From time to time a little hot dog stand is set up, just outside the security gate of Jefferson County's DHR building. A young guy and gal run it together. He does the money; she cooks the hot dogs. You can get the plain combo for $4 flat: that's the dog, a bag of chips, and a soda.
I hate hot dogs, but I always stop to buy one when I'm there, and I tell them I don't need the change.
Straight down 12th Avenue North, about a block and a half, there's a row of boarded up homes, an old Salvation Army site across the street, and individuals, who for one reason or another, have become strangers to everywhere but the streets.
As I opened my purse to get my hot dog, I realized I had $35 in cash. That never happens.
"What's it gonna be today?" asked the young money guy.
"I want $35 worth of combos," I said before I even realized it had come out.
"Could I have $35 worth of the plain combo today? No fancy stuff, because I'll just spill it." A little brown girl was weaving in and out of my legs, while her grandmother was still walking from the DHR building to the stand. She was naming every member of her family she had gotten to see today.
I waited, loaded up my eight hot dog combos, drove a block and a half down, and put them in the hands of the street strangers...the wanderers.
One fellow didn't even give me the time of day, but old grandaddy held my hand tight and wept.
And my words were the same I whisper in my children's ears....Jesus loves you so.
Driving home, I debated about whether or not to even write about this. But I realized...for years, I've begged God to break my heart for what breaks His. He's done that. Those weren't my hands pressing hot dogs into the image bearers of God. To say so would be a lie, for He has changed me.
Those weren't my words that whispered the Truth to their longing ears; He was the author of those words, that story, my redemption.
That wasn't my initiative that bought $35 of the plain hot dog combo, and it wasn't even my money. It was His provision for this moment. It was His spirit living and abiding in me.
The same spirit that lives and abides in you.
This is not our story we are proclaiming. It is His. This is not our glory being sung. It is His.
This is not about me, or you. It's is about the One weaving His heart into our own. It's His eyes, and His feet, and His hands, and His heart.
Today it happened to be me at the hot dog stand with $35 in my purse; tomorrow, it might be you with $5, or an ear to listen, or a voice to share, or a hand to hold.
Apart from Him, I have nothing, but with Him, I am so very, very rich, even when my purse is empty. What can I do, but press my provision into the hands of the hurting, but press His words into the ears of the searching, but press His love into the heart of the despairing.
All for Jesus...