"I was
given a gift on this tour. The tour itself is a gift wrapped in
strange packaging. Tied up in merch bins and cash boxes, gas stations
and confused looks, literal bumps in the road and tents with old water
that splashes out on your head when you set up the day after a rain
storm.
Tour took me to states I had been to before, and states I
never thought I would be in, and states I have wanted to return to
with an aching in my heart for months. And within those states,
wrapped up in that giant red bus, hidden behind signs for social
media and payment options, we visited campus after campus."
There
is something about being on the road for a month which feels as if
you've been tossed head-first into a washing machine and spun through
permanent press. A month later the door opens and you fall on your
font porch wrung-out and washed clean. The air is cold, the leaves
are turning, your host family's dog is your new best friend and you
lie on the floor while he licks your face, four weeks down.
No
weeks to go.
It
was the quick cycle, and it ended with a beep. No fanfare, no
parades, which is not what we hoped for or wanted at all. Our work
may be loud, gaudy and obnoxious – the rumble of a double-decker
bus sitting in a quad, the chattering of voices for hours a day, the
hauling of boxes and clicking of tent legs. Our work is rich and
long, working on too many cups of caffeine, eating in restaurants we
have never heard of, sitting in the quiet light of laundromats and
sorting through Red Bus tee shirt after Red Bus tee shirt.
But
our work, most of all, is hopeful. And our work is not about us. It's
about them...ALL OF THEM. Any of them. Anyone in need of hope. For
four weeks rolling down highways and hitting branches with the top of
the bus, we were able to meet souls who did not know orphans existed,
who did not know how to speak out. But we serve a God of hope.
He
gave hope to a chief cup-bearer, sharing a prison with a man named
Joseph. He gave this man a friend with a God. A man who worshiped and
served the God of hope.
“When
Joseph came to them in the morning and observed them, behold, they
were dejected...'why are your faces so sad today?' They said to him,
'we have had a dream and there is no one to interpret it.' Then
Joseph said to them 'Do not interpretations belong to God? Please
tell me.'” Genesis 40:7-8
Joseph
knew his Father could interpret what he could not.
He
gave hope to a woman who had waited for years upon years to be
healed, who knew within her heart that God could save her.
“For
she thought, 'if only I just touch his garments I will get well.'”
Mark 5:27
The
woman knew her Father could heal what she could not.
He
gave hope to a boat rocking with shaking men, terrified of death, of
the waves of the storm. Men who knew and loved their Lord, men who
had seen miracles and listened to the words of Christ and yet - still - needed hope.
“They
came and woke Him saying, 'save us Lord! We are perishing!'...then He
got up and rebuked the wind and the sea, and it became perfectly
calm.” Matthew 8:25-26
The
disciples knew their Father could calm what they could not.
God does what we cannot.
God
gives hope to the hopeless. This is our name, this is our mission. He
gives people what they don't have, and it can be small and beautiful,
like hot hotel cookies and a gas station on an otherwise empty road.
His provisions come in little packages and big packages. He gives
people big and beautiful: the blessing of being able to go to college, the
joys of a circle of faithful friends, a giant Red Bus from England. A
front porch to fall onto once the cycle spins down.
And
he gives giant things, things we only dream about. Things we fight
for and proclaim – things he taught me it's NOT too big to
dream about and it's NOT too big to speak up about.
He
gives families. He opens hearts.
He
puts the lonely in families.
And
it wasn't until a four week tour, talking to thousands of college
students, gas station workers, hotel receptionists, cleaning ladies,
faculty, children, Show Hope adoption aid grant recipients...it
wasn't until I saw the sea of hope that God can create that I
understood the God of hope I serve.
I
don't know if I will ever fully understand the depth and richness of
hope God can provide. But for the hopeless, He fights.
And
so I will fight, too. Even if sometimes it feels like spinning in
circles, being wet and cold and smiling with the strength of a God
who never fails. Because tour will do that to a person.
It
will give them a reason to show hope.
Red Bus Project
#onthemoveforphans
