Monday, February 17, 2014

47/365 • not my own

I wandered again the dusty streets here, and watched naked babes play with buckets of water, their mothers selling sliced mangoes, and Pepsi. I saw a moped carting a large, two-level cage, filled with baby chicks. I saw a truck driving on a 45 degree angle, loaded lopsided.
I have seen Tuk Tuks full to the brim of children, and others loaded with building materials.
I have wandered the streets, under hundreds of string lights, smiling politely as I pass each call of, "You want to look, lady?" "You buy something here?"I have plaited the long black hair of beautiful Cambodian girls, whose very little English includes, "hello" and "please play".
We danced tonight, with these cute little girls and as I crossed language barriers and my own barriers of confidence and fear I realised that I am suddenly walking with a boldness that is not of myself. That if I had stayed small, I wouldn't be seeing the lives of others change."I know, Lord, that our lives are not our own. We are not able to plan our own course."
(Jeremiah 10:23)
That I am being brave with a life that is not my own.

xx

 

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