| |
|
|
 |
|
By
Mira Pillar
It
was a typical Monday morning, and my husband and I were in
town on business for the humanitarian aid project we operate
in several Balkan nations. By 10 am it was already getting
quite hot. The afternoon was supposed to be even hotter and
more uncomfortable, so we were trying to finish everything
on our to-do list by noon.
As
we parked our camper van, a beggar approached us—not
at all uncommon here, since millions are still struggling
to overcome the economic effects of the civil war of the early
1990s. We usually give beggars something—a little money
or some humanitarian aid, if we have any with us—but
in this instance we paid the man little attention and hurried
on our way.
When
we returned some time later, he was waiting for us, unperturbed
by our previous rudeness. Since our vehicle has Italian license
plates, he said a few words to us in Italian. When I told
him that I wasn't Italian but from Scandinavia, he started
to speak to me in Danish. My husband and I began looking in
the van for something to give him, and when he heard us conversing
in English, he
|
|
|
| |
|
switched
into nearly perfect English. This was no typical beggar.
He explained
that he was a refugee from Croatia, having fled from the war
years ago with nothing, and that he was homeless. He and some
friends were living in the park across the street. A small gas
cooking stove and three stray dogs by his bedroll testified
to the truth of his story. My husband and I felt terrible for
the way we had treated this obviously decent and intelligent
man who had fallen on hard times—or anyone, for that matter.
The
tragedy of war had brought him and his friends to their present
state, but the longer we talked with him the more we realized
that they have adapted admirably well to extremely rough circumstances,
living in a makeshift “home” under the trees in a
park and bathing and washing their clothes in the nearby Danube
River.
We searched
through our camper and gathered some supplies for him and his
friends—food, soap and other toiletries, etc., as well
as some inspirational reading material—and promised to
bring them some clothing the next time we came to town.
How
easy it is in our sometimes too-hurried lives to miss those
precious moments when we can do something special for a fellow
human being. We all have much to give others and they have so
much to offer us, but too often our busyness keeps us from receiving
that blessing.
|
|
|
|
|
| |
During
our travels, people often ask us, “Have you seen this?”
“Did you go there?” “Did you see this sight?”
Much to their surprise, our usual reply is no, even concerning
the commonest points of interest on most tourists' sightseeing
lists. The things that everybody comes to New York or London
or Paris or Rome to see, we haven't even bothered to go around
the corner to give a passing glance.
What interests us is seeing the eternal creations of God,
coming face to face with the infinitely more fascinating,
everlasting souls of men—that heart-to-heart contact
of spirit with spirit, that reaching out for the touch divine
in His crowning creation, the immortal human soul. We glimpse
it in every person we meet, everyone with whom we come in
contact—the vibrant eternal, immortal marvel of human
spiritual life that comes from the hand of God!
Therefore,
to those who ask us if we have seen this or that sight, we
have come to enjoy replying with an emphatic, “No, we
are not even interested! We are only interested in you!”
This
is what is thrilling! This is what is exciting! This
is what motivates us to cross continents and oceans to faraway
lands. We go to seek and to save that which was lost. This
is what is worth seeing—that longing look deep in the
eyes of a frightened young girl, that searching spirit of
a wandering boy, that deep hunger in the heart of man for
his Creator, the immortal spirit, the spark of eternity in
every human heart.
—David
Brandt Berg
|
|
|
|
| |
|
