The nameless

One of my contacts in Sudan is a pastor who travels through the South, and now the West to minister to his people. His name is James.

During the Civil War, he had been separated from his mother, in fact he did not know where she was for almost twenty years. Not too long ago, James discovered that his mother was in a refugee camp on the border. He desperately wanted to take her out of there, but she refused. She had been taking care of children in the camp, whose parents had died. "Who will take care of them if i leave??" she asked James, "this is where I belong."

I know it is in our nature to desire to be great, that our life would be important, or meaningful. We all want that, in some capacity, whether we recognize it or not. I know in the city I am living in, people are striving to be important or successful in their own eyes, and in the eyes of others. To make a name for themselves.

And then there are the nameless, faceless human beings in this world, who will never be recognized by the world, but whose lives are truely significant, because they embody the love of Jesus Christ, and have taken on His name, have taken on His humility. Their glory transcends all that is ephemeral in this world. They are a beautiful sight to behold.

I think on the other side of eternity, we will be surpised at who was considered great.