When I was younger, I helped my mom make brownies. And when I say help, I mean that my mom went to the store and bought all the ingredients with the money she worked to earn, and then she would break the eggs because I was too nervous about getting shells in the batter, she would make sure the portions were right for the best taste, and she would stir when the batter got too thick for my weak muscles. And then she would handle the hot tray to make sure I didn’t get burned and then cut up the brownies so I wouldn’t have to maneuver a sharp knife. But then she handed me the plate of warm goodies, and I walked around the house giving out brownies, and people would thank me (me!) for making brownies. And Mom was fine with that because she was just delighted that I loved her enough to want to take part in her work.
After visiting the clubs last week, I am convinced now more than ever that this is what it’s like to serve Jesus. Jesus absolutely does all of the work in people’s minds and hearts to bring them to him. He doesn’t need us to do any part of it, but he invites us to carry his work to completion so that we can share in the thrill he feels when his will is accomplished. And it is only our Father’s delight in us–no merit of our own–that makes our job so meaningful and worth giving our lives for.
We knew almost the moment we walked into the club that God had been doing some baking. We weren’t even through the door before T, with her boundless energy, started talking to us, and we hadn’t even finished setting out the food before J was asking that not one, but all four of us would pray for her before we left.
T told us that she knew God had a plan for her because he had rescued her from death several times. She had been raped at 19, and a boyfriend had once put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger, but no bullet came out. Her father, although ignorant of what was going on, woke in the middle of the night and heard God tell him to give his life up to him. We asked T, bluntly, “If it took a bullet to your head for your dad to give his life to God, what’s it going to take for you?” T’s eyes welled up with tears, but she waved off the question and said she couldn’t talk about that stuff here.
J told us that she was in the choir at church and had even started a gospel group. We, of course, insisted on hearing her sing, but she said she wanted us to sing too. After a quavering group rendition of “Amazing Grace” (which combined several octaves and chords that should never be combined), J decided to sing “His Eye Is on the Sparrow” for us. And there, in the middle of that dressing room with the smell of cigarettes in our noses and the sound of the club’s music behind us, J’s beautiful deep voice rang out, climbing higher with each line to drown out all other noise so that we felt like we were in a church or even the foot of the throne rather than the back of a strip club.
God doesn’t need us, but he wants us. He made it overwhelmingly evident that he wanted every woman in that club. There is no doubt in our minds that he will continue to pursue J and T with his relentless, passionate, and yet personal and wooing sort of love. And I’m so thankful that God does not ask us to do great things for him, but merely to know and love him, and by knowing him, our weak hands will be guided by his mighty arm to see his kingdom come to every heart.
Written by Jennifer B.
Outreach Team Member
