Pastors are an odd bunch. There was a lot of standing around and comparing churches: “How many are you running on a Sunday?” A lot of these guys were big-city pastors—young, tall, and thin. One was from Miami, another from Cleveland, and then there was me, the short, fat guy from Easton, California.
Easton is so small, it’s officially part of the Fresno city limits, but many people from Fresno don’t even know where it is. I pastored a small church in a small town.
The orphanage needed a special project done that would cost about $50,000. One pastor thought that a few of them could pitch in and cover the cost. He confidently said, “I’ll kick in half. Israel, you in for half?”
Little did he know that the $120 I had on me was a sacrifice.
I didn’t feel like I belonged. This wasn’t my crowd. I just wanted to blend in and disappear in plain sight. Anything to stay out of the limelight.
I was short and fat, probably around 200 pounds and 5 feet 2 inches tall. I must have looked strange to all these thin orphans. I was probably their height.
I was poked and touched by child after child. It was awkward at first, but these children were so sweet and cute that I quickly got over myself and accepted that I must have looked odd to them.
Little hands would pass across my belly as they walked by. My love handles were handled by child after child. They couldn’t seem to help but touch me.
I probably looked a lot like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.
The other pastors were playing with the kids, jumping rope. A couple of kids stopped jumping rope, grabbed me by the hand, and indicated that they wanted to see me jump.
I didn’t speak the language, but the most influential kid made it seem like seeing me jump rope would be worth everyone else stopping for a moment for the show.
There went my plan to blend in and disappear.
I was now the entertainment: Fat guy jumping rope.
The kids loved it.
I was winded. I must have looked wiped out because a pastor I had just met from the East Coast asked if I was okay. My heart was racing, and I needed to pause and catch my breath.
Looking back now, after having a stroke, I realize I had no business jumping rope in another country. I was too heavy for that. I wasn’t a high school student anymore.
Have you noticed how getting old kind of sneaks up on you?
You get caught up in the moment and forget your body isn’t as forgiving as it once was. You never want to admit it. But you’ve added on the pounds, and your joints aren’t the same.
Have you ever caught a glimpse of yourself in a department store mirror and thought, “Who’s that familiar-looking fat guy?”
Then you realize, “Oh no! It’s me! Why hasn’t anyone warned me that I look this way?”
Back to the Haiti orphanage:
One of the young teenage girls asked me, in the most broken English, if I had “a girl.” I shared a picture of Sarah, my wife, and all these orphan kids seemed awfully proud and impressed.
I got high fives and a firm pat on the back.
I went from fat-guy entertainment to stud within minutes with these kids.
Have you ever wanted to blend in? Disappear? Hide in embarrassment? Have you ever not wanted to stick out like a sore thumb, but found yourself embarrassed and on full display?
When I was a small boy, around six or seven years old, my birth father worked in youth ministry, and had an event at the house for church teens.
When you’re little, teens look a lot like other adults. Just cooler.
Little Israel was nervous with a house full of cool teens.
One by one, my father introduced us, his family. He got to me, all eyes were on me, and I passed a little gas.
Loud enough that all the teens heard.
I walked straight into my bedroom and planned to stay there until the event was over. Little Israel was hiding, planning to never be seen again.
Have you been there?
Wanting to disappear?
I waited, hiding in my room. After what seemed like forever—in kid-time—one of the teenage girls came near and said, “Israel, come out and sit with me.”
It didn’t take much to get me out. I was bored and wanted to be near the action.
I’m reminded of a passage in the Bible where Adam wanted to hide in shame from God:
“But the Lord God called to the man, ‘Where are you?’
He answered, ‘I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid because I was naked; so I hid.’”
—Genesis 3:9–10 (NIV)
Several things I notice in this passage:
God asks Adam where he is, not because He had misplaced Adam or because Adam was such a good hider. I think God wanted Adam to face where he was.
No one can hide from God. You can try, but He sees you. God sees all and knows all, and still loves you.
Verse 10 seems so much like human nature:
“I heard you… I was afraid… because I was naked… so I hid.”
I can hear from God, feel shame because I don’t measure up to what I heard, and then hide.
As my therapist tells me:
Guilt says, “I’ve done wrong.”
Shame says, “I am wrong.”
See the difference?
One is an action, while the other is an identity.
Have you been hiding in shame because you feel you don’t measure up or because you don’t feel like you’re enough?
Like the teenage girl, I’d like to call you out of hiding:
It’s safe to come out of hiding.
Others may not accept you, but God sees you and wants to be in relationship with you.
I’m reminded of the schoolyard days. Remember picking teams?
You always wanted to be picked first, right?
No one wanted to be picked last. It felt like no one liked you or wanted you on their team.
Here’s the good news:
God calls you by name. He wants you on His winning team—first!
It doesn’t matter what your weakness or brokenness is. Others might pass on you, but not God.
You are fully known and loved.
It’s a cliffhanger! I can hardly wait for part 2!
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