The Least of These

"Again this Christmas babies will be born in ramshackle homes. Herod will not try to kill them, but their drinking water will. Again Jesus will turn our hearts to children. We who still hear angels will journey to see Christ in the least of these. Our camels traded for drill rigs, we will bear the gift of life: clean drinking water, offered in Jesus’ name. Mothers will treasure these things in their hearts. This is full worship."

- Living Water International's Advent Conspiracy

Beautiful paragraph. Since I'm not building a well, I'm trying to figure out what full worship looks like for me this season and always. Who are my "least of these"? I can always give money, but how can I give of myself? This is what I am pondering. Right towards the end of my time in Austin, I began talking with homeless people more and seeking them out. Not necessarily by giving money, but by giving my time. Listening to them. Seeking to understand them.

Now I find myself in a place in which I cannot communicate with the homeless people. I am surrounded by "the least of these," at least compared to American standards - people who live in garages, people without water heaters or space heaters, people who wear the same clothes almost everyday, homeless people, mentally ill people who have not received proper care. But they can't even speak the national language correctly, much less English. So I wonder, how on earth can I show love to them?

I saw this man on a street downtown the other day. I was actually a little scared. Here's the thing: we romanticize giving to the least of these. We like to think everyone who is poor is sweet and grateful and just such a wonderful person if only we knew them. But some of them aren't. A lot of them are mentally ill, or they don't trust anyone and will steal from you because that's all they know how to do, or they are not good-looking, or they smell bad.

I think this man downtown was mentally ill. As I stood there struggling inwardly as this man sang loudly off-key with a bucket full of money in front of him while a crowd gathered round, I thought, I wish I were Paul. I wish I were Peter. If I were, I could go up to him, lay hands on him and say "Be healed" or "Come out of him" in Jesus' name and immediately he would get up, the hair would stop growing in funny places, and he would be sane. Of course, I know the same power that lived in them lives in me, but I often don't really believe that in my heart.

This is just one example of the many times I have struggled with how to love the least of these. I don't really have any solution or resolution to this, but it's something I continue to pray and seek Father about. Not that these two acts are unimportant, but are praying and giving money really all I can do? Is that what people in Acts did? Is that what Father has called me to do?

It's humbling to realize that, to many people here, I could be considered one of "the least of these." I am an alien. I don't speak the language well yet. As much as I've learned about the culture, I'm still pretty ignorant. I need help from a friend with something as simple as exchanging something at a store or taking a trip to the police station.

And this is when I realize that, as sinful people, as sheep without a shepherd (or sheep who know the Shepherd but often struggle to follow him), we are all the least of these. We in our pride like to think that "the least of these" are always other people - the starving children, or the mentally ill homeless men - but I don't think we can even begin to relate to them or understand them this season unless we recognize our own poverty before Father. I am no one's savior; I am the one in need of rescuing, the one in need of help, the one in need of mercy, time and time again.

Hulu Mian

So a couple weekends ago, I went fruit-and-vegetable picking. See my awesome hat:

I had lots of fun. Got tons of little oranges, some starfruit, cilantro, peanuts, a pumpkin...

and a calabash. Also known as a hulu, or a bottle gourd.

Wait, what?

I know.

Here's what they look like. Totally awesome, right? One of the farmers cuts one off the vine before I can say anything. I'm like the proverbial LOLCat: "I has a gourd...what I do wif it?"

My first thought was, I wish I had a vine of miniatures to string around my Christmas tree.

Then I considered turning Rastafarian when I discovered they often make bottles or instruments out of the calabash...until I realized it takes more than 6 months to dry one out. Not worth it.

So finally I decided to cook it. I found a very imprecise recipe for hulu mian, or calabash noodle soup. I thought, well, this sounds good. So I gathered all the ingredients and began to carve:

As you can see, it was a bit...stubborn. My poor little knife was not up to the task. Think how difficult it would be to carve and scoop out a pumpkin if it was not nice and round and open. That's how this was.

BRAAAAAAAAAINS

The smell, taste and texture were a lot like a potato. Tons of seeds in the middle like a pumpkin though! I didn't taste it raw because these are sometimes toxic when uncooked.

So basically I scooped out the gourd (which took FOREVER) and cut it into small strips, mixed some pork, soy sauce, corn starch, and chicken broth together and made some noodles, and this was the result:

Not bad! Nice on a cold day. But WAY too much trouble. It's much easier to just use a good old potato. Fun adventure though!

*Note: This is not about to become a cooking blog, but I thought this would be an interesting experience to share. Haha!