Operation: Resuce Mission.

We went to the Anchorage Rescue Mission on Wednesday. To serve meals.

And...wow.

It was actually a lot of fun. Me, Meg, Lizzy, and Brittany served first, and randomly we would all just switch spots. When Meg was serving the meat, she put a mountain of it on someone's tray. It was funny. There was this one guy who came and talked to us several times. Once, he came up and said like, "I don't stay here, so it's okay for me to say that you girls are as adorable as [insert name of place where Satan dwells]." Then he came back later and said, "Well, I'm leaving, but do any of you know French?" and so I said I do, then he said, "Pardonez moi, mademoiselles, mais [insert French words here]. Don't worry, that's good." And I have no idea what he said, but he was funny. And this African-American lady came in with like three or four little black kids, and they were so cute. And there was this guy who didn't speak English, and imagine how hard that would be: to be in a place with no money, probably no job, no place to live, and no food. And there was another guy who must go there a lot, because the workers there knew his name.

It was eye-opening. That could have been the only thing they ate all day. And I mean, I didn't really think about the kind of people who go there for food. That black lady was young, and there was men dressed rather nicely. And women. And kids. And each of them have a name, and a history, and a story, and a future. And some of them know Jesus, and others don't. And to think that I was a part of their life, if only for a moment when I scooped them up some vegetables. To think that I helped keep them from going to bed hungry that night.

So then last night, while I was talking to God, I prayed for a long time for the people I saw there.

And I don't know, but my heart just broke for them. I can't imagine not being able to just go to the refrigerator and pull out some yogurt or string cheese or something. Yet, they can't. And I can't imagine not being able to sleep in my own bed every night, or watch TV, or take a daily shower. But they can't. To be looked down upon, to have people not look at me in the eyes, all of the things that go with being homeless: I can't even imagine going through that. And these people live with that every single day. They stand on the corner and ask for money with cardboard signs, under the scrutiny of the people who can afford the luxury of cars, wincing under the eyes of those who think they spend all the money they get on booze. And I'm sure some of them do. But I can almost 100% guarentee that if you gave that black women some money, she would high-tail it to WalMart to buy something for her kids. It's like, because of one situation in one person's like, we're willing and eager to judge everyone. And that isn't fair. To anyone.

I think that's what I want to do in Afriac, is go to a really poor AIDS-ridden village or city, and set up like a boarding school where we give food to the people there who need it. How sweet would that be? I could teach English, and I'd obviously need more people to teach other things, but to have a girls' boarding school, and as part of their requirements, they have to help hand out meals to people. I really need to pray about it, though. I want to do what God wants me to do, nothing more and nothing less, but sometimes I get confused with what He wants me to do and what I want to do.

I know that He wants me to go into missions, and I know that He has given me compassion for people (Although now, all I can think about is prom night, when we were in Anchorage, and I was like "don't wave to homeless people because they'll chase your car asking for money." And I feel like a huge jerk. Because what if one of the people I said that about is one of the people who came into the rescue mission, just hungry and wanting to get out of the rain? I'm such a huge hypocrite. With my lips I praise God and condemn men. And how lame is that?). But what do I do with it?