He is, She is

That look in his eyes – empty, vacant, lifeless.
It eats at my heart as I stare back at him.
Eyes are the window to the soul.
Empty, vacant, lifeless. Is that his soul?
Has he ever felt loved? Has he ever felt valued?
He sits on the corner of 3rd and Washington
Day after day.
The cold cement crawls up through his thin, worn-out pants, saturated with dirt and grease.
He doesn’t even bother looking in people’s eyes anymore.
They avoid eye contact as much as possible anyway.
He tried for a while – tried to plead with his eyes.
Plead for money. For food. For love.
But all he got in return were looks of pity, shame, guilt…blank stares.
Nothing to make him feel like a human.
As his eyes look at mine without really seeing, I sense the questions.
‘Am I worth anything? Does anyone care? Am I even human?’
But maybe I’m making that up.
Because those eyes can’t ask questions.
They are empty, vacant, lifeless.

That look in her eyes – tired, ignored, broken.
Tired of pretending.
Tired of crying.
Tired of not knowing.
I see it and recognize it, that look of wanting love.
That look of needing someone to see past her mask, her wall.
Those eyes show hunger.
Hunger for life to mean something other than being used,
Of being torn down and expected to get back up.
Time and time again.
She is sick of being an object.
‘Am I worthy of love? Am I just a waste of breath? Do I matter as a human?’
Her eyes scream these questions.
As my eyes lock with hers, I feel her pain, her hurt, her brokenness.
Her desire to be seen as a person – with value.
A person who matters, who can do something in the world.
She wants to be something other than a waste of space.
Her eyes ask questions, but I cannot answer.
I cannot change her perception.
She listens to the world – the hateful world that tells her she is nothing.
Her eyes reflect what the world has made her – tired, ignored, broken.

I smile at him – a tiny lift of the corners of my mouth – enough to show him that I see him. That he is there.
I smile at her – a softening of my eyes and heart – to show her that she matters, that she is a person and deserving of love.

Because he is and she is. They are people – lovely, beautiful, valuable people.
I do not know them, but I know that that is true.
And there are those I do know.

This is the reality of our world and it breaks my heart – this brokenness, this injustice, this lifeless living. These vignettes are what typically come to mind when we think of poor broken people. We look for the visible signs of their brokenness or poverty. And then we label them as such. I don’t think it is a bad thing to recognize their poverty or their brokenness, but when we choose to walk past them and ignore their silent pleas, we become “one of them” – one of the rest of the world who doesn’t have a selfless-enough heart to put aside our inconvenience or fear in order to show these beloved people of God a little bit of Jesus. Don’t get me wrong – I am accusing myself as well. I have let time, fear, and (as much as I hate to say it) pride get in the way of loving people.

It is not just people showing the visible signs of brokenness, however, who need these displays of love. There are those we do know. There are people we encounter every day and with whom we are friends who feel this same sense of brokenness, pain, and lifeless living and are just really good at hiding it. We need to be looking out for these people. We need to seek these people out and be intentional about showing them love, even if they reject it because they don’t know how to accept being loved by another. This is what I desire for my work in Cambodia. I desire to seek these women out, whether they are clearly broken or not, and to give them glimpses of hope, love, and Jesus. And then, as they find that they can be forgiven and they can be loved, guide them towards Jesus, where they can experience