God showed up on my doorstep early Sunday night. He stood outside the door for quite awhile, unsure whether to come in, or just run away. God had stringy, sweaty blond hair that surrounded her dirty, chubby, cherubic face. Tears rolled down her face, sobs convulsed through her body.
“Hi there sweetie,” I said, looking around for an adult who was accompanying this beautiful child.
“Can I just sit down anywhere?” she stammered, looking around at the easy chairs, couches and folding chairs set up in a semi-circle around the room in preparation of our worship service, starting in 45 minutes.
Looking incredibly small and scared standing in our large room, I bent down to look into her face, still unsure what she wanted or why she was here. “My daddy’s in jail….My momma lives in Washington….” she readily shared, when I asked if she was by herself. I soon found out this beautiful, broken child named Sara* was just five years old, and was living with her “Grandma with the black car” around the block.
Sara had heard we had church at our house, and instinctively was drawn inside. I held her on my lap as we talked, praying that somehow God’s peace and love would wash over her amidst her tough situations, situations no one should face, nonetheless a five-year-old girl.
Sara ate dinner with us, played with my children before the service, and then worshiped the living God – the God who hears and answers prayers, the God who rescues and redeems His children. She left the house with a smile on her face and her tears, at least temporarily, wiped dry.
God showed up on my doorstep on Sunday and I welcomed him inside. While it’s easier to do when God is a sweet, five-year-old child, I pray that I will always respond in such a manner.
When was the last time God showed up on your doorstep?
* Name and specific details changed.
