One Hour.

Meet Susie.

At about 45 years old, she stands approximately 5’4” tall, has a medium build, long, black hair, is native Alaskan, and has narrow, deep brown eyes.

At age 18 she worked at a Bible camp in Alaska. Her post was the kitchen: their she baked what are rumored to be epic dinner rolls in mass quantities for hungry campers. She baked and catered for the camp, serving others through her work. After completing her job there, she attended Multnoma Bible School for a year. She knows her Bible well.

She has four children. Two of them are honors students making straight A’s. Their pictures are on her phone and she shows them to whoever is willing to look. She loves them dearly. She wishes they didn’t have to grow up.

Susie lives in the woods. She carries all her belongings in a single blue bag small enough to be slung over her shoulder. One of the shoulder straps is broken. She owns three pairs of jeans, three tshirts, a jacket, a long-sleeve shirt, and two pairs of shoes.

Every time my mom hears that a homeless person has been found dead on the streets, she prays it isn’t Susie.

Her boyfriend abuses her.

She’s afraid of going “home”.

But she’s afraid of staying away.

Susie held me as a baby, thinks my older brother is the most handsome thing to walk this earth, loves my mom’s chocolate chip cookies and deep-dish, Chicago style pizza, and cannot get over how my little sister Sara, the baby of the family, is no longer a baby.

Susie was in my home for one hour today. We picked her up after a series of phone conversations revealed her location in a park a short drive away. She hadn’t eaten in three days. We took her food, and she quickly gave in to coming home with us. While apologizing for the alcohol on her breath, she told us about her kids, admired how big my brother and I had grown, and talked about the old times when she worked with my mom at camp.

We had convinced her to spend the night - my bed was prepared for her to sleep in, I was nearly ready to start a load of laundry with her clothing in it, and there was a hot cup of soup waiting upstairs. She went down to the shower convinced she would spend the night. She came back up afraid she would be beat for not going home.

As quickly as she came, she was gone. Her bag wasn’t big enough to stuff all the supplies we wanted to in it, but we tried. Most importantly, I placed a small, ESV Bible on top. My mom had owned that Bible before me, and it was a joy to pass on to her. When we gave the Bible to her, the first thing she did was smell it. She held it tenderly, and started to cry. She hadn’t owned a Bible in years.

We dropped her off where we had found her. She didn’t want to go. We tried to convince her to stay. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She didnt.

When Susie called this evening (she calls quite often, and is most often intoxicated), my first instinct was to spring into action. I packed up food, told my mom I would be more than willing to go with her to the park (it wasn’t safe for only one of us to go alone), and didn’t think twice about the project I was in the middle of.

On the way there, we discussed the possibility of Susie spending the night. More than likely she would be drunk. She couldn’t be in the house alone, and would need a ride around town in the morning if she was finally going to get help. She would need a caretaker and a helper. My mom has to work, but my schedule for the weekend is free, so I volunteered quite willingly. I wanted to see her off the street and safe.

Those were my first inticts. Serve the poor. Love the needy among you. Seize the opportunities God places before you to help others. Sure! I want to do that. My heart breaks for the homeless. I want to do something. I need to do something.

But what were my second thoughts? Of those, I am most ashamed. I began to think about my plans for the weekend. I began to think about giving up my bed. I began to think of all the statistics homework I was planning on getting done with my day off. I began to think about sacrificing my money and my time. And a small part of me began to hope that she wouldn’t want to stay for the weekend. And if I wasn’t on the verge of tears before, those thoughts of apathy pushed me right over the edge.

I cried as Susie left the car. I cried when I saw how much she loved my mom and wanted to prove herself to her. I cried as I watched my mom’s heart break for her friend she’s been trying to help for thirty years. I cried when Susie wept over the precious Bible she had been given. I cried because all of her possessions reeked of urine. I cried because she thinks this man she is living with loves her. I cried because she’s tried to change many times before and has failed each time. I cried to see her limp into the woods. And I cried when I realized that while most of me wants to do something about it, some of me wants to serve myself.

Meet Elizabeth.

At 19 years of age, she stands at approximately 5’6.5”, has brown hair and blue eyes, owns more clothing than she can wear in a month, eats three meals a day, lives in a warm home and is attending a private university in Texas. She gives her money to good causes when she has a little extra, has always owned at least two Bibles, and doesn’t know what it feels like to go to bed hungry because she didn’t have a choice.

Elizabeth serves the Lord when it’s most convenient for her, although she does wish she was more involved in helping the poor. However, she lacks the time to make these wishes a reality. Her intentions are almost all good, though, and she prays for the poor and homeless nearly every day.

Meet Susie. Meet Elizabeth. Meet two different worlds.

Meet two missions fields.