Thankful for the Fleas

In her book, "The Hiding Place", Corrie Ten Boom told of how she had learn to be thankful even for the fleas in the concentration camps, as they kept the guards out of the cells.

In the recent debate over the status of children who have come across the Mexican border, I have seen hateful posts that are frighteningly reminiscent of the kinds of things Germans were saying about Jews prior to WWII. And from the computers of people who largely claim to be Christian.

At first I was sickened, then I was angry, now I am resolved.

See, their hate has exposed the truth of who they really are. The truth of their lifelong service to the God of Mammon and not of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. That they cannot look into the eyes of another and see a duty to them shows that they don't understand a whit of the words Jesus said. And it's sad, really, especially when they claim to speak for God.

But this has paralleled my own spiritual walk, and as the debate progresses, I am increasingly convicted by how much I have in light of a world that has so little. In the coming days, weeks, and years, I will begin reducing my material possessions so that I can use my resources more wisely in service to others. It wasn't just the situation with the immigrant children that brought me to this, but the nights at free campsites, washing my hair under stadium bleachers, and seeing a little bit of life from the "other side", and realizing even those of modest means in America are better than those with much in many nations.

And so, I'm thankful for the fleas. Those tiny, biting annoyances. Because it is in the light of their own harsh words that I see my own inadequacy and sense of purpose.