Heart Call

To this day I can't fight it.

How many years it's been since i started or let's say stopped my ministry, my visits to the slums.

To this day, I see pictures and I cry. I cry in a way that longs for release. Release back there.

It's not noble. It's not social. It's not the activist inside me.

All of that has been burned away, washed up by time. Cleared out by a Greater cause. Faded with Time.

But this has remained. It really has.

It's been 3 years since Kibera. 5 since the Philippines. 23 since I left my mother land.

My heart aches in a way I can't explain. It runs in my blood. Etched in my bones.

I smell it when I close my eyes.

They are my people. I'm supposed to be with them. Not sure when, not sure how.

But this I know:

I will go back.

A call is heard. And I heard it perhaps when I was 5 or 20. It doesn't matter.

"The place where God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world's deep hunger meet." - F. B.

My deepest joy is in being with them, them that know more about joy and suffering than I'll never know. Them who know what it is to go without food and give freely. Them who are poor, but don't rejoice in poverty.

I don't put them on a pedestal. I just love them. I don't applaud their suffering, I long to bear it with them.

I don't want to call them, "them." I want to know their names, their stories, their hopes, their dreams, their relationships with God.

I want to tell them of a God that loves them.

Although I have a feeling,

they know Him better than I do.

I am gripped. In Love.

All I need is the green light and I will be unstoppable.