Tithing with your socks

This is an old story...but a good one for why you should give away your socks...It was originally an email, and I still refuse to change the story from when I typed it in 2003....stick with what works... Subject:

What's hard about Honduras for you?

I need to give a better answer to the question of what my hardest challenge was my first trip to Honduras... In the meeting, I said I didn't know what was hard and went on to say a bunch of stuff i don't really remember. Today i was talking to a friend of mine and realized what's hard, so I guess I will just have to tell you now.....

The first year I went to Honduras, I had no idea what to really expect. Each day was a whirlwind of events and honestly, I just tried to survive it. I do want to tell you the story of my weakest, most frustrating moment. In my mind, we were somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and the biggest thing I remember was the millions of steps it took to get the the smallest church I have ever seen and the lack of bathroom facilities.

I was supposed to be a "pharmacy person" that day and still rather clueless as to what to do. I spoke literally NO Spanish. It was around 1:00pm and the line of patients outside and down the stairs was more than overwhelming. It was so hot I felt sick. It seemed like everyone needed something and there was nothing I was doing that helped. Every prescription I filled I needed help on and no one seemed to be in a good mood. The Honduran kids were terrible to deal with that day, and even the people who never complained were frustrated already. I was about to reach a low point and wanted to just be at home in the states with people I could talk to (in English). On top of everything, I had to go to the bathroom and as mentioned earlier, in terms of facilities, there was a lack thereof. I needed some air.

I went outside feeling unneeded, unwanted, useless, stupid, and weak. I hate to be weak. I sat down on the dirt next to the steps hoping for something, but I didn't know what, maybe a teleportation.

Whit and Linnea (2 American high school kids)were outside too, attempting to teach VBS material.... There was a Honduran man out there preaching with church flyers in his hand. The line of sick patients was ridiculously growing longer and I began to realize that a lot of those people would not get seen that day. I knew we weren't coming back. I almost started crying. All I could think about was, "why had I come here?" The picture I was living in at that moment redefined the phrase "God-forsaken country". Then I saw this old man about 12 steps down from me, sitting down. He looked terrible. He was dirty, without teeth,and his shoes were more holes than shoes. His feet had cuts and scrapes that I knew would never really heal. He had no socks and his ankles were so swollen, they looked like they had been broken more than once. He'd already come up so many steps, I couldn't believe he'd made it that far. It was just the icing on my cake at my own little pity party I was having for myself about everything that's wrong with the world that is seemingly out of my control.

To be completely honest, I was disappointed when he spotted me in my scrubs. They think we're all doctors, and I knew he would ask me for help. Not only would I not be able to give it, but I wouldn't even be able to talk to him at all! No spanish. I'm crying now just remembering. He looked at me and started asking me questions and pointing to his ankles and feet. Whit tried to translate, but the man had no teeth. I was so frustrated with everything, and I know I snapped at Whit for not understanding. We all just sat there....in the dirt... It was a defining moment for me.

I told the man not to move. I went in the clinic/church (which I affectionately remember as the shoebox) and found two ace bandages. I asked Dr. George for some strong ibuprofen for the man. Dr. George did hesitate at first, but I'm sure the expression on my face deterred him from asking why this man didn't have to wait in line. I got a package of baby wipes and a waterbottle. and I went back out. This day could not get any worse...back to the man in the dirt....the only person I had met that day that needed me....and he would get the best I had right then.

I sat down on the steps in front of this really old man and washed off his feet. I felt ashamed of myself and I tried to sniff back my tears, but it was too late. I wrapped up both ankles as good as I could with the ace bandages. I took off my clean, white socks and put them on his feet and put his holey shoes back on. I asked Whit to translate to tell him how often to take the ibuprofen, but Whit couldn't because he was starting to cry a little, too. Then I looked up at the people around me that were in chaos 10 minutes before. The Honduran preacher was there with us and everyone had stopped in line to watch me. Even the kids were being still. Tears were rolling down my face and I wanted to crawl in hole for all the socks and shoes I knew were in my house at home. I was humbled beyond my imagination. The man told me his name and pointed to the sky trying to talk to me about God. He blessed me over and over and had tears in his eyes of gratitude. But I didn't understand his words... don't forget that he didn't have any teeth....

The preacher and Whit finally understood and told me what he was saying. But I was crying and sniffelling too hard to say much back. Whit told himwhy we were there as best he could...to spread the love of God... The man wrote his name down on one of those flyers and gave it to me. I still have it. He started to walk back down those millions of stairs. I couldn't even watch him. Whit and I bonded that day. I knew to everyone watching I had done something really great. But I felt sick inside because 15 minutes before I had been selfish and childish enough to want to go home and run from all the opportunities I had there to bring glory to God...I almost missed it...

That's the great thing about God. He doesn't mind how weak we are. In our lowest, most difficult moments, he defines himself in us. That day, God gave me a small taste of all the crap Jesus must have seen when he walked among us. That day ended up being my best day in Honduras. After that, I stayed outside. The kids just followed me around. Mrs. Lindsay always tells a story about the day I taught all the kids even though I didn't speak any Spanish. It embarrasses me when she tells it, because I remember why I first went outside. That all happened the same day. I think about all of that when I don't really want to pack meds or I don't want to sing anymore Spanish songs. I think about it when I'm tired of soliciting medical supplies from rich pharmaceutical companies or rushing to meeting at 8:30pm only to get done at 11:00pm and have to get the next day for school or work. It reminds me that I am not entitled. But, I have been given much. And too much is given, much is required. It is in our weakest moments that either God or Satan make a mark on the world with us. It can either end up really scary and depressing or really amazing and motivating. I'm sorry this was so long, but that's what I think is hard about going to Honduras. The same stuff that makes it hard, also makes it worth it,which makes it great.

But the hardest part is hearing God above my own selfishness and then acting on it. And my selfishness can get really loud. But, I now believe you can even tithe with the socks you are wearing.... and that can be enough.... -rachel

Malachi 3:10 "Bring the whole tithe into the storehouse, that there may be food in my house. Test me in this," says the Lord Almighty, "and see if I will not throw open the floodgates of heaven and pour out so much blessing that you will not have enough room for it."