composure and focus on the day’s tasks.
We started by helping to fill plates and bellies through the church’s weekly feeding program. The laughter and chatter moved to the back of the building as we wrestled and danced with beautiful, brown-eyed babies for hours on end. We tried to lead the kids through a few bible school songs and stories, but quickly found that more than they needed education in that moment, they needed attention. A friend to laugh with, a ‘gringo’ to climb on, a pair of eyes to look into theirs and care. Truly care. They were thirsty for love, and so we loved as deeply as time allowed.
As the children danced out of the church and scattered throughout the clutter and grime of the neighborhood, the pastor’s wife gathered us to talk. Through a translator, she shared a powerful message of faith and belief. Belief in all things good. Belief in love and restoration and provision. Belief in perseverance–even when hope is hard to find. As she talked, we wept. As she wept, we prayed. And as the sun began to lower over the garbage-littered outskirts of La Carpia, we worshiped.
But as we prayed and sang, I found my mind in a far different place. I felt guilty for a moment that I wasn’t able to fully focus my prayers on the depravity around me, but I quickly began to realize that God was prompting me to pray, first, for the depravity in my own heart.
I arrogantly resisted for a few minutes–the pride of my own mind holding me back. I sat on my knees in a state of spiritual complacency and argued with God that my heart was fine. That the issues in these slums were far more pressing than the issues of my heart. After all, I was the missionary here. I am the writer and the speaker and the example-setter. I am the one who has plenty, while these people have none.
And with all the ease and might of a perfectly loving God, He simply pressed a bone-trembling truth on my heart…
“You are no more free of bondage than the prostitute that sits outside the door, if you have not love.”
I opened my eyes and peered through the dirty concrete opening we had entered in through. Just outside of the church sat a young girl, no older than 15. Her hair was combed and shining. Her clothes were clean and pressed. Her makeup was perfectly applied to her gentle skin. And there she sat. Alone. Leaning against the corner of a shanty hut, her feet propped over a stream of sewage that ran beneath her. There she waited. Waited for someone to come along and give her worth. Waited in hopelessness.
A hot tear boiled in my eye and before I could even collect my thoughts, God began to lay a list of names on my heart. I list of names I had buried so deep. A list of names that I was sure I was beyond. A list of names I had distanced myself from for so many years.
One by one, God whispered the names of men I had physically given pieces of myself away to in past. Name after name after name He whispered. Name after name after name. Before I knew the words my lips were forming, I realized I was praying for each of those men by name. As He so gently reminded me of each indiscretion, I lifted each person up. I prayed for the salvation of some, the forgiveness of others, the health and growth of the rest. Name after name after name.
And as I prayed, I realized a wrecking truth…I had never once prayed for a single one of these men before. My wild years were so far behind me and I had forgiven myself for my failures long ago, but I had never truly forgiven those men. I had never even brought their names before God. I had only loved myself enough to erase the memories. I had never loved others enough to genuinely let myself care.
“You are no more free of bondage than the prostitute that sits outside the door, if you have not love.”
Love. Forgiveness. Compassion. I desired, so deeply, all of these things in that moment. I looked at that beautiful girl and saw God as He sees us in our sin of complacency. Beloved children trapped amongst the slums of our own pride. Just as my heart broke for the prostitute, His heart breaks for us when we sit in unforgiveness.
“If I speak with human eloquence and angelic ecstasy but don’t love, I’m nothing but the creaking of a rusty gate. If I speak God’s Word with power, revealing all his mysteries and making everything plain as day, and if I have faith that says to a mountain, “Jump,” and it jumps, but I don’t love, I’m nothing. If I give everything I own to the poor and even go to the stake to be burned as a martyr, but I don’t love, I’ve gotten nowhere. So, no matter what I say, what I believe, and what I do, I’m bankrupt without love.” –1 Corinthians 13: 1-3
Dragging the skeletons from our closet is not comfortable, but it is necessary. Where is unforgiveness hidden in your life? I find that we often find ourselves in a sense of complacency when we suppress issues deep enough that we no longer feel them and can superficially act like they no longer exist. But who are you fooling? The only person who will suffer, and sit amongst the filth of unforgiveness, is YOU.
Live boldly. Love deeply. And forgive freely. Do not prostitute your full potential by staying imprisoned in your own waste. We are nothing without love, and love is NEVER complacent.
