I sat down to read Tim Huff's book, Bent Hope: A Street Journal, preparing myself for yet another series of stories of glimpses into where the human meets the holy. Instead, I found the holy within the grimy human. Chapter after chapter, page after page was literally filled with the cast off of humanity and yet I couldn't peel my gaze away for the beauty of it all. Don't wait for the chance to get this book. Make the chance. Get it. Read it. I dare you not to be transformed.
One portion of Tim's book struck me like lightening, like a church bell, like any kind of loud, clanging metaphor you want to use. He interpreted Matthew 25 in a way that FINALLY made sense to me… that finally offered the "read between the lines" subtext that rich, well read believers gloss over.
To all the Thomas' out there, the Amys, the Ryans, the Coreens, the Wolfs and Smoothys and Buffalo Hals… to all the little ones in Eastern Europe still cold on stony streets of Russia (or Romania as the image rang for me)… to all of these and more… may we BE all we are called to be… and more.
"For when I was hungry — you understood that the sustenance of food is just a start, and that I ache for the nutrition of education, work, play and a sense of home — you gave me something to eat.
For when I was thirsty — thirsting for joy and the opportunity to feel good about who I am and who God made me — you gave me something to drink.
I was a stranger — a stranger to innocence, tenderness and mercy — and you invited me in.
I needed clothes — to be clothed in safety and peace and rest — and you clothed me.
I was sick — sick of running and living in desperation, sick of never belonging or fitting in — and you looked after me.
I was in prison — the horrific prison of addiction and all the horrors that brought me to that place — and you came to visit me.
I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one the of the least of these… you did for Me."