"Give Me Your Eyes, Lord"

The following article appears in the September, 2009 issue of The War Cry.

“I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for Me.” Jesus, Matthew 25:40

I stood in the jewelry craft aisle at Wal-Mart, nervously scanning the shelves and nearly in tears. In charge of hosting a “Jewelry Party” for a local women’s shelter that night, I had no idea what to do. I had hoped another lady from church with experience making jewelry would be able to join us, but she’d just called to say she was unavailable. Days earlier, my grandfather passed away, and we’d just returned from a trip to Tennessee. I simply did not feel like going. “Whose stupid idea was it to go down to a women’s shelter anyway?” I muttered under my breath. “Oh yeah,” I remembered -- “it was mine.”

Our pastor had given a sermon a few weeks back based on Francis Chan’s book, Crazy Love. We watched the video for one of my favorite songs, “Give Me Your Eyes” by Brandon Heath. The whole idea of looking around, loving our neighbor, moving outside our comfort zones -- well, it sounded great. Time to see some action.

I had actually been meaning to get a group of women together to visit the women’s shelter after a luncheon at the ministry months before. It just hadn’t “worked out,” but now I was determined.

After an announcement at church, I had 20 interested ladies, and got the first small group together to go down Tuesday night. Armed with bags of beads and brownies, we ventured into the unknown.

Some of the women were a little timid at first, but as we munched and made bracelets, they began to open up. One woman, a recent rehab wash-out, had just gotten out of jail and needed to get back to Detroit to report to her parole officer. Could we give her a ride or buy her a bus ticket? How humbling to realize that she didn’t have a friend to call and simply could not afford a $27 bus ticket to go home.

Another middle-aged woman, actually quite joyful, had NEVER IN HER LIFE been outside the greater Grand Rapids area. Completely floored, I began to think about what type of prison some of these women lived in, physical or otherwise.

When a few ladies finished their bracelets, I said, “Here, let’s make another one for a family member or a friend.” One simply looked at me and said, “I ain’t got nobody else.” I thought my heart my break right there.

Some of the women were old, some young. Some looked homeless, others looked fairly well-to-do. We were told that the ladies who sleep there range from transients to those fleeing domestic abuse to those whose homes had been foreclosed. One African-American woman had perfect razor blade scars up and down her young arms indicating that she had intentionally cut herself.

As I sat in the Director’s office trying to arrange the bus ticket to Detroit for our new friend, this cutter became belligerent. The Director had confronted her about her body odor and asked her to shower, and her request was not well-received. Perhaps the Lord protected me, because seconds after I stepped out of the office, the girl pushed the Director in, locked the door and refused to budge her large frame while loudly airing all her grievances.

Not sure what to do, we helplessly looked on while the Director tried to diffuse the situation. Of course, she was trained for this kind of thing, right? We saw that she called the police, while still calmly asking the girl to move.

Two clean-cut, white officers showed up shortly after that, and asked the girl to open the door. She refused but continued yelling. They were able to open the door forcefully, but of course she did not go quietly. Feet firmly planted, they budged and dragged while she loudly and then emotionally protested -- but ultimately she was no match for their strength and expertise. “That woman is a criminal! She needs to be locked up. I didn’t do anything wrong! Let me go!” Fairly painful to watch, we began to pray silently for this broken and bruised child of God.

Then I witnessed one of the sweetest things I think I’ve ever seen. A bulky, seemingly hardened police officer picked up the girl’s coat that had gotten lost in the shuffle and gently placed it over her head and around her shoulders. With hands cuffed behind her, she couldn’t have done that for herself. “It’s cold outside,” he said. “I want you to stay warm while we make our way out to the squad car.”

What a beautiful picture of how our Lord treats us. Sometimes we go kicking and screaming from a place we think we should be. And yet, he lovingly calls us out to keep us from harming ourselves or others. Sometimes, he forcibly removes us, because it’s in our best interest. But He remains a kind and gentle father, and cares for our needs even when we’re ugly and unlovable.

After they left, we secured the bus ticket for our new friend and offered a simple “God bless you” to the rest of the women we’d met that night. I’m not naive enough to think that we saved these women from anything in two hours, but I do think we shared Christ’s love. And perhaps this trip was just as much or more for us than it was for them?

The Director, concerned we wouldn’t come back, explained the situation as a rare occurrence, and thanked us for coming.

As we left that evening, walking by dozens of homeless men loitering outside the building, we had a renewed appreciation for our blessings. Even in difficult economic times, we all had a car to drive and loved ones to return to. As we drove home, we prayed for God’s hand upon these women, and thanked Him for the opportunity to see beyond our own little worlds.

That night, I laid in my warm bed awake for a long time, listening to the 50-mile an hour winds howling outside my window. For the first time, I thought more seriously about folks who literally had no place to go, some who might even be sleeping on the streets and feeling that cold wind this very night. “Give me Your eyes, Lord” I prayed, in the words of that Brandon Heath song. “Give me your eyes for just one second / Give me your eyes so I can see / Everything that I keep missing / Give me your love for humanity / Give me your arms for the broken hearted / Ones that are far beyond my reach / Give me your heart for the ones forgotten / Give me your eyes so I can see.”