I Don’t Belong Here

Tori and I are in Honduras!

I’m fascinated.

And I’m petrified.

My work is very much centered around communication. I’m a speaker. I’m a writer. I’m a vessel of information to the people I serve – sometimes sharing insights they may not have had, more often reminding them of truths they already know. My work is, at it’s core, to speak to God on behalf of men and then (and only then) speak to men on behalf of God.

Last evening I was locked up at the suggestion of going to buy a bottle of water and a can of Pringles. I am utterly comfortable communicating with just about anyone in English. I feel isolated and very dependent upon my son and daughter-in-law and my wife (who has MUCHO MAS Spanish skills than I) to even make a simple purchase.

I was reflecting on this a few moments ago and it dawned on me that there will be people walking into churches this weekend all over the world who will feel exactly the same way. They will hear us speak of resurrection and redemption and justification. They will hear unclear and undefined (or at least under-defined) words like salvation, believe, and repentance.

They will hear so many of us discourse about the beautiful things of God. But many of them will be, very simply, hungry for something to fill the longing within themselves, thirsty for water that is safe and pure and renewing.

The lady at the counter was not particularly amused at my pathetic attempts at communicating my needs, but she did want my money, so she tried to reach for the things to which I pointed. I have no idea if I paid $3 or $20. But, after a very awkward and uncomfortable exchange, I purchased for my beloved a small can of Pringles. I even indulged in the glorious wonder that transcends borders and time zones – a Baby Ruth.

But most of the people that will walk into a church for perhaps the first time this weekend will simply sit and try to stand when everyone stands and sit when everyone sits and bow when everyone bows. And they’ll walk away without the thing they walked in hoping to find, something of infinitely greater value than a snack or even a clean, safe bottle of water.

They will walk out thinking to themselves, “I don’t belong here.”

7 responses to “I Don’t Belong Here”

  1. This was perfect. Love you.


    1. Thanks, sister. Love you too!


  2. Love this so much. Beautifully said brother.


    1. Thanks, sister. Love you!


  3. Mr. Percy (or can I call you Mike not?!)–
    I continue to enjoy and very much appreciate your writing. God has called you and is using you to preach a profound, yet so very simple, truth. Keep writing!


    1. Ok, so I won’t call you Percy, either! I’d blame that on autocorrect, but it wouldn’t fair to the phone 😛


    2. Thanks, Brian, for your very kind words. And yes, it’s Mike now.. : )


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