When there is no thank you.

 Yesterday was a marked day in my dealings with sweet refugees. It was one out of 100 that I have spent when instead of love, thankfulness and kindness I received annoyed, frustrated, demanding people.

 It was full of moments where I was actively choosing peace and the women I was trying to help calmly and sweetly would not.listen.to.one.word.i .said.

 I was called for from a sweet friend and there were children throwing rocks at my car.

 As I tried to take care of a rush of people who showed up at the close of the clinic I was spoken to rudely, walked out on, had women begging, grabbing, lying and trying to take things when I was not looking. Oooofffffff.

 And while I am fighting so hard with everything in me not to lose my cool, not to just start speaking harshly to these women…I know that this moments counts. I have every right to yell, stop, shut down the clinic. I have every right to stop serving and to let this day become a road of small offenses that I can carry.

 But that is not why I am here. I am not here for the thank you, although it is oh so amazing when I get it.

 I am here because this is where Jesus is. He sits in this crowded tent, with some women who feel as though they are making up symptoms up, who won’t relent until they get the medicine they think they need, even when it is not at all what we know they need.  He walked into the sick crowds and even though I can imagine absolute chaos and pleading and pushing in, he did not avoid crowds. No, he went and touched, and prayed and healed.

  So I am here for the older women and her 70 year old mom that broke her arm 4 days ago and can’t even pay for a taxi to get to the hospital.  Whose right arm is black with bruising and swollen twice the size of her other arm. Who needs someone loving and caring to tell them that we are so sorry, to pray for them, to give them money for a taxi and tell them not to stay home any longer, but to go to the hospital today.

  I am there for the sweet 7 month pregnant woman who is having some early signs of labor and is scared and just needs someone who cares, who loves, who prays, to tell her to rest and lay hands on her sweet belly.

   When the chaos, the crowds, the ignorance, stubbornness floods in and tries to define the clinic I have to choose with all my heart to recognize that this is where Jesus is sitting. He cares for these refugees. He cares for their pain and their hurt and sees every piece that is motivating their desperate behavior.