#15
While I was snuggled in a warm home, sipping on gourmet coffee and fretting about the cold snap, 21 Christian men were martyred.
Let that sink in…really think about it. Twenty one men gave their lives in the name of our LORD and Savior Jesus Christ. It was horrible; heart wrenching and I have to be honest, almost surreal. Really? Did ISIS really take 21 men and behead them for the entire world to see? What despicable evil. What unspeakable spirit of darkness lives within these murderers?
I couldn’t bear to watch the video. The faces of the men as they knelt there in the sand told the only story I wanted to see. It was the only thing my grieving soul could take in.
Later, I saw a picture of the men kneeling in the sand on one of the social networks and saw a listing of their names. Something stirred within me to read each name and pray for that person by name. I prayed for their precious families and their grieving children. I prayed for the frightening monsters in black who stood behind each of my Christian brothers in Christ.
Then, I noticed something; #15 didn’t have a name. It simply said: 15. Worker from Awr Village. Awr village? Where is that and what is that? After googling it (I almost sound petty and protected as I type that…I googled it…sheesh), I still don’t know where or what it is, but I do know this; when you try to pronounce it…it sounds like “our.”
Hummmmm…our village. Now, that hits a cord, doesn’t it?
Here, thousands of miles away from my warm comfy home, a man kneels in the sand, without a name, dying for being a follower of the cross. His only semblance of identity is: A worker from “our” village. Suddenly, he didn’t seem so far away. Suddenly, he seemed very close to home. Too close for comfort. He could have been me…or could he? THEN…oh, and then, I had to look at me.
What if ISIS comes to the United States? What if they are already here? What if they come to my village looking for followers of the CROSS? Would they find me working? Would they know, just by watching me or asking my neighbors that I too, were a follower of Jesus Christ? Could they find me sharing the Word of God? Could they notice without question that I was fellowshipping with OTHER Christians? Would they? And…even if they did hear it from a neighbor and they knocked on my door, would I…yes, ME…would I say…Yes, I am a believer and a worker for the CROSS in our village?
Now, that my friend…brings it home.
Very, very, close to home.
Maybe…just maybe, I needed to be praying for me.
Dear friends…may I, may all of us who are followers of the cross strive to be that un-named man…who simply was a worker.
reba ponder weiss 