Sometimes loving is hard. It requires us to care. And sometimes we would rather not care, because it hurts more than being selfish. We would rather do things to get them done than look into the eyes of a child who has little hope of a future and love him. The temptation is the mundane. The temptation is to disengage your heart and rely on your head to carry your shoulders through the comfort of day to day. But living like this, we find ourselves weary and worn, lacking motivation and wondering why we came.
Love is uncomfortable. Love hurts for people. Love sheds tears and gets in fights with passivity. It’s raw, it’s gutty, it’s tenacious, and without it we will dry up. Love isn’t clean, and it isn’t orderly. Love reacts to hatred, and it feels like blood boiling as I bite my tongue and look out the window of the twelve-seater van. Love tips over tables of compromise and shakes the confines of complacency. It sounds like cracking concrete and looks like lighting striking wooden beams. Let it lead you. Let it pull you chest-first past where your head would never dare venture. It will give your eyes the ability to see the overlooked. It will give your hands the strength to reach out of your comfort zone. It will give your knees the stability to step forward onto uncertain ground. It will give you the ignorance you need to let your flesh die as you feed the dying. It doesn’t know when to let go. It doesn’t know how to. It’ll get you into trouble and laugh at the consequences, because love never considered self on the list of pros and cons. I’m rambling. Anyway…

As I sat in a Starbucks, I was surrounded by Middle Eastern individuals, but still, it reminded me of America. I hadn’t realized that I missed it. I thought of how soon I’ll be heading home and was hit with a mixture of excitement and unreadiness to leave. I found myself questioning whether I had actually made any positive impact here. Gosh, that sounds lame and introspective. It’s easy to forget. It’s easy to live by your present emotions and not consider the amazement you experienced only days before. As I was in the process of criticizing my efforts when Jesus rudely interrupted my thoughts and began affirming me for all I’ve done. I stopped him with the question, “but did I actually do what I came here for? Did I do what you wanted me to? Was I successful?” I felt him clearly ask the question, “did you fall in love with the people here? If you learned to love than you were successful.”

My thoughts went to the boys at the orphanage where I had said goodbye for the last time only a day before. Through more than misty eyes I had watched them disappear into the rearview. I remembered the Sudanese refugees we would often visit. Their stories were tragic, yet as we entered their homes they offered thankful smiles along with a glass of tea or water. I remembered the Sudanese learning center where I did my best to teach them the complicated language of English. I remember teaching Sami how to use PowerPoint and Excel, and him telling me in his thick Sudanese accent, “Someday, I will be great in computer, and I will come visit you in America.” I remembered the many conversations with Muslims, introducing them to a God who is a father who desires relationship with his children. I remembered the friends I had made with shop keepers and store owners. I remembered rolling deep with local college students, playing street soccer until 3 in the morning. I remembered the continuous “Welcome to Egypt” and the countless selfies with strangers excited to see white people. I remembered the lines of people that would come to us after church services, asking for prayers of healing… and more selfies of course.

I looked around the classic brown and green coffee shop and saw all the tan faces and out-of-date styles that had now grown so familiar. I cold never deny it: yes, I’ve fallen in love with these people.

But why? It would have been easier if I stayed home. This country had had little influence on my life and had it disappeared into the desert my own nation would hardly notice. So why did I come? Why feel the pain of love for a people I hardly knew existed and would never have cared for had I stayed? Why give myself for those who could never give anything to me? Why? Because Jesus walks these streets. He sees every orphan and every refugee. He watches every confused and tired soul. He knows the shop keepers and store owners. He reasons with the Muslims, and shows them what he’s like. He intercedes for the hurting and dying. He chooses to love when it would be easier to look away. And as for me, I won’t let him walk these streets alone.