Eyes of Love
I was dusting my room the other day, working around various trinkets, stuffed animals, and dried flowers that have accumulated in my room. I don’t remember the origin or reason for most of them; the significance of their memories has aged over the years. But as I was dusting a high shelf I came across a shriveled miniature sunflower. The vibrant yellow color had faded with time, but the memories that accompanied it were as strong as if the flower had blossomed yesterday.

* * * * *

July 30, 1999 dawned intensely fresh in the city of Kosice, Slovakia. The tan cobblestone streets shone with the morning sun and the scent of freshly-made bread drifted lazily through the air well into the afternoon. The sights and sounds of a bustling community filled my eyes as I sat on a bench by the town square that evening. It was my last day in the country. I should have been seizing this last opportunity to explore another culture. Six full weeks of travel on a short-term mission trip had provided many amazing moments. And yet with the spiritual highs came emotional lows.

Everyone on my team was becoming frustrated. The type of ministry we were doing was intense and required levels of faith we were stretching to reach. On top of this, we had just come from Poland and a day walking around the grounds of Auschwitz concentration camp—an emotionally draining day for everyone. And now we were reaching the very eastern part of Europe where we witnessed the economic struggles of a post-communist country, the racial tensions between the Slovaks and Gypsies, and the frustrations of a language barrier. Five straight days of performing, speaking, and witnessing through translators were met without much success. We were weary and discouraged.

As I sat on the bench contemplating the events of the past week I should have known that God would soon be changing my perspectives. Looking back, I can see that a swift kick in the butt and a chance to shift my focus from my nearsighted discouragement to the needs of another was just what I needed. And what an amazing chance I was about to receive! I was so preoccupied with these thoughts that I didn’t even hear one of my tent mates walk up beside me.

“Do you see that woman over there?” Jill said, pointing. I looked in the direction of a small alley next to the bakery shop. On the corner, bordering the sidewalk and the shadows stood a worn, stooped lady in her late 50s. Her coarse grey-blond hair was covered with a faded triangular scarf and her dress hung in loose folds from her tired body. She stood among the tantalizing aromas of warm baked breads as she held a white plastic bucket of flowers on display for sale. “I noticed her standing there earlier today,” Jill commented, “and have felt really burdened to talk with her ever since. Will you join me?” I agreed and we made our way across the town square.

From far away this woman looked like the picture of a poor beggar Jesus might have stopped to help. As we approached this lady and began to talk with her, the image was only solidified in my mind. She spoke in broken English through her rotting teeth and wrinkled mouth, but was glad to share her life with us.

“I grew up in the church,” she explained. “There I was taught that regular attendance and being good were the things needed for entrance into heaven. When my husband left me, I left the church. I work hard selling flowers and doing other jobs. It is hard for an old, single woman like me to earn money. But I need to support my daughter and I. Now I am in a new church. My friends say it is a cult; and maybe they are right, but what do I do? I know that I should leave, but that would be very difficult and I am so old and so alone. When I was in the Christian church the people told me if I had faith God would make things better. But things only got worse. God does not seem to have anything left to offer me.”

As we continued talking about her life, we tried to distinguish the difference between the truth of Christianity, her current church, and the “Christians” she had come in contact with (who sounded more like Job’s friends than fellow believes). As I silently prayed for this woman, God began to open my eyes and show me how He saw her. Soon I felt as though I were looking at another woman than the aged street vender I had begun talking to. She had a heart so full of longing for truth and love that it burst through her exterior appearances. My eyes began to blur with tears as I realized this woman’s inner beauty and God’s desire to see her come to Him. For the first time in my life I felt as if I truly understood why Jesus stopped on the side of the road to heal the sick beggars and why he spent so much time with the poor, lonely, unattractive, and unwanted.

I wish I could say that our conversation ended in her salvation. But she wasn't ready to make that big a step. Instead, we had to leave with the comfort that we had planted seeds in her heart and that God would take care of the rest. She allowed Jill and I to pray for her, and in a parting gesture of sacrificial love she presented us both with two of her most delicate flowers—a major financial sacrifice. I will never be able to look at this dried flower without reflecting on that evening in Slovakia and the lesson I learned in seeing through the eyes of Him who looks beyond the exterior and sees the fragile yet beautiful soul yearning for His love.