Dirty hands

   The roads just kept going. There were no turns, no houses, no people for miles and miles. Our view consisted of dirt roads and rows of sugar cane aligned alongside the left and right of us. Every now and then our eyes would come upon a carcus of a dog, but without anything to marvel at, we were left alone with our thoughts. as the silence reminisced throughout the van, my mind began to wonder what we were about to experience. 
   Hours away from the city of La Romana lied villages covered head to toe in poverty. Away from society, the civilians lived a life of slavery, drug addiction, and witchcraft. They were hated by dominicans and rejected by the culture. They were nothing but ants to the government. But here we were, headed their way.There is something about those out casted by society that fuels my heart to love. Maybe because it did the same to Jesus. He had a view for the least of these that was parallel to that of the government and pharisees. They scolded him when he helped prostitutes and lepers and encouraged him to stay within the boundaries of the good hearted and clean. But love does not have boundaries when it comes to Jesus. It is universal and should be expressed as such within the hearts of anyone who claims to announce themselves as followers. 
   As we approached a village called, "Batay Whatever", civilians welcomed us one by one. We met women who were trapped in prostitution and joined hands with a pastor as she joyfully praised God for her newborn granddaughter. As all of this was going on, I walked outside and began looking for children to begin relationship with. I started to pull small toys out of my bag and out of no where they came. From out of houses and behind bushes they ran towards me and stretched out their hands. Once all was distributed, I sat and talked with some boys sitting against a tree. We began playing games and laughing at each other when one of us lost. In the back of the group of children surrounding me stood a boy covered in dirt and grime. He smelled and had scars all over. 
   As I went to shake his hand I realized that his hands looked infected and dirty. I at that moment could of backed away or proceeded. I had the choice to risk myself of sickness or show compassion. I closed my eyes, smiled, then not only shook his hand but picked him up and tickled him. As he laughed and screamed, the thoughts of his dirty hands and body went away. Behind all of the dirt still remained a boy who just needed someone to love him. His parents refuse to bath him due to the lack of compassion they have for him, so why should I do the same? Why should I turn away from a child just because everyone else already has? For did Christ do the same to me? NO! In fact he took my infected hand and embraced my filthy body and held me, and spun me, and tickled me. He looked past my dirt and cleansed the thing that mattered. My heart. So, If I reject this child and refuse to be a vessel of Christ and help him, what good is being done?
   On our way back, I looked at my filthy hands and saw the dirt fixated under my nails. My clothes had brown spots and my pants smelled, but my heart.... my heart had grown and flourished. It shined bright and beat beautifully. A smile stretched across my face as I realized the amount of love God has for me. He saw me in that crowd of children. He saw my filth and my grime and my dirt. And He chose me. He loved me. And he didn´t care how dirty He´d get. Nor did I with this child. For in return of the love Christ showed me, I loved this child.