I walked through a field today. The view was as beautiful as always though I've never seen it in the summer. I'm used to trekking through deep snow and dodging pot-holes filled with icy water. I walked a half mile past the tall grain as dirt crunched beneath my feet. The path is off a winding German road which leads to villages beyond the forest. Windmills line the walk and nothing is in sight except the rolling hills of Eastern Germany and a herd of cattle to my side.
My mind raced back to the time I walked down the rocky hillside in Romania holding a gypsy child on my hip. We prayed over the city, the least we could do, as Josiah played the mandolin and we worshiped our great God.
The dirt path reminded me of how much we are all connected. We all make footprints in the sand. Some lighter than others. Some are heavier, carrying the burdens of laborious and dejected lives.
My heart sunk on my way back home through the forest. I thought of a mother I met in India who wanted nothing more than for me to take her child. She thought giving up her baby to a westerner would ensure that it had a better life - or at least a chance at life. These mothers don’t know if their own children will live to see the next day. They give everything just to feed them, but it’s still not enough. There is not enough for them to give.
It breaks my heart every time I think about it. I know I don’t have much to offer to the millions in need. A good friend of mine once said, “You can’t save everyone.” So I rely on the tiniest portion that I can offer which might well change a single life one day, because at least that’s one more life than none.
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