A Letter to God

Note: This post is part of Blog Month at Compassion. We were asked to write a letter to God about poverty. Welcome to how I talk to God when I’m cranky. Consider writing your own letter and linking up. Or, even better, write a letter to your sponsored child since today is the online letter writing party. See you there?

Ok, God, for the record, I’m less than thrilled that my hard rolls have gone bad. I feel like I just bought them, splurged on them really, and TWO are moldy. That was going to be my lunch! Surely You could have salvaged one for a few more hours for me to eat it. After all, You created the universe. You rained manna from the sky, You rose Your Son from the dead… my hard rolls wouldn’t be too hard to unmold. Just sayin’.

You would! You would let my grumpy eyes settle on Sandra’s sweet face on my fridge as if she’s begging me to open it, shut up, and find something else to eat.

Thank You, Lord, that even though my hard rolls only had two little specs of mold, I could throw them away. Thank You that eating moldy bread would not have been considered a good meal. Not for me and not for beautiful little Sandra.

My Sandra is super bonita (super beautiful in Spanish)

Sandra’s totally right. There is other food in my fridge. Nope, no hard rolls I’d been dreaming about all morning but there’s plenty of other food (including some WI string cheese–win!) to construct an odd lunch. My fridge is far from full but I won’t be going hungry today.

Thank You that Sandra won’t either.

Thank You that one-by-one the hundreds of children in her development center were fed today. Thousands in El Salvador will not go hungry. Millions of children worldwide no longer consider moldy bread a blessing!

God, I remember the day I met Sandra. No, not in real life yet but when her photo jumped off the well-organized table at me.

I remember a few hours earlier sitting in church arguing with You. We weren’t arguing about whether or not I was going to write that check. You won that argument months earlier. Instead, I was upset that You aren’t caring for your children around the globe.

Why are there hungry children? Why are they suffering? Why aren’t You providing?

“I am providing. I am providing you,” You whispered to my heart each time I asked. In church. In the car. In Starbucks. In the atrium pouring over the beautiful faces as I tried to pick one and only one.

Te amo (I love you in Spanish)

For Sandra, You are providing me.

For Maria and Roy, You’re providing my parents, my sisters.

For all of these precious children, You are providing someone, though that someone may not know it yet. Give that someone the strength to step in obedience.

Through each one of us, You are providing more than a healthy meal. You’re providing medication, education, hope in Your Son. You are providing the chance to live.

Thank You for that, God. Thank You for using me to provide for a precious little girl a few hundred miles south of here. Though I don’t have much to offer, I give it all to You. Take it and use it for Your glory. I guess, God, thank You for moldy hard rolls. Otherwise, I never would have discovered that PB&J on a taco shell isn’t that bad.

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