Yesterday we went to an Alumni fest at on of our colleges. We spotted two empty chairs in the back.  In contrast to the hard folding chairs the two cushioned ones invited us right in.  There were actually three, one occupied by a heavyset guy with a faded dark blue state police shirt, a state police pin of some sort, and dark wool trousers.  He had his stuff sitting on one chair so I quietly asked if any one was using that one.  He smiled and said Harvey was sitting there.  It took a second but I smiled back when he said I was tooyoung to know what he was talking about. I assured him I had seen the movie classic "Harvey" staring Jimmy Stewart.  In fact I owned it. 

The program had already begun so we settled in.   At one point I looked over during the sermon and he was fast asleep.  At another point I saw him looking up at some skylights and saying the sun had finally come out.  I hadn't realized it, but saw it was true.  I then saw it was shining on him and one gray haired lady up front.  I was a little annoyed at his loud whispering of comments periodically, but decided he was a good guy who seemed lonely and it was just fine. 

Up front the minister was talking all about getting out of our comfort zones and reaching out to touch those who are unlovable.  The story was the Samaritan man who found the wounded one and didn't just ignore him but stopped for a while to do what he could.  The minister was pleading with the crowd to consider doing the same and he read some letters from a prisoner he had befriended.  That was his part in this picture. 

It felt good, for once, to be sitting in a sermon like that and realizing that now, after all these years of struggling with my latent convictions on this subject, that I am traveling across the ocean to a foreign land, to a foreign street and down into a dark hole to hug a child who is forgotten by the world.  For once in my life I have this feeling that I am doing something significant for myself and that this somehow agrees with the heart of my Father.  It has been a long time coming, this ministry of mine.  It has been a frustrating journey.  I even had dreams about using the sword of God in battles.  It was once a gold sword, refined by fire.  Later it became a flaming sword, an instrument of healing.   I would see this sword in my hands and believed that Jesus had a ministry planned for me. And now the unexpected has developed.  I am not in an obvious clash of swords.  It is spiritual. 

A few weeks ago my friend David and I were hurrying somewhere in Kherson when three dirty kids, wounded from lack and abandonment, crawled up out of the street.  One sweet girl held a puppy and she kept smiling.  Why, I wondered?   Many others were walking right by the kids just ignoring them.  This hole in the ground outside an Orthodox Church was a receptacle for those who had been beaten down and now ignored.  David and I stopped of course.  We talked a while and then two days later took them on a picnic with other kids.  A whole day of food and swimming washed away wounded ness for a few hours - in all of us.

I am not sure what has happened to the swords of my visions.  I do know that God has given us a service called Shepherd's Purse.  Someone in Ukraine misinterpreted it as, "the bag of the shepherd".  Kind of like a mid-eastern Santa Claus or something.   

It felt good to hear this young preacher pleading with people to look around them for the unloved and touch their wounds, knowing I am being given that opportunity.  Then I heard Bryan, the old guy next to me, kind of laugh and say something like, "Yeah, we can do as much with the staff of a shepherd as we can with a sword."  I'm not kidding.this just came out of his mouth.  I just looked at him and he didn't say anything more.  Later, as lunch ended and the day's activities were ending, I noticed Brian was preparing to leave but seemed to be searching for someone in this crowd whom he could say goodbye to.  For a couple of minutes I saw him kind of wandering through these people looking for someone who could validate his existence in this place.  He slowly made his way to the door and that is where I met him.  He repeated several times, "If I don't see you again here, I'll see you up there".  I assured him I would. Brian will not be forgotten and neither will the children in the streets.