I don't know your name, small child.

See the little boy in the photo? He was afraid of me. Well, he was afraid of white people in general. He had never seen an American before. He lives way up in the La Tigre mountains of Honduras. I suppose that missionaries had never ventured up into his part of the mountains in the past years of his short life.

That threw me off a little, the fact that he's afraid of the people who want to help him just because he had never seen anything like them before. How was he supposed to know? What he saw were some loco gringos with bandanas, loose shorts, muddy tennis shoes, and bags of food. How often does that come to YOUR house? How often does that come to MY house?

What if God approaches me just like we approached the little boy? What if God comes in ways I'm scared of, in ways I'm not used to seeing? Like a peer at school that I wouldn't normally spend time to, or an older lady at church who just needs to be loved.

I think God comes Loco Gringo style into our lives all the time, but we don't accept it because we don't understand it. These little blessings he sends us are denied because we don't know how to open our hearts to these disguised gifts of love. Or just because we don't see it at all. Is that wrong or shameful, or is it just a mistake on our part?

This school year I'm making a point to find these people. These people that either I am the Loco Gringo too, or they are to me. Someone I normally would look past or just not invest time into. This year I'm going to be myself, and let others find me for who I really am.

Or, at least, I'm going to try.

Yesterday I wrote about how I wasn't doing anything astounding for God in the place of my life where I am right now. I really was wrong, Curt encouraged me in that. How could I say something like that?

Don't the little things count too, Melissa?

I'm human, I suppose. Although, most times I don't feel like it. (slight giggle after that sentence)